Autobiography of

Andrew Carnegie
Carnegie, Andrew, 1835-1919

Release date: 2006-03-13

Source: Bebook
AUTOBIOGRAPHY

OF

ANDREW CARNEGIE

WITH ILLUSTRATIONS

[Illustration: [signature] Andrew Carnegie]

London CONSTABLE & CO. LIMITED 1920

COPYRIGHT, 1920, BY LOUISE WHITFIELD

CARNEGIE ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
PREFACE

After retiring from active business my

husband yielded to the earnest
solicitations of friends, both here and in
Great Britain, and began to jot down from
time to time recollections of his early days.
He soon found, however, that instead of the
leisure he expected, his life was more
occupied with affairs than ever before, and
the writing of these memoirs was reserved
for his play-time in Scotland. For a few
weeks each summer we retired to our little
bungalow on the moors at Aultnagar to
enjoy the simple life, and it was there that
Mr. Carnegie did most of his writing. He
delighted in going back to those early
times, and as he wrote he lived them all
over again. He was thus engaged in July,
1914, when the war clouds began to
gather, and when the fateful news of the
4th of August reached us, we immediately
left our retreat in the hills and returned to
Skibo to be more in touch with the
situation.

These memoirs ended at that time.

Henceforth he was never able to interest
himself in private affairs. Many times he
made the attempt to continue writing, but
found it useless. Until then he had lived the
life of a man in middle life--and a young
one at that--golfing, fishing, swimming
each day, sometimes doing all three in one
day. Optimist as he always was and tried to
be, even in the face of the failure of his
hopes, the world disaster was too much.
His heart was broken. A severe attack of
influenza followed by two serious attacks
of pneumonia precipitated old age upon
him.

It was said of a contemporary who passed

away a few months before Mr. Carnegie
that "he never could have borne the
burden of old age." Perhaps the most
inspiring part of Mr. Carnegie's life, to
those who were privileged to know it
intimately, was the way he bore his
"burden of old age." Always patient,
considerate, cheerful, grateful for any little
pleasure or service, never thinking of
himself, but always of the dawning of the
better day, his spirit ever shone brighter
and brighter until "he was not, for God
took him."

Written with his own hand on the fly-leaf of

his manuscript are these words: "It is
probable that material for a small volume
might be collected from these memoirs
which the public would care to read, and
that a private and larger volume might
please my relatives and friends. Much I
have written from time to time may, I think,
wisely be omitted. Whoever arranges
these notes should be careful not to
burden the public with too much. A man
with a heart as well as a head should be
chosen."

Who, then, could so well fill this

description as our friend Professor John C.
Van Dyke? When the manuscript was
shown to him, he remarked, without
having read Mr. Carnegie's notation, "It
would be a labor of love to prepare this for
publication." Here, then, the choice was
mutual, and the manner in which he has
performed this "labor" proves the wisdom
of the choice--a choice made and carried
out in the name of a rare and beautiful
friendship.

LOUISE WHITFIELD CARNEGIE

_New York_ _April 16, 1920_

EDITOR'S NOTE

The story of a man's life, especially when it

is told by the man himself, should not be
interrupted by the hecklings of an editor.
He should be allowed to tell the tale in his
own way, and enthusiasm, even
extravagance in recitation should be
received as a part of the story. The quality
of the man may underlie exuberance of
spirit, as truth may be found in apparent
exaggeration. Therefore, in preparing
these chapters for publication the editor
has done little more than arrange the
material chronologically and sequentially
so that the narrative might run on
unbrokenly to the end. Some footnotes by
way of explanation, some illustrations that
offer sight-help to the text, have been
added; but the narrative is the thing.
This is neither the time nor the place to
characterize or eulogize the maker of "this
strange eventful history," but perhaps it is
worth while to recognize that the history
really was eventful. And strange. Nothing
stranger ever came out of the _Arabian
Nights_ than the story of this poor Scotch
boy who came to America and step by
step, through many trials and triumphs,
became the great steel master, built up a
colossal industry, amassed an enormous
fortune, and then deliberately and
systematically gave away the whole of it
for the enlightenment and betterment of
mankind. Not only that. He established a
gospel of wealth that can be neither
ignored nor forgotten, and set a pace in
distribution that succeeding millionaires
have followed as a precedent. In the
course of his career he became a
nation-builder, a leader in thought, a
writer, a speaker, the friend of workmen,
schoolmen, and statesmen, the associate of
both the lowly and the lofty. But these were
merely interesting happenings in his life
as compared with his great
inspirations--his distribution of wealth, his
passion for world peace, and his love for
mankind.

Perhaps we are too near this history to see

it in proper proportions, but in the time to
come it should gain in perspective and in
interest. The generations hereafter may
realize the wonder of it more fully than we
of to-day. Happily it is preserved to us, and
that, too, in Mr. Carnegie's own words and
in his own buoyant style. It is a very
memorable record--a record perhaps the
like of which we shall not look upon again.

JOHN C. VAN DYKE

_New York_ _August, 1920_

CONTENTS

I. PARENTS AND CHILDHOOD

1

II. DUNFERMLINE AND AMERICA

20

III. PITTSBURGH AND WORK

32

IV. COLONEL ANDERSON AND BOOKS

45

V. THE TELEGRAPH OFFICE

54

VI. RAILROAD SERVICE

65

VII. SUPERINTENDENT OF THE

PENNSYLVANIA 84

VIII. CIVIL WAR PERIOD

99

IX. BRIDGE-BUILDING
115

X. THE IRON WORKS

130

XI. NEW YORK AS HEADQUARTERS

149

XII. BUSINESS NEGOTIATIONS

167

XIII. THE AGE OF STEEL

181

XIV. PARTNERS, BOOKS, AND TRAVEL

198
 XV. COACHING TRIP AND MARRIAGE
210

XVI. MILLS AND THE MEN

220

XVII. THE HOMESTEAD STRIKE

228

XVIII. PROBLEMS OF LABOR

240

XIX. THE "GOSPEL OF WEALTH"

255

XX. EDUCATIONAL AND PENSION

FUNDS 268

XXI. THE PEACE PALACE AND

PITTENCRIEFF 282
XXII. MATTHEW ARNOLD AND OTHERS
298

XXIII. BRITISH POLITICAL LEADERS

309

XXIV. GLADSTONE AND MORLEY

318

XXV. HERBERT SPENCER AND HIS

DISCIPLE 333

XXVI. BLAINE AND HARRISON

341

XXVII. WASHINGTON DIPLOMACY

350

XXVIII. HAY AND MCKINLEY

358

XXIX. MEETING THE GERMAN EMPEROR

 366

BIBLIOGRAPHY
373

INDEX 377
AUTOBIOGRAPHY

OF

ANDREW CARNEGIE
CHAPTER I

PARENTS AND CHILDHOOD

If the story of any man's life, truly told,

must be interesting, as some sage avers,
those of my relatives and immediate
friends who have insisted upon having an
account of mine may not be unduly
disappointed with this result. I may
console myself with the assurance that
such a story must interest at least a certain
number of people who have known me,
and that knowledge will encourage me to
proceed.

A book of this kind, written years ago by

my friend, Judge Mellon, of Pittsburgh,
gave me so much pleasure that I am
inclined to agree with the wise one whose
opinion I have given above; for, certainly,
the story which the Judge told has proved
a source of infinite satisfaction to his
friends, and must continue to influence
succeeding generations of his family to
live life well. And not only this; to some
beyond his immediate circle it holds rank
with their favorite authors. The book
contains one essential feature of value--it
reveals the man. It was written without any
intention of attracting public notice, being
designed only for his family. In like
manner I intend to tell my story, not as one
posturing before the public, but as in the
midst of my own people and friends, tried
and true, to whom I can speak with the
utmost freedom, feeling that even trifling
incidents may not be wholly destitute of
interest for them.

To begin, then, I was born in Dunfermline,

in the attic of the small one-story house,
corner of Moodie Street and Priory Lane,
on the 25th of November, 1835, and, as the
saying is, "of poor but honest parents, of
good kith and kin." Dunfermline had long
been noted as the center of the damask
trade in Scotland.[1] My father, William
Carnegie, was a damask weaver, the son
of Andrew Carnegie after whom I was
named.

[Footnote 1: The Eighteenth-Century

Carnegies lived at the picturesque hamlet
of Patiemuir, two miles south of
Dunfermline. The growing importance of
the linen industry in Dunfermline finally
led the Carnegies to move to that town.]

My Grandfather Carnegie was well known

throughout the district for his wit and
humor, his genial nature and irrepressible
spirits. He was head of the lively ones of
his day, and known far and near as the
chief of their joyous club--"Patiemuir
College." Upon my return to Dunfermline,
after an absence of fourteen years, I
remember being approached by an old
man who had been told that I was the
grandson of the "Professor," my
grandfather's title among his cronies. He
was the very picture of palsied eld;

"His nose and chin they threatened

ither."

As he tottered across the room toward me

and laid his trembling hand upon my head
he said: "And ye are the grandson o' Andra
Carnegie! Eh, mon, I ha'e seen the day
when your grandfaither and I could ha'e
hallooed ony reasonable man oot o' his
jidgment."

[Illustration: ANDREW CARNEGIE'S

BIRTHPLACE]
Several other old people of Dunfermline
told me stories of my grandfather. Here is
one of them:

One Hogmanay night[2] an old wifey, quite

a character in the village, being surprised
by a disguised face suddenly thrust in at
the window, looked up and after a
moment's pause exclaimed, "Oh, it's jist
that daft callant Andra Carnegie." She was
right; my grandfather at seventy-five was
out frightening his old lady friends,
disguised like other frolicking youngsters.

[Footnote 2: The 31st of December.]

I think my optimistic nature, my ability to

shed trouble and to laugh through life,
making "all my ducks swans," as friends
say I do, must have been inherited from
this delightful old masquerading
grandfather whose name I am proud to
bear.[3] A sunny disposition is worth more
than fortune. Young people should know
that it can be cultivated; that the mind like
the body can be moved from the shade
into sunshine. Let us move it then. Laugh
trouble away if possible, and one usually
can if he be anything of a philosopher,
provided that self-reproach comes not
from his own wrongdoing. That always
remains. There is no washing out of these
"damned spots." The judge within sits in
the supreme court and can never be
cheated. Hence the grand rule of life which
Burns gives:

"Thine own reproach alone do fear."

[Footnote 3: "There is no sign that Andrew,

though he prospered in his wooing, was
specially successful in acquisition of
worldly gear. Otherwise, however, he
became an outstanding character not only
in the village, but in the adjoining city and
district. A 'brainy' man who read and
thought for himself he became associated
with the radical weavers of Dunfermline,
who in Patiemuir formed a meeting-place
which they named a college (Andrew was
the 'Professor' of it)." (_Andrew Carnegie:
His Dunfermline Ties and Benefactions_,
by J.B. Mackie, F.J.I.)]

This motto adopted early in life has been

more to me than all the sermons I ever
heard, and I have heard not a few,
although I may admit resemblance to my
old friend Baillie Walker in my mature
years. He was asked by his doctor about
his sleep and replied that it was far from
satisfactory, he was very wakeful, adding
with a twinkle in his eye: "But I get a bit
fine doze i' the kirk noo and then."

On my mother's side the grandfather was

even more marked, for my grandfather
Thomas Morrison was a friend of William
Cobbett, a contributor to his "Register,"
and in constant correspondence with him.
Even as I write, in Dunfermline old men
who knew Grandfather Morrison speak of
him as one of the finest orators and ablest
men they have known. He was publisher of
"The Precursor," a small edition it might be
said of Cobbett's "Register," and thought to
have been the first radical paper in
Scotland. I have read some of his writings,
and in view of the importance now given to
technical education, I think the most
remarkable of them is a pamphlet which
he published seventy-odd years ago
entitled "Head-ication versus
Hand-ication." It insists upon the
importance of the latter in a manner that
would reflect credit upon the strongest
advocate of technical education to-day. It
ends with these words, "I thank God that in
my youth I learned to make and mend
shoes." Cobbett published it in the
"Register" in 1833, remarking editorially,
"One of the most valuable communications
ever published in the 'Register' upon the
subject, is that of our esteemed friend and
correspondent in Scotland, Thomas
Morrison, which appears in this issue." So
it seems I come by my scribbling
propensities by inheritance--from both
sides, for the Carnegies were also readers
and thinkers.

My Grandfather Morrison was a born

orator, a keen politician, and the head of
the advanced wing of the radical party in
the district--a position which his son, my
Uncle Bailie Morrison, occupied as his
successor. More than one well-known
Scotsman in America has called upon me,
to shake hands with "the grandson of
Thomas Morrison." Mr. Farmer, president
of the Cleveland and Pittsburgh Railroad
Company, once said to me, "I owe all that I
have of learning and culture to the
influence of your grandfather"; and
Ebenezer Henderson, author of the
remarkable history of Dunfermline, stated
that he largely owed his advancement in
life to the fortunate fact that while a boy he
entered my grandfather's service.

I have not passed so far through life

without receiving some compliments, but I
think nothing of a complimentary
character has ever pleased me so much as
this from a writer in a Glasgow newspaper,
who had been a listener to a speech on
Home Rule in America which I delivered in
Saint Andrew's Hall. The correspondent
wrote that much was then being said in
Scotland with regard to myself and family
and especially my grandfather Thomas
Morrison, and he went on to say, "Judge
my surprise when I found in the grandson
on the platform, in manner, gesture and
appearance, a perfect _facsimile_ of the
Thomas Morrison of old."

My surprising likeness to my grandfather,

whom I do not remember to have ever
seen, cannot be doubted, because I
remember well upon my first return to
Dunfermline in my twenty-seventh year,
while sitting upon a sofa with my Uncle
Bailie Morrison, that his big black eyes
filled with tears. He could not speak and
rushed out of the room overcome.
Returning after a time he explained that
something in me now and then flashed
before him his father, who would instantly
vanish but come back at intervals. Some
gesture it was, but what precisely he could
not make out. My mother continually
noticed in me some of my grandfather's
peculiarities. The doctrine of inherited
tendencies is proved every day and hour,
but how subtle is the law which transmits
gesture, something as it were beyond the
material body. I was deeply impressed.

My Grandfather Morrison married Miss

Hodge, of Edinburgh, a lady in education,
manners, and position, who died while the
family was still young. At this time he was
in good circumstances, a leather merchant
conducting the tanning business in
Dunfermline; but the peace after the Battle
of Waterloo involved him in ruin, as it did
thousands; so that while my Uncle Bailie,
the eldest son, had been brought up in
what might be termed luxury, for he had a
pony to ride, the younger members of the
family encountered other and harder days.

The second daughter, Margaret, was my

mother, about whom I cannot trust myself
to speak at length. She inherited from her
mother the dignity, refinement, and air of
the cultivated lady. Perhaps some day I
may be able to tell the world something of
this heroine, but I doubt it. I feel her to be
sacred to myself and not for others to
know. None could ever really know her--I
alone did that. After my father's early
death she was all my own. The dedication
of my first book[4] tells the story. It was:
"To my favorite Heroine My Mother."

[Footnote 4: _An American Four-in-Hand in

Great Britain._ New York, 1888.]

[Illustration: DUNFERMLINE ABBEY]

Fortunate in my ancestors I was supremely

so in my birthplace. Where one is born is
very important, for different surroundings
and traditions appeal to and stimulate
different latent tendencies in the child.
Ruskin truly observes that every bright
boy in Edinburgh is influenced by the
sight of the Castle. So is the child of
Dunfermline, by its noble Abbey, the
Westminster of Scotland, founded early in
the eleventh century (1070) by Malcolm
Canmore and his Queen Margaret,
Scotland's patron saint. The ruins of the
great monastery and of the Palace where
kings were born still stand, and there, too,
is Pittencrieff Glen, embracing Queen
Margaret's shrine and the ruins of King
Malcolm's Tower, with which the old ballad
of "Sir Patrick Spens" begins:

"The King sits in Dunfermline

_tower_,[5] Drinking the bluid red
wine."

[Footnote 5: _The Percy Reliques_ and

_The Oxford Book of Ballads_ give "town"
instead of "tower"; but Mr. Carnegie
insisted that it should be "tower."]
The tomb of The Bruce is in the center of
the Abbey, Saint Margaret's tomb is near,
and many of the "royal folk" lie sleeping
close around. Fortunate, indeed, the child
who first sees the light in that romantic
town, which occupies high ground three
miles north of the Firth of Forth,
overlooking the sea, with Edinburgh in
sight to the south, and to the north the
peaks of the Ochils clearly in view. All is
still redolent of the mighty past when
Dunfermline was both nationally and
religiously the capital of Scotland.

The child privileged to develop amid such

surroundings absorbs poetry and romance
with the air he breathes, assimilates
history and tradition as he gazes around.
These become to him his real world in
childhood--the ideal is the ever-present
real. The actual has yet to come when,
later in life, he is launched into the
workaday world of stern reality. Even
then, and till his last day, the early
impressions remain, sometimes for short
seasons disappearing perchance, but only
apparently driven away or suppressed.
They are always rising and coming again
to the front to exert their influence, to
elevate his thought and color his life. No
bright child of Dunfermline can escape the
influence of the Abbey, Palace, and Glen.
These touch him and set fire to the latent
spark within, making him something
different and beyond what, less happily
born, he would have become. Under these
inspiring conditions my parents had also
been born, and hence came, I doubt not,
the potency of the romantic and poetic
strain which pervaded both.

As my father succeeded in the weaving

business we removed from Moodie Street
to a much more commodious house in
Reid's Park. My father's four or five looms
occupied the lower story; we resided in
the upper, which was reached, after a
fashion common in the older Scottish
houses, by outside stairs from the
pavement. It is here that my earliest
recollections begin, and, strangely
enough, the first trace of memory takes me
back to a day when I saw a small map of
America. It was upon rollers and about two
feet square. Upon this my father, mother,
Uncle William, and Aunt Aitken were
looking for Pittsburgh and pointing out
Lake Erie and Niagara. Soon after my
uncle and Aunt Aitken sailed for the land of
promise.

At this time I remember my

cousin-brother, George Lauder ("Dod"),
and myself were deeply impressed with
the great danger overhanging us because
a lawless flag was secreted in the garret. It
had been painted to be carried, and I
believe was carried by my father, or uncle,
or some other good radical of our family,
in a procession during the Corn Law
agitation. There had been riots in the town
and a troop of cavalry was quartered in the
Guildhall. My grandfathers and uncles on
both sides, and my father, had been
foremost in addressing meetings, and the
whole family circle was in a ferment.

I remember as if it were yesterday being

awakened during the night by a tap at the
back window by men who had come to
inform my parents that my uncle, Bailie
Morrison, had been thrown into jail
because he had dared to hold a meeting
which had been forbidden. The sheriff with
the aid of the soldiers had arrested him a
few miles from the town where the
meeting had been held, and brought him
into the town during the night, followed by
an immense throng of people.[6]

[Footnote 6: At the opening of the Lauder

Technical School in October, 1880, nearly
half a century after the disquieting scenes
of 1842, Mr. Carnegie thus recalled the
shock which was given to his boy mind:
"One of my earliest recollections is that of
being wakened in the darkness to be told
that my Uncle Morrison was in jail. Well, it
is one of the proudest boasts I can make
to-day to be able to say that I had an uncle
who was in jail. But, ladies and gentlemen,
my uncle went to jail to vindicate the rights
of public assembly." (Mackie.)]

Serious trouble was feared, for the

populace threatened to rescue him, and,
as we learned afterwards, he had been
induced by the provost of the town to step
forward to a window overlooking the High
Street and beg the people to retire. This he
did, saying: "If there be a friend of the
good cause here to-night, let him fold his
arms." They did so. And then, after a
pause, he said, "Now depart in peace!"[7]
My uncle, like all our family, was a
moral-force man and strong for obedience
to law, but radical to the core and an
intense admirer of the American Republic.

[Footnote 7: "The Crown agents wisely let

the proceedings lapse.... Mr. Morrison was
given a gratifying assurance of the
appreciation of his fellow citizens by his
election to the Council and his elevation to
the Magisterial Bench, followed shortly
after by his appointment to the office of
Burgh Chamberlain. The patriotic reformer
whom the criminal authorities endeavored
to convict as a law-breaker became by the
choice of his fellow citizens a Magistrate,
and was further given a certificate for
trustworthiness and integrity." (Mackie.)]

One may imagine when all this was going

on in public how bitter were the words that
passed from one to the other in private.
The denunciations of monarchical and
aristocratic government, of privilege in all
its forms, the grandeur of the republican
system, the superiority of America, a land
peopled by our own race, a home for
freemen in which every citizen's privilege
was every man's right--these were the
exciting themes upon which I was
nurtured. As a child I could have slain
king, duke, or lord, and considered their
deaths a service to the state and hence an
heroic act.

Such is the influence of childhood's earliest

associations that it was long before I could
trust myself to speak respectfully of any
privileged class or person who had not
distinguished himself in some good way
and therefore earned the right to public
respect. There was still the sneer behind
for mere pedigree--"he is nothing, has
done nothing, only an accident, a fraud
strutting in borrowed plumes; all he has to
his account is the accident of birth; the
most fruitful part of his family, as with the
potato, lies underground." I wondered that
intelligent men could live where another
human being was born to a privilege
which was not also their birthright. I was
never tired of quoting the only words
which gave proper vent to my indignation:

"There was a Brutus once that would

have brooked Th' eternal devil to keep
his state in Rome As easily as a king."

But then kings were kings, not mere

shadows. All this was inherited, of course. I
only echoed what I heard at home.
Dunfermline has long been renowned as
perhaps the most radical town in the
Kingdom, although I know Paisley has
claims. This is all the more creditable to
the cause of radicalism because in the
days of which I speak the population of
Dunfermline was in large part composed
of men who were small manufacturers,
each owning his own loom or looms. They
were not tied down to regular hours, their
labors being piece work. They got webs
from the larger manufacturers and the
weaving was done at home.

These were times of intense political

excitement, and there was frequently seen
throughout the entire town, for a short time
after the midday meal, small groups of
men with their aprons girt about them
discussing affairs of state. The names of
Hume, Cobden, and Bright were upon
every one's tongue. I was often attracted,
small as I was, to these circles and was an
earnest listener to the conversation, which
was wholly one-sided. The generally
accepted conclusion was that there must
be a change. Clubs were formed among
the townsfolk, and the London newspapers
were subscribed for. The leading
editorials were read every evening to the
people, strangely enough, from one of the
pulpits of the town. My uncle, Bailie
Morrison, was often the reader, and, as the
articles were commented upon by him and
others after being read, the meetings were
quite exciting.

These political meetings were of frequent

occurrence, and, as might be expected, I
was as deeply interested as any of the
family and attended many. One of my
uncles or my father was generally to be
heard. I remember one evening my father
addressed a large outdoor meeting in the
Pends. I had wedged my way in under the
legs of the hearers, and at one cheer
louder than all the rest I could not restrain
my enthusiasm. Looking up to the man
under whose legs I had found protection I
informed him that was my father speaking.
He lifted me on his shoulder and kept me
there.

To another meeting I was taken by my

father to hear John Bright, who spoke in
favor of J.B. Smith as the Liberal candidate
for the Stirling Burghs. I made the criticism
at home that Mr. Bright did not speak
correctly, as he said "men" when he meant
"maan." He did not give the broad _a_ we
were accustomed to in Scotland. It is not to
be wondered at that, nursed amid such
surroundings, I developed into a violent
young Republican whose motto was "death
to privilege." At that time I did not know
what privilege meant, but my father did.

One of my Uncle Lauder's best stories was

about this same J.B. Smith, the friend of
John Bright, who was standing for
Parliament in Dunfermline. Uncle was a
member of his Committee and all went
well until it was proclaimed that Smith was
a "Unitawrian." The district was placarded
with the enquiry: Would you vote for a
"Unitawrian"? It was serious. The Chairman
of Smith's Committee in the village of
Cairney Hill, a blacksmith, was reported as
having declared he never would. Uncle
drove over to remonstrate with him. They
met in the village tavern over a gill:

"Man, I canna vote for a Unitawrian," said

the Chairman.

"But," said my uncle, "Maitland [the

opposing candidate] is a Trinitawrian."
"Damn; that's waur," was the response.

And the blacksmith voted right. Smith won

by a small majority.

The change from hand-loom to steam-loom

weaving was disastrous to our family. My
father did not recognize the impending
revolution, and was struggling under the
old system. His looms sank greatly in
value, and it became necessary for that
power which never failed in any
emergency--my mother--to step forward
and endeavor to repair the family fortune.
She opened a small shop in Moodie Street
and contributed to the revenues which,
though slender, nevertheless at that time
sufficed to keep us in comfort and
"respectable."

I remember that shortly after this I began

to learn what poverty meant. Dreadful
days came when my father took the last of
his webs to the great manufacturer, and I
saw my mother anxiously awaiting his
return to know whether a new web was to
be obtained or that a period of idleness
was upon us. It was burnt into my heart
then that my father, though neither "abject,
mean, nor vile," as Burns has it, had
nevertheless to

"Beg a brother of the earth To give

him leave to toil."

And then and there came the resolve that I

would cure that when I got to be a man.
We were not, however, reduced to
anything like poverty compared with many
of our neighbors. I do not know to what
lengths of privation my mother would not
have gone that she might see her two boys
wearing large white collars, and trimly
dressed.

In an incautious moment my parents had

promised that I should never be sent to
school until I asked leave to go. This
promise I afterward learned began to give
them considerable uneasiness because as
I grew up I showed no disposition to ask.
The schoolmaster, Mr. Robert Martin, was
applied to and induced to take some
notice of me. He took me upon an
excursion one day with some of my
companions who attended school, and
great relief was experienced by my
parents when one day soon afterward I
came and asked for permission to go to
Mr. Martin's school.[8] I need not say the
permission was duly granted. I had then
entered upon my eighth year, which
subsequent experience leads me to say is
quite early enough for any child to begin
attending school.
[Footnote 8: It was known as Rolland
School.]

The school was a perfect delight to me,

and if anything occurred which prevented
my attendance I was unhappy. This
happened every now and then because
my morning duty was to bring water from
the well at the head of Moodie Street. The
supply was scanty and irregular.
Sometimes it was not allowed to run until
late in the morning and a score of old
wives were sitting around, the turn of each
having been previously secured through
the night by placing a worthless can in the
line. This, as might be expected, led to
numerous contentions in which I would not
be put down even by these venerable old
dames. I earned the reputation of being
"an awfu' laddie." In this way I probably
developed the strain of
argumentativeness, or perhaps
combativeness, which has always
remained with me.

In the performance of these duties I was

often late for school, but the master,
knowing the cause, forgave the lapses. In
the same connection I may mention that I
had often the shop errands to run after
school, so that in looking back upon my
life I have the satisfaction of feeling that I
became useful to my parents even at the
early age of ten. Soon after that the
accounts of the various people who dealt
with the shop were entrusted to my
keeping so that I became acquainted, in a
small way, with business affairs even in
childhood.

One cause of misery there was, however,

in my school experience. The boys
nicknamed me "Martin's pet," and
sometimes called out that dreadful epithet
to me as I passed along the street. I did not
know all that it meant, but it seemed to me
a term of the utmost opprobrium, and I
know that it kept me from responding as
freely as I should otherwise have done to
that excellent teacher, my only
schoolmaster, to whom I owe a debt of
gratitude which I regret I never had
opportunity to do more than acknowledge
before he died.

I may mention here a man whose influence

over me cannot be overestimated, my
Uncle Lauder, George Lauder's father.[9]
My father was necessarily constantly at
work in the loom shop and had little
leisure to bestow upon me through the
day. My uncle being a shopkeeper in the
High Street was not thus tied down. Note
the location, for this was among the
shopkeeping aristocracy, and high and
varied degrees of aristocracy there were
even among shopkeepers in Dunfermline.
Deeply affected by my Aunt Seaton's
death, which occurred about the
beginning of my school life, he found his
chief solace in the companionship of his
only son, George, and myself. He
possessed an extraordinary gift of dealing
with children and taught us many things.
Among others I remember how he taught
us British history by imagining each of the
monarchs in a certain place upon the walls
of the room performing the act for which
he was well known. Thus for me King John
sits to this day above the mantelpiece
signing the Magna Charta, and Queen
Victoria is on the back of the door with her
children on her knee.

[Footnote 9: The Lauder Technical College

given by Mr. Carnegie to Dunfermline was
named in honor of this uncle, George
Lauder.]

It may be taken for granted that the

omission which, years after, I found in the
Chapter House at Westminster Abbey was
fully supplied in our list of monarchs. A
slab in a small chapel at Westminster says
that the body of Oliver Cromwell was
removed from there. In the list of the
monarchs which I learned at my uncle's
knee the grand republican monarch
appeared writing his message to the Pope
of Rome, informing His Holiness that "if he
did not cease persecuting the Protestants
the thunder of Great Britain's cannon
would be heard in the Vatican." It is
needless to say that the estimate we
formed of Cromwell was that he was worth
them "a' thegither."

It was from my uncle I learned all that I

know of the early history of Scotland--of
Wallace and Bruce and Burns, of Blind
Harry's history, of Scott, Ramsey, Tannahill,
Hogg, and Fergusson. I can truly say in the
words of Burns that there was then and
there created in me a vein of Scottish
prejudice (or patriotism) which will cease
to exist only with life. Wallace, of course,
was our hero. Everything heroic centered
in him. Sad was the day when a wicked big
boy at school told me that England was far
larger than Scotland. I went to the uncle,
who had the remedy.

"Not at all, Naig; if Scotland were rolled out

flat as England, Scotland would be the
larger, but would you have the Highlands
rolled down?"

Oh, never! There was balm in Gilead for

the wounded young patriot. Later the
greater population of England was forced
upon me, and again to the uncle I went.
"Yes, Naig, seven to one, but there were
more than that odds against us at
Bannockburn." And again there was joy in
my heart--joy that there were more English
men there since the glory was the greater.

This is something of a commentary upon

the truth that war breeds war, that every
battle sows the seeds of future battles, and
that thus nations become traditional
enemies. The experience of American
boys is that of the Scotch. They grow up to
read of Washington and Valley Forge, of
Hessians hired to kill Americans, and they
come to hate the very name of Englishman.
Such was my experience with my
American nephews. Scotland was all right,
but England that had fought Scotland was
the wicked partner. Not till they became
men was the prejudice eradicated, and
even yet some of it may linger.
Uncle Lauder has told me since that he
often brought people into the room
assuring them that he could make "Dod"
(George Lauder) and me weep, laugh, or
close our little fists ready to fight--in short,
play upon all our moods through the
influence of poetry and song. The betrayal
of Wallace was his trump card which never
failed to cause our little hearts to sob, a
complete breakdown being the invariable
result. Often as he told the story it never
lost its hold. No doubt it received from
time to time new embellishments. My
uncle's stories never wanted "the hat and
the stick" which Scott gave his. How
wonderful is the influence of a hero upon
children!

I spent many hours and evenings in the

High Street with my uncle and "Dod," and
thus began a lifelong brotherly alliance
between the latter and myself. "Dod" and
"Naig" we always were in the family. I
could not say "George" in infancy and he
could not get more than "Naig" out of
Carnegie, and it has always been "Dod"
and "Naig" with us. No other names would
mean anything.

There were two roads by which to return

from my uncle's house in the High Street to
my home in Moodie Street at the foot of the
town, one along the eerie churchyard of
the Abbey among the dead, where there
was no light; and the other along the
lighted streets by way of the May Gate.
When it became necessary for me to go
home, my uncle, with a wicked pleasure,
would ask which way I was going.
Thinking what Wallace would do, I always
replied I was going by the Abbey. I have
the satisfaction of believing that never, not
even upon one occasion, did I yield to the
temptation to take the other turn and follow
the lamps at the junction of the May Gate. I
often passed along that churchyard and
through the dark arch of the Abbey with
my heart in my mouth. Trying to whistle
and keep up my courage, I would plod
through the darkness, falling back in all
emergencies upon the thought of what
Wallace would have done if he had met
with any foe, natural or supernatural.

King Robert the Bruce never got justice

from my cousin or myself in childhood. It
was enough for us that he was a king while
Wallace was the man of the people. Sir
John Graham was our second. The
intensity of a Scottish boy's patriotism,
reared as I was, constitutes a real force in
his life to the very end. If the source of my
stock of that prime article--courage--were
studied, I am sure the final analysis would
find it founded upon Wallace, the hero of
Scotland. It is a tower of strength for a boy
to have a hero.

It gave me a pang to find when I reached

America that there was any other country
which pretended to have anything to be
proud of. What was a country without
Wallace, Bruce, and Burns? I find in the
untraveled Scotsman of to-day something
still of this feeling. It remains for maturer
years and wider knowledge to tell us that
every nation has its heroes, its romance, its
traditions, and its achievements; and while
the true Scotsman will not find reason in
after years to lower the estimate he has
formed of his own country and of its
position even among the larger nations of
the earth, he will find ample reason to
raise his opinion of other nations because
they all have much to be proud of--quite
enough to stimulate their sons so to act
their parts as not to disgrace the land that
gave them birth.

It was years before I could feel that the

new land could be anything but a
temporary abode. My heart was in
Scotland. I resembled Principal Peterson's
little boy who, when in Canada, in reply to
a question, said he liked Canada "very
well for a visit, but he could never live so
far away from the remains of Bruce and
Wallace."
CHAPTER II

DUNFERMLINE AND AMERICA

My good Uncle Lauder justly set great

value upon recitation in education, and
many were the pennies which Dod and I
received for this. In our little frocks or
shirts, our sleeves rolled up, paper
helmets and blackened faces, with laths for
swords, my cousin and myself were kept
constantly reciting Norval and Glenalvon,
Roderick Dhu and James Fitz-James to our
schoolmates and often to the older people.

I remember distinctly that in the

celebrated dialogue between Norval and
Glenalvon we had some qualms about
repeating the phrase,--"and false as
_hell_." At first we made a slight cough
over the objectionable word which always
created amusement among the spectators.
It was a great day for us when my uncle
persuaded us that we could say "hell"
without swearing. I am afraid we practiced
it very often. I always played the part of
Glenalvon and made a great mouthful of
the word. It had for me the wonderful
fascination attributed to forbidden fruit. I
can well understand the story of Marjory
Fleming, who being cross one morning
when Walter Scott called and asked how
she was, answered:

"I am very cross this morning, Mr. Scott. I

just want to say 'damn' [with a swing], but I
winna."

Thereafter the expression of the one

fearful word was a great point. Ministers
could say "damnation" in the pulpit without
sin, and so we, too, had full range on "hell"
in recitation. Another passage made a
deep impression. In the fight between
Norval and Glenalvon, Norval says, "When
we contend again our strife is mortal."
Using these words in an article written for
the "North American Review" in 1897, my
uncle came across them and immediately
sat down and wrote me from Dunfermline
that he knew where I had found the words.
He was the only man living who did.

My power to memorize must have been

greatly strengthened by the mode of
teaching adopted by my uncle. I cannot
name a more important means of
benefiting young people than encouraging
them to commit favorite pieces to memory
and recite them often. Anything which
pleased me I could learn with a rapidity
which surprised partial friends. I could
memorize anything whether it pleased me
or not, but if it did not impress me strongly
it passed away in a few hours.
One of the trials of my boy's life at school
in Dunfermline was committing to memory
two double verses of the Psalms which I
had to recite daily. My plan was not to look
at the psalm until I had started for school. It
was not more than five or six minutes' slow
walk, but I could readily master the task in
that time, and, as the psalm was the first
lesson, I was prepared and passed through
the ordeal successfully. Had I been asked
to repeat the psalm thirty minutes
afterwards the attempt would, I fear, have
ended in disastrous failure.

The first penny I ever earned or ever

received from any person beyond the
family circle was one from my
school-teacher, Mr. Martin, for repeating
before the school Burns's poem, "Man was
made to Mourn." In writing this I am
reminded that in later years, dining with
Mr. John Morley in London, the
conversation turned upon the life of
Wordsworth, and Mr. Morley said he had
been searching his Burns for the poem to
"Old Age," so much extolled by him, which
he had not been able to find under that
title. I had the pleasure of repeating part of
it to him. He promptly handed me a
second penny. Ah, great as Morley is, he
wasn't my school-teacher, Mr. Martin--the
first "great" man I ever knew. Truly great
was he to me. But a hero surely is "Honest
John" Morley.

In religious matters we were not much

hampered. While other boys and girls at
school were compelled to learn the
Shorter Catechism, Dod and I, by some
arrangement the details of which I never
clearly understood, were absolved. All of
our family connections, Morrisons and
Lauders, were advanced in their
theological as in their political views, and
had objections to the catechism, I have no
doubt. We had not one orthodox
Presbyterian in our family circle. My
father, Uncle and Aunt Aitken, Uncle
Lauder, and also my Uncle Carnegie, had
fallen away from the tenets of Calvinism.
At a later day most of them found refuge
for a time in the doctrines of Swedenborg.
My mother was always reticent upon
religious subjects. She never mentioned
these to me nor did she attend church, for
she had no servant in those early days and
did all the housework, including cooking
our Sunday dinner. A great reader, always,
Channing the Unitarian was in those days
her special delight. She was a marvel!

[Illustration: ANDREW CARNEGIE'S

MOTHER]

During my childhood the atmosphere

around me was in a state of violent
disturbance in matters theological as well
as political. Along with the most advanced
ideas which were being agitated in the
political world--the death of privilege, the
equality of the citizen, Republicanism--I
heard many disputations upon theological
subjects which the impressionable child
drank in to an extent quite unthought of by
his elders. I well remember that the stern
doctrines of Calvinism lay as a terrible
nightmare upon me, but that state of mind
was soon over, owing to the influences of
which I have spoken. I grew up treasuring
within me the fact that my father had risen
and left the Presbyterian Church one day
when the minister preached the doctrine
of infant damnation. This was shortly after I
had made my appearance.

Father could not stand it and said: "If that

be your religion and that your God, I seek
a better religion and a nobler God." He left
the Presbyterian Church never to return,
but he did not cease to attend various
other churches. I saw him enter the closet
every morning to pray and that impressed
me. He was indeed a saint and always
remained devout. All sects became to him
as agencies for good. He had discovered
that theologies were many, but religion
was one. I was quite satisfied that my
father knew better than the minister, who
pictured not the Heavenly Father, but the
cruel avenger of the Old Testament--an
"Eternal Torturer" as Andrew D. White
ventures to call him in his autobiography.
Fortunately this conception of the
Unknown is now largely of the past.

One of the chief enjoyments of my

childhood was the keeping of pigeons and
rabbits. I am grateful every time I think of
the trouble my father took to build a
suitable house for these pets. Our home
became headquarters for my young
companions. My mother was always
looking to home influences as the best
means of keeping her two boys in the right
path. She used to say that the first step in
this direction was to make home pleasant;
and there was nothing she and my father
would not do to please us and the
neighbors' children who centered about
us.

My first business venture was securing my

companions' services for a season as an
employer, the compensation being that the
young rabbits, when such came, should be
named after them. The Saturday holiday
was generally spent by my flock in
gathering food for the rabbits. My
conscience reproves me to-day, looking
back, when I think of the hard bargain I
drove with my young playmates, many of
whom were content to gather dandelions
and clover for a whole season with me,
conditioned upon this unique reward--the
poorest return ever made to labor. Alas!
what else had I to offer them! Not a penny.

I treasure the remembrance of this plan as

the earliest evidence of organizing power
upon the development of which my
material success in life has hung--a
success not to be attributed to what I have
known or done myself, but to the faculty of
knowing and choosing others who did
know better than myself. Precious
knowledge this for any man to possess. I
did not understand steam machinery, but I
tried to understand that much more
complicated piece of mechanism--man.
Stopping at a small Highland inn on our
coaching trip in 1898, a gentleman came
forward and introduced himself. He was
Mr. MacIntosh, the great furniture
manufacturer of Scotland--a fine character
as I found out afterward. He said he had
ventured to make himself known as he was
one of the boys who had gathered, and
sometimes he feared "conveyed," spoil for
the rabbits, and had "one named after
him." It may be imagined how glad I was to
meet him--the only one of the rabbit boys I
have met in after-life. I hope to keep his
friendship to the last and see him often.
[As I read this manuscript to-day,
December 1, 1913, I have a very precious
note from him, recalling old times when
we were boys together. He has a reply by
this time that will warm his heart as his
note did mine.]

With the introduction and improvement of

steam machinery, trade grew worse and
worse in Dunfermline for the small
manufacturers, and at last a letter was
written to my mother's two sisters in
Pittsburgh stating that the idea of our
going to them was seriously
entertained--not, as I remember hearing
my parents say, to benefit their own
condition, but for the sake of their two
young sons. Satisfactory letters were
received in reply. The decision was taken
to sell the looms and furniture by auction.
And my father's sweet voice sang often to
mother, brother, and me:

"To the West, to the West, to the land of

the free, Where the mighty Missouri
rolls down to the sea; Where a man is a
man even though he must toil And the
poorest may gather the fruits of the soil."

The proceeds of the sale were most

disappointing. The looms brought hardly
anything, and the result was that twenty
pounds more were needed to enable the
family to pay passage to America. Here let
me record an act of friendship performed
by a lifelong companion of my
mother--who always attracted stanch
friends because she was so stanch
herself--Mrs. Henderson, by birth Ella
Ferguson, the name by which she was
known in our family. She boldly ventured
to advance the needful twenty pounds, my
Uncles Lauder and Morrison guaranteeing
repayment. Uncle Lauder also lent his aid
and advice, managing all the details for us,
and on the 17th day of May, 1848, we left
Dunfermline. My father's age was then
forty-three, my mother's thirty-three. I was
in my thirteenth year, my brother Tom in
his fifth year--a beautiful white-haired
child with lustrous black eyes, who
everywhere attracted attention.

I had left school forever, with the

exception of one winter's night-schooling
in America, and later a French
night-teacher for a time, and, strange to
say, an elocutionist from whom I learned
how to declaim. I could read, write, and
cipher, and had begun the study of
algebra and of Latin. A letter written to my
Uncle Lauder during the voyage, and since
returned, shows that I was then a better
penman than now. I had wrestled with
English grammar, and knew as little of
what it was designed to teach as children
usually do. I had read little except about
Wallace, Bruce, and Burns; but knew many
familiar pieces of poetry by heart. I should
add to this the fairy tales of childhood, and
especially the "Arabian Nights," by which I
was carried into a new world. I was in
dreamland as I devoured those stories.

On the morning of the day we started from

beloved Dunfermline, in the omnibus that
ran upon the coal railroad to Charleston, I
remember that I stood with tearful eyes
looking out of the window until
Dunfermline vanished from view, the last
structure to fade being the grand and
sacred old Abbey. During my first fourteen
years of absence my thought was almost
daily, as it was that morning, "When shall I
see you again?" Few days passed in which
I did not see in my mind's eye the
talismanic letters on the Abbey
tower--"King Robert The Bruce." All my
recollections of childhood, all I knew of
fairyland, clustered around the old Abbey
and its curfew bell, which tolled at eight
o'clock every evening and was the signal
for me to run to bed before it stopped. I
have referred to that bell in my "American
Four-in-Hand in Britain"[10] when passing
the Abbey and I may as well quote from it
now:

[Footnote 10: _An American Four-in-Hand

in Britain_. New York, 1886.]
 As we drove down the Pends I was
standing on the front seat of the coach
with Provost Walls, when I heard the first
toll of the Abbey bell, tolled in honor of
my mother and myself. My knees sank
from under me, the tears came rushing
before I knew it, and I turned round to
tell the Provost that I must give in. For a
moment I felt as if I were about to faint.
Fortunately I saw that there was no crowd
before us for a little distance. I had time
to regain control, and biting my lips till
they actually bled, I murmured to myself,
"No matter, keep cool, you must go on";
but never can there come to my ears on
earth, nor enter so deep into my soul, a
sound that shall haunt and subdue me
with its sweet, gracious, melting power
as that did.

By that curfew bell I had been laid in my

little couch to sleep the sleep of childish
innocence. Father and mother,
sometimes the one, sometimes the other,
had told me as they bent lovingly over
me night after night, what that bell said
as it tolled. Many good words has that bell
spoken to me through their translations.
No wrong thing did I do through the day
which that voice from all I knew of heaven
and the great Father there did not tell
me kindly about ere I sank to sleep,
speaking the words so plainly that I knew
that the power that moved it had seen
all and was not angry, never angry,
never, but so very, _very_ sorry. Nor is
that bell dumb to me to-day when I hear
its voice. It still has its message, and
now it sounded to welcome back the
exiled mother and son under its
precious care again.

The world has not within its power to

devise, much less to bestow upon us,
such reward as that which the Abbey bell
gave when it tolled in our honor. But my
brother Tom should have been there
also; this was the thought that came. He,
too, was beginning to know the wonders of
that bell ere we were away to the newer
land.

Rousseau wished to die to the strains of

sweet music. Could I choose my
accompaniment, I could wish to pass into
the dim beyond with the tolling of the
Abbey bell sounding in my ears, telling
me of the race that had been run, and
calling me, as it had called the little
white-haired child, for the last time--_to
sleep_.

I have had many letters from readers

speaking of this passage in my book, some
of the writers going so far as to say that
tears fell as they read. It came from the
heart and perhaps that is why it reached
the hearts of others.

We were rowed over in a small boat to the

Edinburgh steamer in the Firth of Forth. As
I was about to be taken from the small boat
to the steamer, I rushed to Uncle Lauder
and clung round his neck, crying out: "I
cannot leave you! I cannot leave you!" I
was torn from him by a kind sailor who
lifted me up on the deck of the steamer.
Upon my return visit to Dunfermline this
dear old fellow, when he came to see me,
told me it was the saddest parting he had
ever witnessed.

We sailed from the Broomielaw of

Glasgow in the 800-ton sailing ship
Wiscasset. During the seven weeks of the
voyage, I came to know the sailors quite
well, learned the names of the ropes, and
was able to direct the passengers to
answer the call of the boatswain, for the
ship being undermanned, the aid of the
passengers was urgently required. In
consequence I was invited by the sailors to
participate on Sundays, in the one delicacy
of the sailors' mess, plum duff. I left the
ship with sincere regret.

The arrival at New York was bewildering. I

had been taken to see the Queen at
Edinburgh, but that was the extent of my
travels before emigrating. Glasgow we
had not time to see before we sailed. New
York was the first great hive of human
industry among the inhabitants of which I
had mingled, and the bustle and
excitement of it overwhelmed me. The
incident of our stay in New York which
impressed me most occurred while I was
walking through Bowling Green at Castle
Garden. I was caught up in the arms of one
of the Wiscasset sailors, Robert Barryman,
who was decked out in regular Jackashore
fashion, with blue jacket and white
trousers. I thought him the most beautiful
man I had ever seen.

He took me to a refreshment stand and

ordered a glass of sarsaparilla for me,
which I drank with as much relish as if it
were the nectar of the gods. To this day
nothing that I have ever seen of the kind
rivals the image which remains in my mind
of the gorgeousness of the highly
ornamented brass vessel out of which that
nectar came foaming. Often as I have
passed the identical spot I see standing
there the old woman's sarsaparilla stand,
and I marvel what became of the dear old
sailor. I have tried to trace him, but in vain,
hoping that if found he might be enjoying a
ripe old age, and that it might be in my
power to add to the pleasure of his
declining years. He was my ideal Tom
Bowling, and when that fine old song is
sung I always see as the "form of manly
beauty" my dear old friend Barryman.
Alas! ere this he's gone aloft. Well; by his
kindness on the voyage he made one boy
his devoted friend and admirer.

We knew only Mr. and Mrs. Sloane in New

York--parents of the well-known John,
Willie, and Henry Sloane. Mrs. Sloane
(Euphemia Douglas) was my mother's
companion in childhood in Dunfermline.
Mr. Sloane and my father had been fellow
weavers. We called upon them and were
warmly welcomed. It was a genuine
pleasure when Willie, his son, bought
ground from me in 1900 opposite our New
York residence for his two married
daughters so that our children of the third
generation became playmates as our
mothers were in Scotland.
My father was induced by emigration
agents in New York to take the Erie Canal
by way of Buffalo and Lake Erie to
Cleveland, and thence down the canal to
Beaver--a journey which then lasted three
weeks, and is made to-day by rail in ten
hours. There was no railway
communication then with Pittsburgh, nor
indeed with any western town. The Erie
Railway was under construction and we
saw gangs of men at work upon it as we
traveled. Nothing comes amiss to youth,
and I look back upon my three weeks as a
passenger upon the canal-boat with
unalloyed pleasure. All that was
disagreeable in my experience has long
since faded from recollection, excepting
the night we were compelled to remain
upon the wharf-boat at Beaver waiting for
the steamboat to take us up the Ohio to
Pittsburgh. This was our first introduction
to the mosquito in all its ferocity. My
mother suffered so severely that in the
morning she could hardly see. We were all
frightful sights, but I do not remember that
even the stinging misery of that night kept
me from sleeping soundly. I could always
sleep, never knowing "horrid night, the
child of hell."

Our friends in Pittsburgh had been

anxiously waiting to hear from us, and in
their warm and affectionate greeting all
our troubles were forgotten. We took up
our residence with them in Allegheny City.
A brother of my Uncle Hogan had built a
small weaver's shop at the back end of a
lot in Rebecca Street. This had a second
story in which there were two rooms, and
it was in these (free of rent, for my Aunt
Aitken owned them) that my parents
began housekeeping. My uncle soon gave
up weaving and my father took his place
and began making tablecloths, which he
had not only to weave, but afterwards,
acting as his own merchant, to travel and
sell, as no dealers could be found to take
them in quantity. He was compelled to
market them himself, selling from door to
door. The returns were meager in the
extreme.

[Illustration: ANDREW CARNEGIE AT

SIXTEEN WITH HIS BROTHER THOMAS]

As usual, my mother came to the rescue.

There was no keeping her down. In her
youth she had learned to bind shoes in her
father's business for pin-money, and the
skill then acquired was now turned to
account for the benefit of the family. Mr.
Phipps, father of my friend and partner Mr.
Henry Phipps, was, like my grandfather, a
master shoemaker. He was our neighbor in
Allegheny City. Work was obtained from
him, and in addition to attending to her
household duties--for, of course, we had
no servant--this wonderful woman, my
mother, earned four dollars a week by
binding shoes. Midnight would often find
her at work. In the intervals during the day
and evening, when household cares would
permit, and my young brother sat at her
knee threading needles and waxing the
thread for her, she recited to him, as she
had to me, the gems of Scottish minstrelsy
which she seemed to have by heart, or told
him tales which failed not to contain a
moral.

This is where the children of honest

poverty have the most precious of all
advantages over those of wealth. The
mother, nurse, cook, governess, teacher,
saint, all in one; the father, exemplar,
guide, counselor, and friend! Thus were
my brother and I brought up. What has the
child of millionaire or nobleman that
counts compared to such a heritage?

My mother was a busy woman, but all her

work did not prevent her neighbors from
soon recognizing her as a wise and kindly
woman whom they could call upon for
counsel or help in times of trouble. Many
have told me what my mother did for them.
So it was in after years wherever we
resided; rich and poor came to her with
their trials and found good counsel. She
towered among her neighbors wherever
she went.
CHAPTER III

PITTSBURGH AND WORK

The great question now was, what could be

found for me to do. I had just completed
my thirteenth year, and I fairly panted to
get to work that I might help the family to a
start in the new land. The prospect of want
had become to me a frightful nightmare.
My thoughts at this period centered in the
determination that we should make and
save enough of money to produce three
hundred dollars a year--twenty-five dollars
monthly, which I figured was the sum
required to keep us without being
dependent upon others. Every necessary
thing was very cheap in those days.

The brother of my Uncle Hogan would

often ask what my parents meant to do with
me, and one day there occurred the most
tragic of all scenes I have ever witnessed.
Never can I forget it. He said, with the
kindest intentions in the world, to my
mother, that I was a likely boy and apt to
learn; and he believed that if a basket
were fitted out for me with knickknacks to
sell, I could peddle them around the
wharves and make quite a considerable
sum. I never knew what an enraged
woman meant till then. My mother was
sitting sewing at the moment, but she
sprang to her feet with outstretched hands
and shook them in his face.

"What! my son a peddler and go among

rough men upon the wharves! I would
rather throw him into the Allegheny River.
Leave me!" she cried, pointing to the door,
and Mr. Hogan went.

She stood a tragic queen. The next

moment she had broken down, but only for
a few moments did tears fall and sobs
come. Then she took her two boys in her
arms and told us not to mind her
foolishness. There were many things in the
world for us to do and we could be useful
men, honored and respected, if we always
did what was right. It was a repetition of
Helen Macgregor, in her reply to
Osbaldistone in which she threatened to
have her prisoners "chopped into as many
pieces as there are checks in the tartan."
But the reason for the outburst was
different. It was not because the
occupation suggested was peaceful labor,
for we were taught that idleness was
disgraceful; but because the suggested
occupation was somewhat vagrant in
character and not entirely respectable in
her eyes. Better death. Yes, mother would
have taken her two boys, one under each
arm, and perished with them rather than
they should mingle with low company in
their extreme youth.

As I look back upon the early struggles

this can be said: there was not a prouder
family in the land. A keen sense of honor,
independence, self-respect, pervaded the
household. Walter Scott said of Burns that
he had the most extraordinary eye he ever
saw in a human being. I can say as much
for my mother. As Burns has it:

"Her eye even turned on empty space,

Beamed keen with honor."

Anything low, mean, deceitful, shifty,

coarse, underhand, or gossipy was foreign
to that heroic soul. Tom and I could not
help growing up respectable characters,
having such a mother and such a father, for
the father, too, was one of nature's
noblemen, beloved by all, a saint.
Soon after this incident my father found it
necessary to give up hand-loom weaving
and to enter the cotton factory of Mr.
Blackstock, an old Scotsman in Allegheny
City, where we lived. In this factory he also
obtained for me a position as bobbin boy,
and my first work was done there at one
dollar and twenty cents per week. It was a
hard life. In the winter father and I had to
rise and breakfast in the darkness, reach
the factory before it was daylight, and,
with a short interval for lunch, work till
after dark. The hours hung heavily upon
me and in the work itself I took no
pleasure; but the cloud had a silver lining,
as it gave me the feeling that I was doing
something for my world--our family. I have
made millions since, but none of those
millions gave me such happiness as my
first week's earnings. I was now a helper of
the family, a breadwinner, and no longer a
total charge upon my parents. Often had I
heard my father's beautiful singing of "The
Boatie Rows" and often I longed to fulfill
the last lines of the verse:

"When Aaleck, Jock, and Jeanettie,

_Are up and got their lair_,[11] They'll
serve to gar the boatie row, And lichten
a' our care."

[Footnote 11: Education.]

I was going to make our tiny craft skim. It

should be noted here that Aaleck, Jock,
and Jeanettie were first to get their
education. Scotland was the first country
that required all parents, high or low, to
educate their children, and established the
parish public schools.

Soon after this Mr. John Hay, a

fellow-Scotch manufacturer of bobbins in
Allegheny City, needed a boy, and asked
whether I would not go into his service. I
went, and received two dollars per week;
but at first the work was even more
irksome than the factory. I had to run a
small steam-engine and to fire the boiler in
the cellar of the bobbin factory. It was too
much for me. I found myself night after
night, sitting up in bed trying the steam
gauges, fearing at one time that the steam
was too low and that the workers above
would complain that they had not power
enough, and at another time that the steam
was too high and that the boiler might
burst.

But all this it was a matter of honor to

conceal from my parents. They had their
own troubles and bore them. I must play
the man and bear mine. My hopes were
high, and I looked every day for some
change to take place. What it was to be I
knew not, but that it would come I felt
certain if I kept on. Besides, at this date I
was not beyond asking myself what
Wallace would have done and what a
Scotsman ought to do. Of one thing I was
sure, he ought never to give up.

One day the chance came. Mr. Hay had to

make out some bills. He had no clerk, and
was himself a poor penman. He asked me
what kind of hand I could write, and gave
me some writing to do. The result pleased
him, and he found it convenient thereafter
to let me make out his bills. I was also
good at figures; and he soon found it to be
to his interest--and besides, dear old man,
I believe he was moved by good feeling
toward the white-haired boy, for he had a
kind heart and was Scotch and wished to
relieve me from the engine--to put me at
other things, less objectionable except in
one feature.
It now became my duty to bathe the newly
made spools in vats of oil. Fortunately
there was a room reserved for this
purpose and I was alone, but not all the
resolution I could muster, nor all the
indignation I felt at my own weakness,
prevented my stomach from behaving in a
most perverse way. I never succeeded in
overcoming the nausea produced by the
smell of the oil. Even Wallace and Bruce
proved impotent here. But if I had to lose
breakfast, or dinner, I had all the better
appetite for supper, and the allotted work
was done. A real disciple of Wallace or
Bruce could not give up; he would die first.

My service with Mr. Hay was a distinct

advance upon the cotton factory, and I also
made the acquaintance of an employer
who was very kind to me. Mr. Hay kept his
books in single entry, and I was able to
handle them for him; but hearing that all
great firms kept their books in double
entry, and after talking over the matter
with my companions, John Phipps, Thomas
N. Miller, and William Cowley, we all
determined to attend night school during
the winter and learn the larger system. So
the four of us went to a Mr. Williams in
Pittsburgh and learned double-entry
bookkeeping.

One evening, early in 1850, when I

returned home from work, I was told that
Mr. David Brooks, manager of the
telegraph office, had asked my Uncle
Hogan if he knew where a good boy could
be found to act as messenger. Mr. Brooks
and my uncle were enthusiastic
draught-players, and it was over a game of
draughts that this important inquiry was
made. Upon such trifles do the most
momentous consequences hang. A word, a
look, an accent, may affect the destiny not
only of individuals, but of nations. He is a
bold man who calls anything a trifle. Who
was it who, being advised to disregard
trifles, said he always would if any one
could tell him what a trifle was? The young
should remember that upon trifles the best
gifts of the gods often hang.

My uncle mentioned my name, and said he

would see whether I would take the
position. I remember so well the family
council that was held. Of course I was wild
with delight. No bird that ever was
confined in a cage longed for freedom
more than I. Mother favored, but father
was disposed to deny my wish. It would
prove too much for me, he said; I was too
young and too small. For the two dollars
and a half per week offered it was evident
that a much larger boy was expected. Late
at night I might be required to run out into
the country with a telegram, and there
would be dangers to encounter. Upon the
whole my father said that it was best that I
should remain where I was. He
subsequently withdrew his objection, so
far as to give me leave to try, and I believe
he went to Mr. Hay and consulted with him.
Mr. Hay thought it would be for my
advantage, and although, as he said, it
would be an inconvenience to him, still he
advised that I should try, and if I failed he
was kind enough to say that my old place
would be open for me.

This being decided, I was asked to go over

the river to Pittsburgh and call on Mr.
Brooks. My father wished to go with me,
and it was settled that he should
accompany me as far as the telegraph
office, on the corner of Fourth and Wood
Streets. It was a bright, sunshiny morning
and this augured well. Father and I walked
over from Allegheny to Pittsburgh, a
distance of nearly two miles from our
house. Arrived at the door I asked father to
wait outside. I insisted upon going alone
upstairs to the second or operating floor to
see the great man and learn my fate. I was
led to this, perhaps, because I had by that
time begun to consider myself something
of an American. At first boys used to call
me "Scotchie! Scotchie!" and I answered,
"Yes, I'm Scotch and I am proud of the
name." But in speech and in address the
broad Scotch had been worn off to a slight
extent, and I imagined that I could make a
smarter showing if alone with Mr. Brooks
than if my good old Scotch father were
present, perhaps to smile at my airs.

I was dressed in my one white linen shirt,

which was usually kept sacred for the
Sabbath day, my blue round-about, and
my whole Sunday suit. I had at that time,
and for a few weeks after I entered the
telegraph service, but one linen suit of
summer clothing; and every Saturday
night, no matter if that was my night on
duty and I did not return till near midnight,
my mother washed those clothes and
ironed them, and I put them on fresh on
Sabbath morning. There was nothing that
heroine did not do in the struggle we were
making for elbow room in the western
world. Father's long factory hours tried his
strength, but he, too, fought the good fight
like a hero and never failed to encourage
me.

The interview was successful. I took care to

explain that I did not know Pittsburgh, that
perhaps I would not do, would not be
strong enough; but all I wanted was a trial.
He asked me how soon I could come, and I
said that I could stay now if wanted. And,
looking back over the circumstance, I
think that answer might well be pondered
by young men. It is a great mistake not to
seize the opportunity. The position was
offered to me; something might occur,
some other boy might be sent for. Having
got myself in I proposed to stay there if I
could. Mr. Brooks very kindly called the
other boy--for it was an additional
messenger that was wanted--and asked
him to show me about, and let me go with
him and learn the business. I soon found
opportunity to run down to the corner of
the street and tell my father that it was all
right, and to go home and tell mother that I
had got the situation.

[Illustration: DAVID McCARGO]

And that is how in 1850 I got my first real

start in life. From the dark cellar running a
steam-engine at two dollars a week,
begrimed with coal dirt, without a trace of
the elevating influences of life, I was lifted
into paradise, yes, heaven, as it seemed to
me, with newspapers, pens, pencils, and
sunshine about me. There was scarcely a
minute in which I could not learn
something or find out how much there was
to learn and how little I knew. I felt that my
foot was upon the ladder and that I was
bound to climb.

I had only one fear, and that was that I

could not learn quickly enough the
addresses of the various business houses
to which messages had to be delivered. I
therefore began to note the signs of these
houses up one side of the street and down
the other. At night I exercised my memory
by naming in succession the various firms.
Before long I could shut my eyes and,
beginning at the foot of a business street,
call off the names of the firms in proper
order along one side to the top of the
street, then crossing on the other side go
down in regular order to the foot again.

The next step was to know the men

themselves, for it gave a messenger a
great advantage, and often saved a long
journey, if he knew members or
employees of firms. He might meet one of
these going direct to his office. It was
reckoned a great triumph among the boys
to deliver a message upon the street. And
there was the additional satisfaction to the
boy himself, that a great man (and most
men are great to messengers), stopped
upon the street in this way, seldom failed
to note the boy and compliment him.

The Pittsburgh of 1850 was very different

from what it has since become. It had not
yet recovered from the great fire which
destroyed the entire business portion of
the city on April 10, 1845. The houses were
mainly of wood, a few only were of brick,
and not one was fire-proof. The entire
population in and around Pittsburgh was
not over forty thousand. The business
portion of the city did not extend as far as
Fifth Avenue, which was then a very quiet
street, remarkable only for having the
theater upon it. Federal Street, Allegheny,
consisted of straggling business houses
with great open spaces between them, and
I remember skating upon ponds in the
very heart of the present Fifth Ward. The
site of our Union Iron Mills was then, and
many years later, a cabbage garden.

General Robinson, to whom I delivered

many a telegraph message, was the first
white child born west of the Ohio River. I
saw the first telegraph line stretched from
the east into the city; and, at a later date, I
also saw the first locomotive, for the Ohio
and Pennsylvania Railroad, brought by
canal from Philadelphia and unloaded
from a scow in Allegheny City. There was
no direct railway communication to the
East. Passengers took the canal to the foot
of the Allegheny Mountains, over which
they were transported to Hollidaysburg, a
distance of thirty miles by rail; thence by
canal again to Columbia, and then
eighty-one miles by rail to Philadelphia--a
journey which occupied three days.[12]

[Footnote 12: "Beyond Philadelphia was

the Camden and Amboy Railway; beyond
Pittsburgh, the Fort Wayne and Chicago,
separate organizations with which we had
nothing to do." (_Problems of To-day_, by
Andrew Carnegie, p. 187. New York,
1908.)]

The great event of the day in Pittsburgh at

that time was the arrival and departure of
the steam packet to and from Cincinnati,
for daily communication had been
established. The business of the city was
largely that of forwarding merchandise
East and West, for it was the great transfer
station from river to canal. A rolling mill
had begun to roll iron; but not a ton of pig
metal was made, and not a ton of steel for
many a year thereafter. The pig iron
manufacture at first was a total failure
because of the lack of proper fuel,
although the most valuable deposit of
coking coal in the world lay within a few
miles, as much undreamt of for coke to
smelt ironstone as the stores of natural gas
which had for ages lain untouched under
the city.

There were at that time not half a dozen

"carriage" people in the town; and not for
many years after was the attempt made to
introduce livery, even for a coachman. As
late as 1861, perhaps, the most notable
financial event which had occurred in the
annals of Pittsburgh was the retirement
from business of Mr. Fahnestock with the
enormous sum of $174,000, paid by his
partners for his interest. How great a sum
that seemed then and how trifling now!

My position as messenger boy soon made

me acquainted with the few leading men of
the city. The bar of Pittsburgh was
distinguished. Judge Wilkins was at its
head, and he and Judge MacCandless,
Judge McClure, Charles Shaler and his
partner, Edwin M. Stanton, afterwards the
great War Secretary ("Lincoln's right-hand
man") were all well known to me--the
last-named especially, for he was good
enough to take notice of me as a boy. In
business circles among prominent men
who still survive, Thomas M. Howe, James
Park, C.G. Hussey, Benjamin F. Jones,
William Thaw, John Chalfant, Colonel
Herron were great men to whom the
messenger boys looked as models, and
not bad models either, as their lives
proved. [Alas! all dead as I revise this
paragraph in 1906, so steadily moves the
solemn procession.]

My life as a telegraph messenger was in

every respect a happy one, and it was
while in this position that I laid the
foundation of my closest friendships. The
senior messenger boy being promoted, a
new boy was needed, and he came in the
person of David McCargo, afterwards the
well-known superintendent of the
Allegheny Valley Railway. He was made
my companion and we had to deliver all
the messages from the Eastern line, while
two other boys delivered the messages
from the West. The Eastern and Western
Telegraph Companies were then separate,
although occupying the same building.
"Davy" and I became firm friends at once,
one great bond being that he was Scotch;
for, although "Davy" was born in America,
his father was quite as much a Scotsman,
even in speech, as my own father.

A short time after "Davy's" appointment a

third boy was required, and this time I was
asked if I could find a suitable one. This I
had no difficulty in doing in my chum,
Robert Pitcairn, later on my successor as
superintendent and general agent at
Pittsburgh of the Pennsylvania Railroad.
Robert, like myself, was not only Scotch,
but Scotch-born, so that "Davy," "Bob," and
"Andy" became the three Scotch boys who
delivered all the messages of the Eastern
Telegraph Line in Pittsburgh, for the then
magnificent salary of two and a half dollars
per week. It was the duty of the boys to
sweep the office each morning, and this
we did in turn, so it will be seen that we all
began at the bottom. Hon. H.W. Oliver,[13]
head of the great manufacturing firm of
Oliver Brothers, and W.C. Morland,[14]
City Solicitor, subsequently joined the
corps and started in the same fashion. It is
not the rich man's son that the young
struggler for advancement has to fear in
the race of life, nor his nephew, nor his
cousin. Let him look out for the "dark
horse" in the boy who begins by sweeping
out the office.

[Footnote 13: Died 1904.]

[Footnote 14: Died 1889.]

[Illustration: ROBERT PITCAIRN]

A messenger boy in those days had many

pleasures. There were wholesale fruit
stores, where a pocketful of apples was
sometimes to be had for the prompt
delivery of a message; bakers' and
confectioners' shops, where sweet cakes
were sometimes given to him. He met with
very kind men, to whom he looked up with
respect; they spoke a pleasant word and
complimented him on his promptness,
perhaps asked him to deliver a message
on the way back to the office. I do not
know a situation in which a boy is more apt
to attract attention, which is all a really
clever boy requires in order to rise. Wise
men are always looking out for clever
boys.

One great excitement of this life was the

extra charge of ten cents which we were
permitted to collect for messages
delivered beyond a certain limit. These
"dime messages," as might be expected,
were anxiously watched, and quarrels
arose among us as to the right of delivery.
In some cases it was alleged boys had now
and then taken a dime message out of turn.
This was the only cause of serious trouble
among us. By way of settlement I proposed
that we should "pool" these messages and
divide the cash equally at the end of each
week. I was appointed treasurer. Peace
and good-humor reigned ever afterwards.
This pooling of extra earnings not being
intended to create artificial prices was
really co�eration. It was my first essay in
financial organization.

The boys considered that they had a

perfect right to spend these dividends,
and the adjoining confectioner's shop had
running accounts with most of them. The
accounts were sometimes greatly
overdrawn. The treasurer had accordingly
to notify the confectioner, which he did in
due form, that he would not be responsible
for any debts contracted by the too hungry
and greedy boys. Robert Pitcairn was the
worst offender of all, apparently having
not only one sweet tooth, but all his teeth
of that character. He explained to me
confidentially one day, when I scolded
him, that he had live things in his stomach
that gnawed his insides until fed upon
sweets.
CHAPTER IV

COLONEL ANDERSON AND BOOKS

With all their pleasures the messenger

boys were hard worked. Every other
evening they were required to be on duty
until the office closed, and on these nights
it was seldom that I reached home before
eleven o'clock. On the alternating nights
we were relieved at six. This did not leave
much time for self-improvement, nor did
the wants of the family leave any money to
spend on books. There came, however,
like a blessing from above, a means by
which the treasures of literature were
unfolded to me.

Colonel James Anderson--I bless his name

as I write--announced that he would open
his library of four hundred volumes to
boys, so that any young man could take
out, each Saturday afternoon, a book which
could be exchanged for another on the
succeeding Saturday. My friend, Mr.
Thomas N. Miller, reminded me recently
that Colonel Anderson's books were first
opened to "working boys," and the
question arose whether messenger boys,
clerks, and others, who did not work with
their hands, were entitled to books. My
first communication to the press was a
note, written to the "Pittsburgh Dispatch,"
urging that we should not be excluded;
that although we did not now work with our
hands, some of us had done so, and that
we were really working boys.[15] Dear
Colonel Anderson promptly enlarged the
classification. So my first appearance as a
public writer was a success.

[Footnote 15: The note was signed

"Working Boy." The librarian responded in
the columns of the _Dispatch_ defending
the rules, which he claimed meant that "a
Working Boy should have a trade."
Carnegie's rejoinder was signed "A
Working Boy, though without a Trade,"
and a day or two thereafter the _Dispatch_
had an item on its editorial page which
read: "Will 'a Working Boy without a Trade'
please call at this office." (David Homer
Bates in _Century Magazine_, July, 1908.)]

My dear friend, Tom Miller, one of the

inner circle, lived near Colonel Anderson
and introduced me to him, and in this way
the windows were opened in the walls of
my dungeon through which the light of
knowledge streamed in. Every day's toil
and even the long hours of night service
were lightened by the book which I
carried about with me and read in the
intervals that could be snatched from duty.
And the future was made bright by the
thought that when Saturday came a new
volume could be obtained. In this way I
became familiar with Macaulay's essays
and his history, and with Bancroft's
"History of the United States," which I
studied with more care than any other
book I had then read. Lamb's essays were
my special delight, but I had at this time no
knowledge of the great master of all,
Shakespeare, beyond the selected pieces
in the school books. My taste for him I
acquired a little later at the old Pittsburgh
Theater.

John Phipps, James R. Wilson, Thomas N.

Miller, William Cowley--members of our
circle--shared with me the invaluable
privilege of the use of Colonel Anderson's
library. Books which it would have been
impossible for me to obtain elsewhere
were, by his wise generosity, placed
within my reach; and to him I owe a taste
for literature which I would not exchange
for all the millions that were ever amassed
by man. Life would be quite intolerable
without it. Nothing contributed so much to
keep my companions and myself clear of
low fellowship and bad habits as the
beneficence of the good Colonel. Later,
when fortune smiled upon me, one of my
first duties was the erection of a monument
to my benefactor. It stands in front of the
Hall and Library in Diamond Square, which
I presented to Allegheny, and bears this
inscription:

To Colonel James Anderson, Founder of

Free Libraries in Western Pennsylvania.
He opened his Library to working boys
and upon Saturday afternoons acted as
librarian, thus dedicating not only his
books but himself to the noble work.
This monument is erected in grateful
remembrance by Andrew Carnegie,
one of the "working boys" to whom were
thus opened the precious treasures of
knowledge and imagination through
which youth may ascend.

[Illustration: COLONEL JAMES

ANDERSON]

This is but a slight tribute and gives only a

faint idea of the depth of gratitude which I
feel for what he did for me and my
companions. It was from my own early
experience that I decided there was no use
to which money could be applied so
productive of good to boys and girls who
have good within them and ability and
ambition to develop it, as the founding of a
public library in a community which is
willing to support it as a municipal
institution. I am sure that the future of those
libraries I have been privileged to found
will prove the correctness of this opinion.
For if one boy in each library district, by
having access to one of these libraries, is
half as much benefited as I was by having
access to Colonel Anderson's four hundred
well-worn volumes, I shall consider they
have not been established in vain.

"As the twig is bent the tree's inclined."

The treasures of the world which books
contain were opened to me at the right
moment. The fundamental advantage of a
library is that it gives nothing for nothing.
Youths must acquire knowledge
themselves. There is no escape from this. It
gave me great satisfaction to discover,
many years later, that my father was one of
the five weavers in Dunfermline who
gathered together the few books they had
and formed the first circulating library in
that town.

The history of that library is interesting. It

grew, and was removed no less than seven
times from place to place, the first move
being made by the founders, who carried
the books in their aprons and two coal
scuttles from the hand-loom shop to the
second resting-place. That my father was
one of the founders of the first library in his
native town, and that I have been fortunate
enough to be the founder of the last one, is
certainly to me one of the most interesting
incidents of my life. I have said often, in
public speeches, that I had never heard of
a lineage for which I would exchange that
of a library-founding weaver.[16] I
followed my father in library founding
unknowingly--I am tempted almost to say
providentially--and it has been a source of
intense satisfaction to me. Such a father as
mine was a guide to be followed--one of
the sweetest, purest, and kindest natures I
have ever known.
[Footnote 16: "It's a God's mercy we are all
from honest weavers; let us pity those who
haven't ancestors of whom they can be
proud, dukes or duchesses though they
be." (_Our Coaching Trip_, by Andrew
Carnegie. New York, 1882.)]

I have stated that it was the theater which

first stimulated my love for Shakespeare.
In my messenger days the old Pittsburgh
Theater was in its glory under the charge
of Mr. Foster. His telegraphic business was
done free, and the telegraph operators
were given free admission to the theater in
return. This privilege extended in some
degree also to the messengers, who, I fear,
sometimes withheld telegrams that arrived
for him in the late afternoon until they
could be presented at the door of the
theater in the evening, with the timid
request that the messenger might be
allowed to slip upstairs to the second
tier--a request which was always granted.
The boys exchanged duties to give each
the coveted entrance in turn.

In this way I became acquainted with the

world that lay behind the green curtain.
The plays, generally, were of the
spectacular order; without much literary
merit, but well calculated to dazzle the eye
of a youth of fifteen. Not only had I never
seen anything so grand, but I had never
seen anything of the kind. I had never
been in a theater, or even a concert room,
or seen any form of public amusement. It
was much the same with "Davy" McCargo,
"Harry" Oliver, and "Bob" Pitcairn. We all
fell under the fascination of the footlights,
and every opportunity to attend the theater
was eagerly embraced.

A change in my tastes came when "Gust"

Adams,[17] one of the most celebrated
tragedians of the day, began to play in
Pittsburgh a round of Shakespearean
characters. Thenceforth there was nothing
for me but Shakespeare. I seemed to be
able to memorize him almost without
effort. Never before had I realized what
magic lay in words. The rhythm and the
melody all seemed to find a resting-place
in me, to melt into a solid mass which lay
ready to come at call. It was a new
language and its appreciation I certainly
owe to dramatic representation, for, until I
saw "Macbeth" played, my interest in
Shakespeare was not aroused. I had not
read the plays.

[Footnote 17: Edwin Adams.]

At a much later date, Wagner was

revealed to me in "Lohengrin." I had heard
at the Academy of Music in New York, little
or nothing by him when the overture to
"Lohengrin" thrilled me as a new
revelation. Here was a genius, indeed,
differing from all before, a new ladder
upon which to climb upward--like
Shakespeare, a new friend.

I may speak here of another matter which

belongs to this same period. A few
persons in Allegheny--probably not above
a hundred in all--had formed themselves
into a Swedenborgian Society, in which
our American relatives were prominent.
My father attended that church after
leaving the Presbyterian, and, of course, I
was taken there. My mother, however,
took no interest in Swedenborg. Although
always inculcating respect for all forms of
religion, and discouraging theological
disputes, she maintained for herself a
marked reserve. Her position might best
be defined by the celebrated maxim of
Confucius: "To perform the duties of this
life well, troubling not about another, is the
prime wisdom."

She encouraged her boys to attend church

and Sunday school; but there was no
difficulty in seeing that the writings of
Swedenborg, and much of the Old and
New Testaments had been discredited by
her as unworthy of divine authorship or of
acceptance as authoritative guides for the
conduct of life. I became deeply interested
in the mysterious doctrines of
Swedenborg, and received the
congratulations of my devout Aunt Aitken
upon my ability to expound "spiritual
sense." That dear old woman fondly
looked forward to a time when I should
become a shining light in the New
Jerusalem, and I know it was sometimes
not beyond the bounds of her imagination
that I might blossom into what she called a
"preacher of the Word."
As I more and more wandered from
man-made theology these fond hopes
weakened, but my aunt's interest in and
affection for her first nephew, whom she
had dandled on her knee in Scotland,
never waned. My cousin, Leander Morris,
whom she had some hopes of saving
through the Swedenborgian revelation,
grievously disappointed her by actually
becoming a Baptist and being dipped. This
was too much for the evangelist, although
she should have remembered her father
passed through that same experience and
often preached for the Baptists in
Edinburgh.

Leander's reception upon his first call after

his fall was far from cordial. He was made
aware that the family record had suffered
by his backsliding when at the very portals
of the New Jerusalem revealed by
Swedenborg and presented to him by one
of the foremost disciples--his aunt. He
began deprecatingly:

"Why are you so hard on me, aunt? Look at

Andy, he is not a member of any church
and you don't scold him. Surely the Baptist
Church is better than none."

The quick reply came:

"Andy! Oh! Andy, he's naked, but you are

clothed in rags."

He never quite regained his standing with

dear Aunt Aitken. I might yet be reformed,
being unattached; but Leander had chosen
a sect and that sect not of the New
Jerusalem.

It was in connection with the

Swedenborgian Society that a taste for
music was first aroused in me. As an
appendix to the hymn-book of the society
there were short selections from the
oratorios. I fastened instinctively upon
these, and although denied much of a
voice, yet credited with "expression," I
was a constant attendant upon choir
practice. The leader, Mr. Koethen, I have
reason to believe, often pardoned the
discords I produced in the choir because
of my enthusiasm in the cause. When, at a
later date, I became acquainted with the
oratorios in full, it was a pleasure to find
that several of those considered in musical
circles as the gems of Handel's musical
compositions were the ones that I as an
ignorant boy had chosen as favorites. So
the beginning of my musical education
dates from the small choir of the
Swedenborgian Society of Pittsburgh.

I must not, however, forget that a very

good foundation was laid for my love of
sweet sounds in the unsurpassed
minstrelsy of my native land as sung by my
father. There was scarcely an old Scottish
song with which I was not made familiar,
both words and tune. Folk-songs are the
best possible foundation for sure progress
to the heights of Beethoven and Wagner.
My father being one of the sweetest and
most pathetic singers I ever heard, I
probably inherited his love of music and of
song, though not given his voice.
Confucius' exclamation often sounds in my
ears: "Music, sacred tongue of God! I hear
thee calling and I come."

An incident of this same period exhibits

the liberality of my parents in another
matter. As a messenger boy I had no
holidays, with the exception of two weeks
given me in the summer-time, which I
spent boating on the river with cousins at
my uncle's at East Liverpool, Ohio. I was
very fond of skating, and in the winter
about which I am speaking, the slack water
of the river opposite our house was
beautifully frozen over. The ice was in
splendid condition, and reaching home
late Saturday night the question arose
whether I might be permitted to rise early
in the morning and go skating before
church hours. No question of a more
serious character could have been
submitted to ordinary Scottish parents. My
mother was clear on the subject, that in the
circumstances I should be allowed to skate
as long as I liked. My father said he
believed it was right I should go down and
skate, but he hoped I would be back in
time to go with him to church.

I suppose this decision would be arrived at

to-day by nine hundred and ninety-nine
out of every thousand homes in America,
and probably also in the majority of homes
in England, though not in Scotland. But
those who hold to-day that the Sabbath in
its fullest sense was made for man, and
who would open picture galleries and
museums to the public, and make the day
somewhat of a day of enjoyment for the
masses instead of pressing upon them the
duty of mourning over sins largely
imaginary, are not more advanced than
were my parents forty years ago. They
were beyond the orthodox of the period
when it was scarcely permissible, at least
among the Scotch, to take a walk for
pleasure or read any but religious books
on the Sabbath.
CHAPTER V

THE TELEGRAPH OFFICE

I had served as messenger about a year,

when Colonel John P. Glass, the manager
of the downstairs office, who came in
contact with the public, began selecting
me occasionally to watch the office for a
few minutes during his absence. As Mr.
Glass was a highly popular man, and had
political aspirations, these periods of
absence became longer and more
frequent, so that I soon became an adept in
his branch of the work. I received
messages from the public and saw that
those that came from the operating-room
were properly assigned to the boys for
prompt delivery.

This was a trying position for a boy to fill,

and at that time I was not popular with the
other boys, who resented my exemption
from part of my legitimate work. I was also
taxed with being penurious in my
habits--mean, as the boys had it. I did not
spend my extra dimes, but they knew not
the reason. Every penny that I could save I
knew was needed at home. My parents
were wise and nothing was withheld from
me. I knew every week the receipts of
each of the three who were working--my
father, my mother, and myself. I also knew
all the expenditures. We consulted upon
the additions that could be made to our
scanty stock of furniture and clothing and
every new small article obtained was a
source of joy. There never was a family
more united.

Day by day, as mother could spare a silver

half-dollar, it was carefully placed in a
stocking and hid until two hundred were
gathered, when I obtained a draft to repay
the twenty pounds so generously lent to us
by her friend Mrs. Henderson. That was a
day we celebrated. The Carnegie family
was free from debt. Oh, the happiness of
that day! The debt was, indeed,
discharged, but the debt of gratitude
remains that never can be paid. Old Mrs.
Henderson lives to-day. I go to her house
as to a shrine, to see her upon my visits to
Dunfermline; and whatever happens she
can never be forgotten. [As I read these
lines, written some years ago, I moan,
"Gone, gone with the others!" Peace to the
ashes of a dear, good, noble friend of my
mother's.]

The incident in my messenger life which at

once lifted me to the seventh heaven,
occurred one Saturday evening when
Colonel Glass was paying the boys their
month's wages. We stood in a row before
the counter, and Mr. Glass paid each one
in turn. I was at the head and reached out
my hand for the first eleven and a quarter
dollars as they were pushed out by Mr.
Glass. To my surprise he pushed them past
me and paid the next boy. I thought it was
a mistake, for I had heretofore been paid
first, but it followed in turn with each of the
other boys. My heart began to sink within
me. Disgrace seemed coming. What had I
done or not done? I was about to be told
that there was no more work for me. I was
to disgrace the family. That was the
keenest pang of all. When all had been
paid and the boys were gone, Mr. Glass
took me behind the counter and said that I
was worth more than the other boys, and
he had resolved to pay me thirteen and a
half dollars a month.

My head swam; I doubted whether I had

heard him correctly. He counted out the
money. I don't know whether I thanked
him; I don't believe I did. I took it and
made one bound for the door and scarcely
stopped until I got home. I remember
distinctly running or rather bounding from
end to end of the bridge across the
Allegheny River--inside on the wagon
track because the foot-walk was too
narrow. It was Saturday night. I handed
over to mother, who was the treasurer of
the family, the eleven dollars and a quarter
and said nothing about the remaining two
dollars and a quarter in my pocket--worth
more to me then than all the millions I have
made since.

Tom, a little boy of nine, and myself slept

in the attic together, and after we were
safely in bed I whispered the secret to my
dear little brother. Even at his early age he
knew what it meant, and we talked over
the future. It was then, for the first time, I
sketched to him how we would go into
business together; that the firm of
"Carnegie Brothers" would be a great one,
and that father and mother should yet ride
in their carriage. At the time that seemed
to us to embrace everything known as
wealth and most of what was worth striving
for. The old Scotch woman, whose
daughter married a merchant in London,
being asked by her son-in-law to come to
London and live near them, promising she
should "ride in her carriage," replied:

"What good could it do me to ride in a

carriage gin I could na be seen by the folk
in Strathbogie?" Father and mother would
not only be seen in Pittsburgh, but should
visit Dunfermline, their old home, in style.

On Sunday morning with father, mother,

and Tom at breakfast, I produced the extra
two dollars and a quarter. The surprise
was great and it took some moments for
them to grasp the situation, but it soon
dawned upon them. Then father's glance of
loving pride and mother's blazing eye
soon wet with tears, told their feeling. It
was their boy's first triumph and proof
positive that he was worthy of promotion.
No subsequent success, or recognition of
any kind, ever thrilled me as this did. I
cannot even imagine one that could. Here
was heaven upon earth. My whole world
was moved to tears of joy.

Having to sweep out the operating-room in

the mornings, the boys had an opportunity
of practicing upon the telegraph
instruments before the operators arrived.
This was a new chance. I soon began to
play with the key and to talk with the boys
who were at the other stations who had
like purposes to my own. Whenever one
learns to do anything he has never to wait
long for an opportunity of putting his
knowledge to use.

One morning I heard the Pittsburgh call

given with vigor. It seemed to me I could
divine that some one wished greatly to
communicate. I ventured to answer, and
let the slip run. It was Philadelphia that
wanted to send "a death message" to
Pittsburgh immediately. Could I take it? I
replied that I would try if they would send
slowly. I succeeded in getting the message
and ran out with it. I waited anxiously for
Mr. Brooks to come in, and told him what I
had dared to do. Fortunately, he
appreciated it and complimented me,
instead of scolding me for my temerity; yet
dismissing me with the admonition to be
very careful and not to make mistakes. It
was not long before I was called
sometimes to watch the instrument, while
the operator wished to be absent, and in
this way I learned the art of telegraphy.

We were blessed at this time with a rather

indolent operator, who was only too glad
to have me do his work. It was then the
practice for us to receive the messages on
a running slip of paper, from which the
operator read to a copyist, but rumors had
reached us that a man in the West had
learned to read by sound and could really
take a message by ear. This led me to
practice the new method. One of the
operators in the office, Mr. Maclean,
became expert at it, and encouraged me
by his success. I was surprised at the ease
with which I learned the new language.
One day, desiring to take a message in the
absence of the operator, the old
gentleman who acted as copyist resented
my presumption and refused to "copy" for
a messenger boy. I shut off the paper slip,
took pencil and paper and began taking
the message by ear. I shall never forget his
surprise. He ordered me to give him back
his pencil and pad, and after that there was
never any difficulty between dear old
Courtney Hughes and myself. He was my
devoted friend and copyist.

Soon after this incident Joseph Taylor, the

operator at Greensburg, thirty miles from
Pittsburgh, wishing to be absent for two
weeks, asked Mr. Brooks if he could not
send some one to take his place. Mr.
Brooks called me and asked whether I
thought I could do the work. I replied at
once in the affirmative.

"Well," he said, "we will send you out there

for a trial."

I went out in the mail stage and had a most

delightful trip. Mr. David Bruce, a
well-known solicitor of Scottish ancestry,
and his sister happened to be passengers.
It was my first excursion, and my first
glimpse of the country. The hotel at
Greensburg was the first public house in
which I had ever taken a meal. I thought
the food wonderfully fine.

[Illustration: HENRY PHIPPS]

This was in 1852. Deep cuts and

embankments near Greensburg were then
being made for the Pennsylvania Railroad,
and I often walked out in the early morning
to see the work going forward, little
dreaming that I was so soon to enter the
service of that great corporation. This was
the first responsible position I had
occupied in the telegraph service, and I
was so anxious to be at hand in case I
should be needed, that one night very late
I sat in the office during a storm, not
wishing to cut off the connection. I
ventured too near the key and for my
boldness was knocked off my stool. A flash
of lightning very nearly ended my career.
After that I was noted in the office for
caution during lightning storms. I
succeeded in doing the small business at
Greensburg to the satisfaction of my
superiors, and returned to Pittsburgh
surrounded with something like a halo, so
far as the other boys were concerned.
Promotion soon came. A new operator was
wanted and Mr. Brooks telegraphed to my
afterward dear friend James D. Reid, then
general superintendent of the line, another
fine specimen of the Scotsman, and took
upon himself to recommend me as an
assistant operator. The telegram from
Louisville in reply stated that Mr. Reid
highly approved of promoting "Andy,"
provided Mr. Brooks considered him
competent. The result was that I began as a
telegraph operator at the tremendous
salary of twenty-five dollars per month,
which I thought a fortune. To Mr. Brooks
and Mr. Reid I owe my promotion from the
messenger's station to the
operating-room.[18] I was then in my
seventeenth year and had served my
apprenticeship. I was now performing a
man's part, no longer a boy's--earning a
dollar every working day.

[Footnote 18: "I liked the boy's looks, and it

was very easy to see that though he was
little he was full of spirit. He had not been
with me a month when he began to ask
whether I would teach him to telegraph. I
began to instruct him and found him an apt
pupil." (James D. Reid, _The Telegraph in
America_, New York, 1879.)

Reid was born near Dunfermline and forty

years afterwards Mr. Carnegie was able to
secure for him the appointment of United
States Consul at Dunfermline.]

The operating-room of a telegraph office is

an excellent school for a young man. He
there has to do with pencil and paper, with
composition and invention. And there my
slight knowledge of British and European
affairs soon stood me in good stead.
Knowledge is sure to prove useful in one
way or another. It always tells. The foreign
news was then received by wire from
Cape Race, and the taking of successive
"steamer news" was one of the most
notable of our duties. I liked this better
than any other branch of the work, and it
was soon tacitly assigned to me.

The lines in those days worked poorly, and

during a storm much had to be guessed at.
My guessing powers were said to be
phenomenal, and it was my favorite
diversion to fill up gaps instead of
interrupting the sender and spending
minutes over a lost word or two. This was
not a dangerous practice in regard to
foreign news, for if any undue liberties
were taken by the bold operator, they
were not of a character likely to bring him
into serious trouble. My knowledge of
foreign affairs became somewhat
extensive, especially regarding the affairs
of Britain, and my guesses were quite safe,
if I got the first letter or two right.

The Pittsburgh newspapers had each been

in the habit of sending a reporter to the
office to transcribe the press dispatches.
Later on one man was appointed for all the
papers and he suggested that multiple
copies could readily be made of the news
as received, and it was arranged that I
should make five copies of all press
dispatches for him as extra work for which
he was to pay me a dollar per week. This,
my first work for the press, yielded very
modest remuneration, to be sure; but it
made my salary thirty dollars per month,
and every dollar counted in those days.
The family was gradually gaining ground;
already future millionairedom seemed
dawning.

Another step which exercised a decided

influence over me was joining the
"Webster Literary Society" along with my
companions, the trusty five already
named. We formed a select circle and
stuck closely together. This was quite an
advantage for all of us. We had before this
formed a small debating club which met in
Mr. Phipps's father's room in which his few
journeymen shoemakers worked during
the day. Tom Miller recently alleged that I
once spoke nearly an hour and a half upon
the question, "Should the judiciary be
elected by the people?" but we must
mercifully assume his memory to be at
fault. The "Webster" was then the foremost
club in the city and proud were we to be
thought fit for membership. We had
merely been preparing ourselves in the
cobbler's room.

I know of no better mode of benefiting a

youth than joining such a club as this.
Much of my reading became such as had a
bearing on forthcoming debates and that
gave clearness and fixity to my ideas. The
self-possession I afterwards came to have
before an audience may very safely be
attributed to the experience of the
"Webster Society." My two rules for
speaking then (and now) were: Make
yourself perfectly at home before your
audience, and simply talk _to_ them, not
_at_ them. Do not try to be somebody else;
be your own self and _talk_, never "orate"
until you can't help it.
I finally became an operator by sound,
discarding printing entirely. The
accomplishment was then so rare that
people visited the office to be satisfied of
the extraordinary feat. This brought me
into such notice that when a great flood
destroyed all telegraph communication
between Steubenville and Wheeling, a
distance of twenty-five miles, I was sent to
the former town to receive the entire
business then passing between the East
and the West, and to send every hour or
two the dispatches in small boats down the
river to Wheeling. In exchange every
returning boat brought rolls of dispatches
which I wired East, and in this way for
more than a week the entire telegraphic
communication between the East and the
West _via_ Pittsburgh was maintained.

While at Steubenville I learned that my

father was going to Wheeling and
Cincinnati to sell the tablecloths he had
woven. I waited for the boat, which did not
arrive till late in the evening, and went
down to meet him. I remember how
deeply affected I was on finding that
instead of taking a cabin passage, he had
resolved not to pay the price, but to go
down the river as a deck passenger. I was
indignant that one of so fine a nature
should be compelled to travel thus. But
there was comfort in saying:

"Well, father, it will not be long before

mother and you shall ride in your
carriage."

My father was usually shy, reserved, and

keenly sensitive, very saving of praise (a
Scotch trait) lest his sons might be too
greatly uplifted; but when touched he lost
his self-control. He was so upon this
occasion, and grasped my hand with a
look which I often see and can never
forget. He murmured slowly:

"Andra, I am proud of you."

The voice trembled and he seemed

ashamed of himself for saying so much.
The tear had to be wiped from his eye, I
fondly noticed, as he bade me good-night
and told me to run back to my office. Those
words rang in my ear and warmed my
heart for years and years. We understood
each other. How reserved the Scot is!
Where he feels most he expresses least.
Quite right. There are holy depths which it
is sacrilege to disturb. Silence is more
eloquent than words. My father was one of
the most lovable of men, beloved of his
companions, deeply religious, although
non-sectarian and non-theological, not
much of a man of the world, but a man all
over for heaven. He was kindness itself,
although reserved. Alas! he passed away
soon after returning from this Western tour
just as we were becoming able to give him
a life of leisure and comfort.

After my return to Pittsburgh it was not

long before I made the acquaintance of an
extraordinary man, Thomas A. Scott, one to
whom the term "genius" in his department
may safely be applied. He had come to
Pittsburgh as superintendent of that
division of the Pennsylvania Railroad.
Frequent telegraphic communication was
necessary between him and his superior,
Mr. Lombaert, general superintendent at
Altoona. This brought him to the telegraph
office at nights, and upon several
occasions I happened to be the operator.
One day I was surprised by one of his
assistants, with whom I was acquainted,
telling me that Mr. Scott had asked him
whether he thought that I could be
obtained as his clerk and telegraph
operator, to which this young man told me
he had replied:

"That is impossible. He is now an

operator."

But when I heard this I said at once:

"Not so fast. He can have me. I want to get

out of a mere office life. Please go and tell
him so."

The result was I was engaged February 1,

1853, at a salary of thirty-five dollars a
month as Mr. Scott's clerk and operator. A
raise in wages from twenty-five to
thirty-five dollars per month was the
greatest I had ever known. The public
telegraph line was temporarily put into Mr.
Scott's office at the outer depot and the
Pennsylvania Railroad Company was given
permission to use the wire at seasons when
such use would not interfere with the
general public business, until their own
line, then being built, was completed.
CHAPTER VI

RAILROAD SERVICE

From the operating-room of the telegraph

office I had now stepped into the open
world, and the change at first was far from
agreeable. I had just reached my
eighteenth birthday, and I do not see how
it could be possible for any boy to arrive at
that age much freer from a knowledge of
anything but what was pure and good. I do
not believe, up to that time, I had ever
spoken a bad word in my life and seldom
heard one. I knew nothing of the base and
the vile. Fortunately I had always been
brought in contact with good people.

I was now plunged at once into the

company of coarse men, for the office was
temporarily only a portion of the shops and
the headquarters for the freight
conductors, brakemen, and firemen. All of
them had access to the same room with
Superintendent Scott and myself, and they
availed themselves of it. This was a
different world, indeed, from that to which
I had been accustomed. I was not happy
about it. I ate, necessarily, of the fruit of the
tree of knowledge of good and evil for the
first time. But there were still the sweet and
pure surroundings of home, where nothing
coarse or wicked ever entered, and
besides, there was the world in which I
dwelt with my companions, all of them
refined young men, striving to improve
themselves and become respected
citizens. I passed through this phase of my
life detesting what was foreign to my
nature and my early education. The
experience with coarse men was probably
beneficial because it gave me a "scunner"
(disgust), to use a Scotism, at chewing or
smoking tobacco, also at swearing or the
use of improper language, which
fortunately remained with me through life.

I do not wish to suggest that the men of

whom I have spoken were really degraded
or bad characters. The habit of swearing,
with coarse talk, chewing and smoking
tobacco, and snuffing were more prevalent
then than to-day and meant less than in this
age. Railroading was new, and many
rough characters were attracted to it from
the river service. But many of the men
were fine young fellows who have lived to
be highly respectable citizens and to
occupy responsible positions. And I must
say that one and all of them were most
kind to me. Many are yet living from whom
I hear occasionally and regard with
affection. A change came at last when Mr.
Scott had his own office which he and I
occupied.
I was soon sent by Mr. Scott to Altoona to
get the monthly pay-rolls and checks. The
railroad line was not completed over the
Allegheny Mountains at that time, and I
had to pass over the inclined planes which
made the journey a remarkable one to me.
Altoona was then composed of a few
houses built by the company. The shops
were under construction and there was
nothing of the large city which now
occupies the site. It was there that I saw for
the first time the great man in our railroad
field--Mr. Lombaert, general
superintendent. His secretary at that time
was my friend, Robert Pitcairn, for whom I
had obtained a situation on the railroad, so
that "Davy," "Bob," and "Andy" were still
together in the same service. We had all
left the telegraph company for the
Pennsylvania Railroad Company.
Mr. Lombaert was very different from Mr.
Scott; he was not sociable, but rather stern
and unbending. Judge then of Robert's
surprise, and my own, when, after saying a
few words to me, Mr. Lombaert added:
"You must come down and take tea with us
to-night." I stammered out something of
acceptance and awaited the appointed
hour with great trepidation. Up to this time
I considered that invitation the greatest
honor I had received. Mrs. Lombaert was
exceedingly kind, and Mr. Lombaert's
introduction of me to her was: "This is Mr.
Scott's 'Andy.'" I was very proud indeed of
being recognized as belonging to Mr.
Scott.

An incident happened on this trip which

might have blasted my career for a time. I
started next morning for Pittsburgh with
the pay-rolls and checks, as I thought,
securely placed under my waistcoat, as it
was too large a package for my pockets. I
was a very enthusiastic railroader at that
time and preferred riding upon the
engine. I got upon the engine that took me
to Hollidaysburg where the State railroad
over the mountain was joined up. It was a
very rough ride, indeed, and at one place,
uneasily feeling for the pay-roll package, I
was horrified to find that the jolting of the
train had shaken it out. I had lost it!

There was no use in disguising the fact that

such a failure would ruin me. To have been
sent for the pay-rolls and checks and to
lose the package, which I should have
"grasped as my honor," was a dreadful
showing. I called the engineer and told
him it must have been shaken out within
the last few miles. Would he reverse his
engine and run back for it? Kind soul, he
did so. I watched the line, and on the very
banks of a large stream, within a few feet
of the water, I saw that package lying. I
could scarcely believe my eyes. I ran
down and grasped it. It was all right. Need
I add that it never passed out of my firm
grasp again until it was safe in Pittsburgh?
The engineer and fireman were the only
persons who knew of my carelessness, and
I had their assurance that it would not be
told.

It was long after the event that I ventured

to tell the story. Suppose that package had
fallen just a few feet farther away and been
swept down by the stream, how many
years of faithful service would it have
required upon my part to wipe out the
effect of that one piece of carelessness! I
could no longer have enjoyed the
confidence of those whose confidence was
essential to success had fortune not
favored me. I have never since believed in
being too hard on a young man, even if he
does commit a dreadful mistake or two;
and I have always tried in judging such to
remember the difference it would have
made in my own career but for an accident
which restored to me that lost package at
the edge of the stream a few miles from
Hollidaysburg. I could go straight to the
very spot to-day, and often as I passed
over that line afterwards I never failed to
see that light-brown package lying upon
the bank. It seemed to be calling:

"All right, my boy! the good gods were

with you, but don't do it again!"

At an early age I became a strong

anti-slavery partisan and hailed with
enthusiasm the first national meeting of the
Republican Party in Pittsburgh, February
22, 1856, although too young to vote. I
watched the prominent men as they
walked the streets, lost in admiration for
Senators Wilson, Hale, and others. Some
time before I had organized among the
railroad men a club of a hundred for the
"New York Weekly Tribune," and ventured
occasionally upon short notes to the great
editor, Horace Greeley, who did so much
to arouse the people to action upon this
vital question.

The first time I saw my work in type in the

then flaming organ of freedom certainly
marked a stage in my career. I kept that
"Tribune" for years. Looking back to-day
one cannot help regretting so high a price
as the Civil War had to be paid to free our
land from the curse, but it was not slavery
alone that needed abolition. The loose
Federal system with State rights so
prominent would inevitably have
prevented, or at least long delayed, the
formation of one solid, all-powerful,
central government. The tendency under
the Southern idea was centrifugal. To-day
it is centripetal, all drawn toward the
center under the sway of the Supreme
Court, the decisions of which are, very
properly, half the dicta of lawyers and half
the work of statesmen. Uniformity in many
fields must be secured. Marriage, divorce,
bankruptcy, railroad supervision, control
of corporations, and some other
departments should in some measure be
brought under one head. [Re-reading this
paragraph to-day, July, 1907, written many
years ago, it seems prophetic. These are
now burning questions.]

It was not long after this that the railroad

company constructed its own telegraph
line. We had to supply it with operators.
Most of these were taught in our offices at
Pittsburgh. The telegraph business
continued to increase with startling
rapidity. We could scarcely provide
facilities fast enough. New telegraph
offices were required. My fellow
messenger-boy, "Davy" McCargo, I
appointed superintendent of the telegraph
department March 11, 1859. I have been
told that "Davy" and myself are entitled to
the credit of being the first to employ
young women as telegraph operators in
the United States upon railroads, or
perhaps in any branch. At all events, we
placed girls in various offices as pupils,
taught and then put them in charge of
offices as occasion required. Among the
first of these was my cousin, Miss Maria
Hogan. She was the operator at the freight
station in Pittsburgh, and with her were
placed successive pupils, her office
becoming a school. Our experience was
that young women operators were more to
be relied upon than young men. Among all
the new occupations invaded by women I
do not know of any better suited for them
than that of telegraph operator.

Mr. Scott was one of the most delightful

superiors that anybody could have and I
soon became warmly attached to him. He
was my great man and all the hero worship
that is inherent in youth I showered upon
him. I soon began placing him in
imagination in the presidency of the great
Pennsylvania Railroad--a position which he
afterwards attained. Under him I gradually
performed duties not strictly belonging to
my department and I can attribute my
decided advancement in the service to
one well-remembered incident.

The railway was a single line. Telegraph

orders to trains often became necessary,
although it was not then a regular practice
to run trains by telegraph. No one but the
superintendent himself was permitted to
give a train order on any part of the
Pennsylvania system, or indeed of any
other system, I believe, at that time. It was
then a dangerous expedient to give
telegraphic orders, for the whole system of
railway management was still in its
infancy, and men had not yet been trained
for it. It was necessary for Mr. Scott to go
out night after night to break-downs or
wrecks to superintend the clearing of the
line. He was necessarily absent from the
office on many mornings.

One morning I reached the office and

found that a serious accident on the
Eastern Division had delayed the express
passenger train westward, and that the
passenger train eastward was proceeding
with a flagman in advance at every curve.
The freight trains in both directions were
all standing still upon the sidings. Mr. Scott
was not to be found. Finally I could not
resist the temptation to plunge in, take the
responsibility, give "train orders," and set
matters going. "Death or Westminster
Abbey," flashed across my mind. I knew it
was dismissal, disgrace, perhaps criminal
punishment for me if I erred. On the other
hand, I could bring in the wearied
freight-train men who had lain out all
night. I could set everything in motion. I
knew I could. I had often done it in wiring
Mr. Scott's orders. I knew just what to do,
and so I began. I gave the orders in his
name, started every train, sat at the
instrument watching every tick, carried
the trains along from station to station, took
extra precautions, and had everything
running smoothly when Mr. Scott at last
reached the office. He had heard of the
delays. His first words were:

"Well! How are matters?"

He came to my side quickly, grasped his

pencil and began to write his orders. I had
then to speak, and timidly said:

"Mr. Scott, I could not find you anywhere

and I gave these orders in your name early
this morning."

"Are they going all right? Where is the

Eastern Express?"

I showed him the messages and gave him

the position of every train on the
line--freights, ballast trains,
everything--showed him the answers of
the various conductors, the latest reports
at the stations where the various trains had
passed. All was right. He looked in my face
for a second. I scarcely dared look in his. I
did not know what was going to happen.
He did not say one word, but again looked
carefully over all that had taken place. Still
he said nothing. After a little he moved
away from my desk to his own, and that
was the end of it. He was afraid to approve
what I had done, yet he had not censured
me. If it came out all right, it was all right; if
it came out all wrong, the responsibility
was mine. So it stood, but I noticed that he
came in very regularly and in good time
for some mornings after that.

Of course I never spoke to any one about

it. None of the trainmen knew that Mr. Scott
had not personally given the orders. I had
almost made up my mind that if the like
occurred again, I would not repeat my
proceeding of that morning unless I was
authorized to do so. I was feeling rather
distressed about what I had done until I
heard from Mr. Franciscus, who was then
in charge of the freighting department at
Pittsburgh, that Mr. Scott, the evening after
the memorable morning, had said to him:
"Do you know what that little white-haired
Scotch devil of mine did?"

"No."

"I'm blamed if he didn't run every train on

the division in my name without the
slightest authority."

"And did he do it all right?" asked

Franciscus.

"Oh, yes, all right."

This satisfied me. Of course I had my cue

for the next occasion, and went boldly in.
From that date it was very seldom that Mr.
Scott gave a train order.

[Illustration: THOMAS A. SCOTT]

[Illustration: JOHN EDGAR THOMSON]

The greatest man of all on my horizon at
this time was John Edgar Thomson,
president of the Pennsylvania, and for
whom our steel-rail mills were afterward
named. He was the most reserved and
silent of men, next to General Grant, that I
ever knew, although General Grant was
more voluble when at home with friends.
He walked about as if he saw nobody when
he made his periodical visits to Pittsburgh.
This reserve I learned afterwards was
purely the result of shyness. I was
surprised when in Mr. Scott's office he
came to the telegraph instrument and
greeted me as "Scott's Andy." But I learned
afterwards that he had heard of my
train-running exploit. The battle of life is
already half won by the young man who is
brought personally in contact with high
officials; and the great aim of every boy
should be to do something beyond the
sphere of his duties--something which
attracts the attention of those over him.

Some time after this Mr. Scott wished to

travel for a week or two and asked
authority from Mr. Lombaert to leave me in
charge of the division. Pretty bold man he
was, for I was then not very far out of my
teens. It was granted. Here was the
coveted opportunity of my life. With the
exception of one accident caused by the
inexcusable negligence of a ballast-train
crew, everything went well in his absence.
But that this accident should occur was gall
and wormwood to me. Determined to fulfill
all the duties of the station I held a
court-martial, examined those concerned,
dismissed peremptorily the chief offender,
and suspended two others for their share
in the catastrophe. Mr. Scott after his
return of course was advised of the
accident, and proposed to investigate and
deal with the matter. I felt I had gone too
far, but having taken the step, I informed
him that all that had been settled. I had
investigated the matter and punished the
guilty. Some of these appealed to Mr. Scott
for a reopening of the case, but this I never
could have agreed to, had it been pressed.
More by look I think than by word Mr.
Scott understood my feelings upon this
delicate point, and acquiesced.

It is probable he was afraid I had been too

severe and very likely he was correct.
Some years after this, when I, myself, was
superintendent of the division I always had
a soft spot in my heart for the men then
suspended for a time. I had felt qualms of
conscience about my action in this, my first
court. A new judge is very apt to stand so
straight as really to lean a little backward.
Only experience teaches the supreme
force of gentleness. Light but certain
punishment, when necessary, is most
effective. Severe punishments are not
needed and a judicious pardon, for the
first offense at least, is often best of all.

As the half-dozen young men who

constituted our inner circle grew in
knowledge, it was inevitable that the
mysteries of life and death, the here and
the hereafter, should cross our path and
have to be grappled with. We had all been
reared by good, honest, self-respecting
parents, members of one or another of the
religious sects. Through the influence of
Mrs. McMillan, wife of one of the leading
Presbyterian ministers of Pittsburgh, we
were drawn into the social circle of her
husband's church. [As I read this on the
moors, July 16, 1912, I have before me a
note from Mrs. McMillan from London in
her eightieth year. Two of her daughters
were married in London last week to
university professors, one remains in
Britain, the other has accepted an
appointment in Boston. Eminent men both.
So draws our English-speaking race
together.] Mr. McMillan was a good strict
Calvinist of the old school, his charming
wife a born leader of the young. We were
all more at home with her and enjoyed
ourselves more at her home gatherings
than elsewhere. This led to some of us
occasionally attending her church.

A sermon of the strongest kind upon

predestination which Miller heard there
brought the subject of theology upon us
and it would not down. Mr. Miller's people
were strong Methodists, and Tom had
known little of dogmas. This doctrine of
predestination, including infant
damnation--some born to glory and others
to the opposite--appalled him. To my
astonishment I learned that, going to Mr.
McMillan after the sermon to talk over the
matter, Tom had blurted out at the finish,

"Mr. McMillan, if your idea were correct,

your God would be a perfect devil," and
left the astonished minister to himself.

This formed the subject of our Sunday

afternoon conferences for many a week.
Was that true or not, and what was to be
the consequence of Tom's declaration?
Should we no longer be welcome guests of
Mrs. McMillan? We could have spared the
minister, perhaps, but none of us relished
the idea of banishment from his wife's
delightful reunions. There was one point
clear. Carlyle's struggles over these
matters had impressed us and we could
follow him in his resolve: "If it be
incredible, in God's name let it be
discredited." It was only the truth that
could make us free, and the truth, the
whole truth, we should pursue.

Once introduced, of course, the subject

remained with us, and one after the other
the dogmas were voted down as the
mistaken ideas of men of a less
enlightened age. I forget who first started
us with a second axiom. It was one we
often dwelt upon: "A forgiving God would
be the noblest work of man." We accepted
as proven that each stage of civilization
creates its own God, and that as man
ascends and becomes better his
conception of the Unknown likewise
improves. Thereafter we all became less
theological, but I am sure more truly
religious. The crisis passed. Happily we
were not excluded from Mrs. McMillan's
society. It was a notable day, however,
when we resolved to stand by Miller's
statement, even if it involved banishment
and worse. We young men were getting to
be pretty wild boys about theology,
although more truly reverent about
religion.

The first great loss to our circle came when

John Phipps was killed by a fall from a
horse. This struck home to all of us, yet I
remember I could then say to myself: "John
has, as it were, just gone home to England
where he was born. We are all to follow
him soon and live forever together." I had
then no doubts. It was not a hope I was
pressing to my heart, but a certainty.
Happy those who in their agony have such
a refuge. We should all take Plato's advice
and never give up everlasting hope,
"alluring ourselves as with enchantments,
for the hope is noble and the reward is
great." Quite right. It would be no greater
miracle that brought us into another world
to live forever with our dearest than that
which has brought us into this one to live a
lifetime with them. Both are equally
incomprehensible to finite beings. Let us
therefore comfort ourselves with
everlasting hope, "as with enchantments,"
as Plato recommends, never forgetting,
however, that we all have our duties here
and that the kingdom of heaven is within
us. It also passed into an axiom with us that
he who proclaims there is no hereafter is
as foolish as he who proclaims there is,
since neither can know, though all may
and should hope. Meanwhile "Home our
heaven" instead of "Heaven our home" was
our motto.

During these years of which I have been

writing, the family fortunes had been
steadily improving. My thirty-five dollars a
month had grown to forty, an unsolicited
advance having been made by Mr. Scott. It
was part of my duty to pay the men every
month.[19] We used checks upon the bank
and I drew my salary invariably in two
twenty-dollar gold pieces. They seemed to
me the prettiest works of art in the world. It
was decided in family council that we
could venture to buy the lot and the two
small frame houses upon it, in one of which
we had lived, and the other, a four-roomed
house, which till then had been occupied
by my Uncle and Aunt Hogan, who had
removed elsewhere. It was through the aid
of my dear Aunt Aitken that we had been
placed in the small house above the
weaver's shop, and it was now our turn to
be able to ask her to return to the house
that formerly had been her own. In the
same way after we had occupied the
four-roomed house, Uncle Hogan having
passed away, we were able to restore Aunt
Hogan to her old home when we removed
to Altoona. One hundred dollars cash was
paid upon purchase, and the total price, as
I remember, was seven hundred dollars.
The struggle then was to make up the
semi-annual payments of interest and as
great an amount of the principal as we
could save. It was not long before the debt
was cleared off and we were
property-holders, but before that was
accomplished, the first sad break occurred
in our family, in my father's death, October
2, 1855. Fortunately for the three
remaining members life's duties were
pressing. Sorrow and duty contended and
we had to work. The expenses connected
with his illness had to be saved and paid
and we had not up to this time much store
in reserve.

[Footnote 19: "I remember well when I

used to write out the monthly pay-roll and
came to Mr. Scott's name for $125. I
wondered what he did with it all. I was
then getting thirty-five." (Andrew
Carnegie in speech at Reunion of U.S.
Military Telegraph Corps, March 28,
1907.)]

And here comes in one of the sweet

incidents of our early life in America. The
principal member of our small
Swedenborgian Society was Mr. David
McCandless. He had taken some notice of
my father and mother, but beyond a few
passing words at church on Sundays, I do
not remember that they had ever been
brought in close contact. He knew Aunt
Aitken well, however, and now sent for her
to say that if my mother required any
money assistance at this sad period he
would be very pleased to advance
whatever was necessary. He had heard
much of my heroic mother and that was
sufficient.

One gets so many kind offers of assistance

when assistance is no longer necessary, or
when one is in a position which would
probably enable him to repay a favor, that
it is delightful to record an act of pure and
disinterested benevolence. Here was a
poor Scottish woman bereft of her
husband, with her eldest son just getting a
start and a second in his early teens,
whose misfortunes appealed to this man,
and who in the most delicate manner
sought to mitigate them. Although my
mother was able to decline the proffered
aid, it is needless to say that Mr.
McCandless obtained a place in our hearts
sacred to himself. I am a firm believer in
the doctrine that people deserving
necessary assistance at critical periods in
their career usually receive it. There are
many splendid natures in the world--men
and women who are not only willing, but
anxious to stretch forth a helping hand to
those they know to be worthy. As a rule,
those who show willingness to help
themselves need not fear about obtaining
the help of others.

Father's death threw upon me the

management of affairs to a greater extent
than ever. Mother kept on the binding of
shoes; Tom went steadily to the public
school; and I continued with Mr. Scott in
the service of the railroad company. Just at
this time Fortunatus knocked at our door.
Mr. Scott asked me if I had five hundred
dollars. If so, he said he wished to make an
investment for me. Five hundred cents was
much nearer my capital. I certainly had not
fifty dollars saved for investment, but I was
not going to miss the chance of becoming
financially connected with my leader and
great man. So I said boldly I thought I
could manage that sum. He then told me
that there were ten shares of Adams
Express stock that he could buy, which
had belonged to a station agent, Mr.
Reynolds, of Wilkinsburg. Of course this
was reported to the head of the family that
evening, and she was not long in
suggesting what might be done. When did
she ever fail? We had then paid five
hundred dollars upon the house, and in
some way she thought this might be
pledged as security for a loan.

My mother took the steamer the next

morning for East Liverpool, arriving at
night, and through her brother there the
money was secured. He was a justice of the
peace, a well-known resident of that then
small town, and had numerous sums in
hand from farmers for investment. Our
house was mortgaged and mother brought
back the five hundred dollars which I
handed over to Mr. Scott, who soon
obtained for me the coveted ten shares in
return. There was, unexpectedly, an
additional hundred dollars to pay as a
premium, but Mr. Scott kindly said I could
pay that when convenient, and this of
course was an easy matter to do.

This was my first investment. In those good

old days monthly dividends were more
plentiful than now and Adams Express
paid a monthly dividend. One morning a
white envelope was lying upon my desk,
addressed in a big John Hancock hand, to
"Andrew Carnegie, Esquire." "Esquire"
tickled the boys and me inordinately. At
one corner was seen the round stamp of
Adams Express Company. I opened the
envelope. All it contained was a check for
ten dollars upon the Gold Exchange Bank
of New York. I shall remember that check
as long as I live, and that John Hancock
signature of "J.C. Babcock, Cashier." It
gave me the first penny of revenue from
capital--something that I had not worked
for with the sweat of my brow. "Eureka!" I
cried. "Here's the goose that lays the
golden eggs."

It was the custom of our party to spend

Sunday afternoons in the woods. I kept the
first check and showed it as we sat under
the trees in a favorite grove we had found
near Wood's Run. The effect produced
upon my companions was overwhelming.
None of them had imagined such an
investment possible. We resolved to save
and to watch for the next opportunity for
investment in which all of us should share,
and for years afterward we divided our
trifling investments and worked together
almost as partners.

Up to this time my circle of acquaintances

had not enlarged much. Mrs. Franciscus,
wife of our freight agent, was very kind
and on several occasions asked me to her
house in Pittsburgh. She often spoke of the
first time I rang the bell of the house in
Third Street to deliver a message from Mr.
Scott. She asked me to come in; I bashfully
declined and it required coaxing upon her
part to overcome my shyness. She was
never able for years to induce me to
partake of a meal in her house. I had great
timidity about going into other people's
houses, until late in life; but Mr. Scott
would occasionally insist upon my going to
his hotel and taking a meal with him, and
these were great occasions for me. Mr.
Franciscus's was the first considerable
house, with the exception of Mr.
Lombaert's at Altoona, I had ever entered,
as far as I recollect. Every house was
fashionable in my eyes that was upon any
one of the principal streets, provided it
had a hall entrance.

I had never spent a night in a strange

house in my life until Mr. Stokes of
Greensburg, chief counsel of the
Pennsylvania Railroad, invited me to his
beautiful home in the country to pass a
Sunday. It was an odd thing for Mr. Stokes
to do, for I could little interest a brilliant
and educated man like him. The reason for
my receiving such an honor was a
communication I had written for the
"Pittsburgh Journal." Even in my teens I
was a scribbler for the press. To be an
editor was one of my ambitions. Horace
Greeley and the "Tribune" was my ideal of
human triumph. Strange that there should
have come a day when I could have
bought the "Tribune"; but by that time the
pearl had lost its luster. Our air castles are
often within our grasp late in life, but then
they charm not.

The subject of my article was upon the

attitude of the city toward the Pennsylvania
Railroad Company. It was signed
anonymously and I was surprised to find it
got a prominent place in the columns of
the "Journal," then owned and edited by
Robert M. Riddle. I, as operator, received
a telegram addressed to Mr. Scott and
signed by Mr. Stokes, asking him to
ascertain from Mr. Riddle who the author
of that communication was. I knew that Mr.
Riddle could not tell the author, because
he did not know him; but at the same time I
was afraid that if Mr. Scott called upon him
he would hand him the manuscript, which
Mr. Scott would certainly recognize at a
glance. I therefore made a clean breast of
it to Mr. Scott and told him I was the author.
He seemed incredulous. He said he had
read it that morning and wondered who
had written it. His incredulous look did not
pass me unnoticed. The pen was getting to
be a weapon with me. Mr. Stokes's
invitation to spend Sunday with him
followed soon after, and the visit is one of
the bright spots in my life. Henceforth we
were great friends.

The grandeur of Mr. Stokes's home

impressed me, but the one feature of it that
eclipsed all else was a marble mantel in
his library. In the center of the arch,
carved in the marble, was an open book
with this inscription:

"He that cannot reason is a fool, He

that will not a bigot, He that dare not a
slave."

These noble words thrilled me. I said to

myself, "Some day, some day, I'll have a
library" (that was a look ahead) "and these
words shall grace the mantel as here." And
so they do in New York and Skibo to-day.

Another Sunday which I spent at his home

after an interval of several years was also
noteworthy. I had then become the
superintendent of the Pittsburgh Division
of the Pennsylvania Railroad. The South
had seceded. I was all aflame for the flag.
Mr. Stokes, being a leading Democrat,
argued against the right of the North to use
force for the preservation of the Union. He
gave vent to sentiments which caused me
to lose my self-control, and I exclaimed:

"Mr. Stokes, we shall be hanging men like

you in less than six weeks."

I hear his laugh as I write, and his voice

calling to his wife in the adjoining room:

"Nancy, Nancy, listen to this young Scotch

devil. He says they will be hanging men
like me in less than six weeks."

Strange things happened in those days. A

short time after, that same Mr. Stokes was
applying to me in Washington to help him
to a major's commission in the volunteer
forces. I was then in the Secretary of War's
office, helping to manage the military
railroads and telegraphs for the
Government. This appointment he secured
and ever after was Major Stokes, so that
the man who doubted the right of the North
to fight for the Union had himself drawn
sword in the good cause. Men at first
argued and theorized about Constitutional
rights. It made all the difference in the
world when the flag was fired upon. In a
moment everything was ablaze--paper
constitutions included. The Union and Old
Glory! That was all the people cared for,
but that was enough. The Constitution was
intended to insure one flag, and as Colonel
Ingersoll proclaimed: "There was not air
enough on the American continent to float
two."
CHAPTER VII

SUPERINTENDENT OF THE
PENNSYLVANIA

Mr. Scott was promoted to be the general

superintendent of the Pennsylvania
Railroad in 1856, taking Mr. Lombaert's
place; and he took me, then in my
twenty-third year, with him to Altoona. This
breaking-up of associations in Pittsburgh
was a sore trial, but nothing could be
allowed to interfere for a moment with my
business career. My mother was satisfied
upon this point, great as the strain was
upon her. Besides, "follow my leader" was
due to so true a friend as Mr. Scott had
been.

His promotion to the superintendency

gave rise to some jealousy; and besides
that, he was confronted with a strike at the
very beginning of his appointment. He had
lost his wife in Pittsburgh a short time
before and had his lonely hours. He was a
stranger in Altoona, his new headquarters,
and there was none but myself seemingly
of whom he could make a companion. We
lived for many weeks at the railway hotel
together before he took up housekeeping
and brought his children from Pittsburgh,
and at his desire I occupied the same large
bedroom with him. He seemed anxious
always to have me near him.

The strike became more and more

threatening. I remember being wakened
one night and told that the freight-train
men had left their trains at Mifflin; that the
line was blocked on this account and all
traffic stopped. Mr. Scott was then
sleeping soundly. It seemed to me a pity to
disturb him, knowing how overworked
and overanxious he was; but he awoke and
I suggested that I should go up and attend
to the matter. He seemed to murmur
assent, not being more than half awake. So
I went to the office and in his name argued
the question with the men and promised
them a hearing next day at Altoona. I
succeeded in getting them to resume their
duties and to start the traffic.

Not only were the trainmen in a rebellious

mood, but the men in the shops were
rapidly organizing to join with the
disaffected. This I learned in a curious
manner. One night, as I was walking home
in the dark, I became aware that a man was
following me. By and by he came up to me
and said:

"I must not be seen with you, but you did

me a favor once and I then resolved if ever
I could serve you I would do it. I called at
the office in Pittsburgh and asked for work
as a blacksmith. You said there was no
work then at Pittsburgh, but perhaps
employment could be had at Altoona, and
if I would wait a few minutes you would ask
by telegraph. You took the trouble to do
so, examined my recommendations, and
gave me a pass and sent me here. I have a
splendid job. My wife and family are here
and I was never so well situated in my life.
And now I want to tell you something for
your good."

I listened and he went on to say that a

paper was being rapidly signed by the
shopmen, pledging themselves to strike
on Monday next. There was no time to be
lost. I told Mr. Scott in the morning and he
at once had printed notices posted in the
shops that all men who had signed the
paper, pledging themselves to strike,
were dismissed and they should call at the
office to be paid. A list of the names of the
signers had come into our possession in
the meantime, and this fact was
announced. Consternation followed and
the threatened strike was broken.

I have had many incidents, such as that of

the blacksmith, in my life. Slight attentions
or a kind word to the humble often bring
back reward as great as it is unlooked for.
No kind action is ever lost. Even to this day
I occasionally meet men whom I had
forgotten, who recall some trifling
attention I have been able to pay them,
especially when in charge at Washington
of government railways and telegraphs
during the Civil War, when I could pass
people within the lines--a father helped to
reach a wounded or sick son at the front,
or enabled to bring home his remains, or
some similar service. I am indebted to
these trifles for some of the happiest
attentions and the most pleasing incidents
of my life. And there is this about such
actions: they are disinterested, and the
reward is sweet in proportion to the
humbleness of the individual whom you
have obliged. It counts many times more to
do a kindness to a poor working-man than
to a millionaire, who may be able some
day to repay the favor. How true
Wordsworth's lines:

"That best portion of a good man's life--

His little, nameless, unremembered acts
Of kindness and of love."

The chief happening, judged by its

consequences, of the two years I spent
with Mr. Scott at Altoona, arose from my
being the principal witness in a suit
against the company, which was being
tried at Greensburg by the brilliant Major
Stokes, my first host. It was feared that I
was about to be subpoenaed by the
plaintiff, and the Major, wishing a
postponement of the case, asked Mr. Scott
to send me out of the State as rapidly as
possible. This was a happy change for me,
as I was enabled to visit my two bosom
companions, Miller and Wilson, then in the
railway service at Crestline, Ohio. On my
way thither, while sitting on the end seat of
the rear car watching the line, a
farmer-looking man approached me. He
carried a small green bag in his hand. He
said the brakeman had informed him I was
connected with the Pennsylvania Railroad.
He wished to show me the model of a car
which he had invented for night traveling.
He took a small model out of the bag,
which showed a section of a sleeping-car.

This was the celebrated T.T. Woodruff, the

inventor of that now indispensable adjunct
of civilization--the sleeping-car. Its
importance flashed upon me. I asked him if
he would come to Altoona if I sent for him,
and I promised to lay the matter before
Mr. Scott at once upon my return. I could
not get that sleeping-car idea out of my
mind, and was most anxious to return to
Altoona that I might press my views upon
Mr. Scott. When I did so, he thought I was
taking time by the forelock, but was quite
receptive and said I might telegraph for
the patentee. He came and contracted to
place two of his cars upon the line as soon
as they could be built. After this Mr.
Woodruff, greatly to my surprise, asked
me if I would not join him in the new
enterprise and offered me an eighth
interest in the venture.

I promptly accepted his offer, trusting to

be able to make payments somehow or
other. The two cars were to be paid for by
monthly installments after delivery. When
the time came for making the first
payment, my portion was two hundred and
seventeen and a half dollars. I boldly
decided to apply to the local banker, Mr.
Lloyd, for a loan of that sum. I explained
the matter to him, and I remember that he
put his great arm (he was six feet three or
four) around me, saying:

"Why, of course I will lend it. You are all

right, Andy."

And here I made my first note, and actually

got a banker to take it. A proud moment
that in a young man's career! The
sleeping-cars were a great success and
their monthly receipts paid the monthly
installments. The first considerable sum I
made was from this source. [To-day, July
19, 1909, as I re-read this, how glad I am
that I have recently heard from Mr. Lloyd's
married daughter telling me of her father's
deep affection for me, thus making me
very happy, indeed.]

One important change in our life at

Altoona, after my mother and brother
arrived, was that, instead of continuing to
live exclusively by ourselves, it was
considered necessary that we should have
a servant. It was with the greatest
reluctance my mother could be brought to
admit a stranger into the family circle. She
had been everything and had done
everything for her two boys. This was her
life, and she resented with all a strong
woman's jealousy the introduction of a
stranger who was to be permitted to do
anything whatever in the home. She had
cooked and served her boys, washed their
clothes and mended them, made their
beds, cleaned their home. Who dare rob
her of those motherly privileges! But
nevertheless we could not escape the
inevitable servant girl. One came, and
others followed, and with these came also
the destruction of much of that genuine
family happiness which flows from
exclusiveness. Being served by others is a
poor substitute for a mother's labor of love.
The ostentatious meal prepared by a
strange cook whom one seldom sees, and
served by hands paid for the task, lacks
the sweetness of that which a mother's
hands lay before you as the expression
and proof of her devotion.

Among the manifold blessings I have to be

thankful for is that neither nurse nor
governess was my companion in infancy.
No wonder the children of the poor are
distinguished for the warmest affection
and the closest adherence to family ties
and are characterized by a filial regard far
stronger than that of those who are
mistakenly called more fortunate in life.
They have passed the impressionable
years of childhood and youth in constant
loving contact with father and mother, to
each they are all in all, no third person
coming between. The child that has in his
father a teacher, companion, and
counselor, and whose mother is to him a
nurse, seamstress, governess, teacher,
companion, heroine, and saint all in one,
has a heritage to which the child of wealth
remains a stranger.

There comes a time, although the fond

mother cannot see it, when a grown son
has to put his arms around his saint and
kissing her tenderly try to explain to her
that it would be much better were she to
let him help her in some ways; that, being
out in the world among men and dealing
with affairs, he sometimes sees changes
which it would be desirable to make; that
the mode of life delightful for young boys
should be changed in some respects and
the house made suitable for their friends to
enter. Especially should the slaving
mother live the life of ease hereafter,
reading and visiting more and entertaining
dear friends--in short, rising to her proper
and deserved position as Her Ladyship.

Of course the change was very hard upon

my mother, but she finally recognized the
necessity for it, probably realized for the
first time that her eldest son was getting
on. "Dear Mother," I pleaded, my arms still
around her, "you have done everything for
and have been everything to Tom and me,
and now do let me do something for you;
let us be partners and let us always think
what is best for each other. The time has
come for you to play the lady and some of
these days you are to ride in your
carriage; meanwhile do get that girl in to
help you. Tom and I would like this."
The victory was won, and my mother
began to go out with us and visit her
neighbors. She had not to learn
self-possession nor good manners, these
were innate; and as for education,
knowledge, rare good sense, and
kindliness, seldom was she to meet her
equal. I wrote "never" instead of "seldom"
and then struck it out. Nevertheless my
private opinion is reserved.

Life at Altoona was made more agreeable

for me through Mr. Scott's niece, Miss
Rebecca Stewart, who kept house for him.
She played the part of elder sister to me to
perfection, especially when Mr. Scott was
called to Philadelphia or elsewhere. We
were much together, often driving in the
afternoons through the woods. The
intimacy did not cease for many years, and
re-reading some of her letters in 1906 I
realized more than ever my indebtedness
to her. She was not much beyond my own
age, but always seemed a great deal
older. Certainly she was more mature and
quite capable of playing the elder sister's
part. It was to her I looked up in those days
as the perfect lady. Sorry am I our paths
parted so widely in later years. Her
daughter married the Earl of Sussex and
her home in late years has been abroad.
[July 19, 1909, Mrs. Carnegie and I found
my elder-sister friend April last, now in
widowhood, in Paris, her sister and also
her daughter all well and happy. A great
pleasure, indeed. There are no substitutes
for the true friends of youth.]

Mr. Scott remained at Altoona for about

three years when deserved promotion
came to him. In 1859 he was made
vice-president of the company, with his
office in Philadelphia. What was to become
of me was a serious question. Would he
take me with him or must I remain at
Altoona with the new official? The thought
was to me unbearable. To part with Mr.
Scott was hard enough; to serve a new
official in his place I did not believe
possible. The sun rose and set upon his
head so far as I was concerned. The
thought of my promotion, except through
him, never entered my mind.

He returned from his interview with the

president at Philadelphia and asked me to
come into the private room in his house
which communicated with the office. He
told me it had been settled that he should
remove to Philadelphia. Mr. Enoch Lewis,
the division superintendent, was to be his
successor. I listened with great interest as
he approached the inevitable disclosure as
to what he was going to do with me. He
said finally:
"Now about yourself. Do you think you
could manage the Pittsburgh Division?"

I was at an age when I thought I could

manage anything. I knew nothing that I
would not attempt, but it had never
occurred to me that anybody else, much
less Mr. Scott, would entertain the idea that
I was as yet fit to do anything of the kind
proposed. I was only twenty-four years
old, but my model then was Lord John
Russell, of whom it was said he would take
the command of the Channel Fleet
to-morrow. So would Wallace or Bruce. I
told Mr. Scott I thought I could.

"Well," he said, "Mr. Potts" (who was then

superintendent of the Pittsburgh Division)
"is to be promoted to the transportation
department in Philadelphia and I
recommended you to the president as his
successor. He agreed to give you a trial.
What salary do you think you should
have?"

"Salary," I said, quite offended; "what do I

care for salary? I do not want the salary; I
want the position. It is glory enough to go
back to the Pittsburgh Division in your
former place. You can make my salary just
what you please and you need not give me
any more than what I am getting now."

That was sixty-five dollars a month.

"You know," he said, "I received fifteen

hundred dollars a year when I was there;
and Mr. Potts is receiving eighteen
hundred. I think it would be right to start
you at fifteen hundred dollars, and after a
while if you succeed you will get the
eighteen hundred. Would that be
satisfactory?"
"Oh, please," I said, "don't speak to me of
money!"

It was not a case of mere hire and salary,

and then and there my promotion was
sealed. I was to have a department to
myself, and instead of signing "T.A.S."
orders between Pittsburgh and Altoona
would now be signed "A.C." That was
glory enough for me.

The order appointing me superintendent

of the Pittsburgh Division was issued
December 1, 1859. Preparations for
removing the family were made at once.
The change was hailed with joy, for
although our residence in Altoona had
many advantages, especially as we had a
large house with some ground about it in a
pleasant part of the suburbs and therefore
many of the pleasures of country life, all
these did not weigh as a feather in the
scale as against the return to old friends
and associations in dirty, smoky
Pittsburgh. My brother Tom had learned
telegraphy during his residence in Altoona
and he returned with me and became my
secretary.

The winter following my appointment was

one of the most severe ever known. The
line was poorly constructed, the
equipment inefficient and totally
inadequate for the business that was
crowding upon it. The rails were laid upon
huge blocks of stone, cast-iron chairs for
holding the rails were used, and I have
known as many as forty-seven of these to
break in one night. No wonder the wrecks
were frequent. The superintendent of a
division in those days was expected to run
trains by telegraph at night, to go out and
remove all wrecks, and indeed to do
everything. At one time for eight days I
was constantly upon the line, day and
night, at one wreck or obstruction after
another. I was probably the most
inconsiderate superintendent that ever
was entrusted with the management of a
great property, for, never knowing fatigue
myself, being kept up by a sense of
responsibility probably, I overworked the
men and was not careful enough in
considering the limits of human
endurance. I have always been able to
sleep at any time. Snatches of half an hour
at intervals during the night in a dirty
freight car were sufficient.

The Civil War brought such extraordinary

demands on the Pennsylvania line that I
was at last compelled to organize a night
force; but it was with difficulty I obtained
the consent of my superiors to entrust the
charge of the line at night to a train
dispatcher. Indeed, I never did get their
unequivocal authority to do so, but upon
my own responsibility I appointed perhaps
the first night train dispatcher that ever
acted in America--at least he was the first
upon the Pennsylvania system.

Upon our return to Pittsburgh in 1860 we

rented a house in Hancock Street, now
Eighth Street, and resided there for a year
or more. Any accurate description of
Pittsburgh at that time would be set down
as a piece of the grossest exaggeration.
The smoke permeated and penetrated
everything. If you placed your hand on the
balustrade of the stair it came away black;
if you washed face and hands they were as
dirty as ever in an hour. The soot gathered
in the hair and irritated the skin, and for a
time after our return from the mountain
atmosphere of Altoona, life was more or
less miserable. We soon began to
consider how we could get to the country,
and fortunately at that time Mr. D.A.
Stewart, then freight agent for the
company, directed our attention to a house
adjoining his residence at Homewood. We
moved there at once and the telegraph
was brought in, which enabled me to
operate the division from the house when
necessary.

Here a new life was opened to us. There

were country lanes and gardens in
abundance. Residences had from five to
twenty acres of land about them. The
Homewood Estate was made up of many
hundreds of acres, with beautiful woods
and glens and a running brook. We, too,
had a garden and a considerable extent of
ground around our house. The happiest
years of my mother's life were spent here
among her flowers and chickens and the
surroundings of country life. Her love of
flowers was a passion. She was scarcely
ever able to gather a flower. Indeed I
remember she once reproached me for
pulling up a weed, saying "it was
something green." I have inherited this
peculiarity and have often walked from the
house to the gate intending to pull a flower
for my button-hole and then left for town
unable to find one I could destroy.

With this change to the country came a

whole host of new acquaintances. Many of
the wealthy families of the district had their
residences in this delightful suburb. It was,
so to speak, the aristocratic quarter. To the
entertainments at these great houses the
young superintendent was invited. The
young people were musical and we had
musical evenings a plenty. I heard
subjects discussed which I had never
known before, and I made it a rule when I
heard these to learn something about them
at once. I was pleased every day to feel
that I was learning something new.

It was here that I first met the Vandevort

brothers, Benjamin and John. The latter
was my traveling-companion on various
trips which I took later in life. "Dear
Vandy" appears as my chum in "Round the
World." Our neighbors, Mr. and Mrs.
Stewart, became more and more dear to
us, and the acquaintance we had before
ripened into lasting friendship. One of my
pleasures is that Mr. Stewart subsequently
embarked in business with us and became
a partner, as "Vandy" did also. Greatest of
all the benefits of our new home, however,
was making the acquaintance of the
leading family of Western Pennsylvania,
that of the Honorable Judge Wilkins. The
Judge was then approaching his eightieth
year, tall, slender, and handsome, in full
possession of all his faculties, with a
courtly grace of manner, and the most
wonderful store of knowledge and
reminiscence of any man I had yet been
privileged to meet. His wife, the daughter
of George W. Dallas, Vice-President of the
United States, has ever been my type of
gracious womanhood in age--the most
beautiful, most charming venerable old
lady I ever knew or saw. Her daughter,
Miss Wilkins, with her sister, Mrs.
Saunders, and her children resided in the
stately mansion at Homewood, which was
to the surrounding district what the
baronial hall in Britain is or should be to its
district--the center of all that was cultured,
refined, and elevating.

To me it was especially pleasing that I

seemed to be a welcome guest there.
Musical parties, charades, and theatricals
in which Miss Wilkins took the leading
parts furnished me with another means of
self-improvement. The Judge himself was
the first man of historical note whom I had
ever known. I shall never forget the
impression it made upon me when in the
course of conversation, wishing to
illustrate a remark, he said: "President
Jackson once said to me," or, "I told the
Duke of Wellington so and so." The Judge
in his earlier life (1834) had been Minister
to Russia under Jackson, and in the same
easy way spoke of his interview with the
Czar. It seemed to me that I was touching
history itself. The house was a new
atmosphere, and my intercourse with the
family was a powerful stimulant to the
desire for improvement of my own mind
and manners.

The only subject upon which there was

always a decided, though silent,
antagonism between the Wilkins family
and myself was politics. I was an ardent
Free-Soiler in days when to be an
abolitionist was somewhat akin to being a
republican in Britain. The Wilkinses were
strong Democrats with leanings toward the
South, being closely connected with
leading Southern families. On one
occasion at Homewood, on entering the
drawing-room, I found the family excitedly
conversing about a terrible incident that
had recently occurred.

"What do you think!" said Mrs. Wilkins to

me; "Dallas" (her grandson) "writes me
that he has been compelled by the
commandant of West Point to sit next a
negro! Did you ever hear the like of that?
Is it not disgraceful? Negroes admitted to
West Point!"

"Oh!" I said, "Mrs. Wilkins, there is

something even worse than that. I
understand that some of them have been
admitted to heaven!"

There was a silence that could be felt.

Then dear Mrs. Wilkins said gravely:

"That is a different matter, Mr. Carnegie."

By far the most precious gift ever received

by me up to that time came about in this
manner. Dear Mrs. Wilkins began knitting
an afghan, and during the work many were
the inquiries as to whom it was for. No, the
dear queenly old lady would not tell; she
kept her secret all the long months until,
Christmas drawing near, the gift finished
and carefully wrapped up, and her card
with a few loving words enclosed, she
instructed her daughter to address it to
me. It was duly received in New York.
Such a tribute from such a lady! Well, that
afghan, though often shown to dear
friends, has not been much used. It is
sacred to me and remains among my
precious possessions.

I had been so fortunate as to meet Leila

Addison while living in Pittsburgh, the
talented daughter of Dr. Addison, who had
died a short time before. I soon became
acquainted with the family and record with
grateful feelings the immense advantage
which that acquaintance also brought to
me. Here was another friendship formed
with people who had all the advantages of
the higher education. Carlyle had been
Mrs. Addison's tutor for a time, for she was
an Edinburgh lady. Her daughters had
been educated abroad and spoke French,
Spanish, and Italian as fluently as English.
It was through intercourse with this family
that I first realized the indescribable yet
immeasurable gulf that separates the
highly educated from people like myself.
But "the wee drap o' Scotch bluid atween
us" proved its potency as usual.

Miss Addison became an ideal friend

because she undertook to improve the
rough diamond, if it were indeed a
diamond at all. She was my best friend,
because my severest critic. I began to pay
strict attention to my language, and to the
English classics, which I now read with
great avidity. I began also to notice how
much better it was to be gentle in tone and
manner, polite and courteous to all--in
short, better behaved. Up to this time I had
been, perhaps, careless in dress and
rather affected it. Great heavy boots, loose
collar, and general roughness of attire
were then peculiar to the West and in our
circle considered manly. Anything that
could be labeled foppish was looked upon
with contempt. I remember the first
gentleman I ever saw in the service of the
railway company who wore kid gloves. He
was the object of derision among us who
aspired to be manly men. I was a great
deal the better in all these respects after
we moved to Homewood, owing to the
Addisons.
CHAPTER VIII

CIVIL WAR PERIOD

In 1861 the Civil War broke out and I was

at once summoned to Washington by Mr.
Scott, who had been appointed Assistant
Secretary of War in charge of the
Transportation Department. I was to act as
his assistant in charge of the military
railroads and telegraphs of the
Government and to organize a force of
railway men. It was one of the most
important departments of all at the
beginning of the war.

The first regiments of Union troops passing

through Baltimore had been attacked, and
the railway line cut between Baltimore and
Annapolis Junction, destroying
communication with Washington. It was
therefore necessary for me, with my corps
of assistants, to take train at Philadelphia
for Annapolis, a point from which a branch
line extended to the Junction, joining the
main line to Washington. Our first duty was
to repair this branch and make it passable
for heavy trains, a work of some days.
General Butler and several regiments of
troops arrived a few days after us, and we
were able to transport his whole brigade
to Washington.

I took my place upon the first engine which

started for the Capital, and proceeded
very cautiously. Some distance from
Washington I noticed that the telegraph
wires had been pinned to the ground by
wooden stakes. I stopped the engine and
ran forward to release them, but I did not
notice that the wires had been pulled to
one side before staking. When released, in
their spring upwards, they struck me in the
face, knocked me over, and cut a gash in
my cheek which bled profusely. In this
condition I entered the city of Washington
with the first troops, so that with the
exception of one or two soldiers, wounded
a few days previously in passing through
the streets of Baltimore, I can justly claim
that I "shed my blood for my country"
among the first of its defenders. I gloried
in being useful to the land that had done so
much for me, and worked, I can truly say,
night and day, to open communication to
the South.

I soon removed my headquarters to

Alexandria,[20] Virginia, and was
stationed there when the unfortunate battle
of Bull Run was fought. We could not
believe the reports that came to us, but it
soon became evident that we must rush
every engine and car to the front to bring
back our defeated forces. The closest point
then was Burke Station. I went out there
and loaded up train after train of the poor
wounded volunteers. The rebels were
reported to be close upon us and we were
finally compelled to close Burke Station,
the operator and myself leaving on the last
train for Alexandria where the effect of
panic was evident upon every side. Some
of our railway men were missing, but the
number at the mess on the following
morning showed that, compared with
other branches of the service, we had
cause for congratulation. A few conductors
and engineers had obtained boats and
crossed the Potomac, but the great body of
the men remained, although the roar of the
guns of the pursuing enemy was supposed
to be heard in every sound during the
night. Of our telegraphers not one was
missing the next morning.

[Footnote 20: "When Carnegie reached

Washington his first task was to establish a
ferry to Alexandria and to extend the
Baltimore and Ohio Railroad track from the
old depot in Washington, along Maryland
Avenue to and across the Potomac, so that
locomotives and cars might be crossed for
use in Virginia. Long Bridge, over the
Potomac, had to be rebuilt, and I recall the
fact that under the direction of Carnegie
and R.F. Morley the railroad between
Washington and Alexandria was
completed in the remarkably short period
of seven days. All hands, from Carnegie
down, worked day and night to accomplish
the task." (Bates, _Lincoln in the Telegraph
Office_, p. 22. New York, 1907.)]

Soon after this I returned to Washington

and made my headquarters in the War
Building with Colonel Scott. As I had
charge of the telegraph department, as
well as the railways, this gave me an
opportunity of seeing President Lincoln,
Mr. Seward, Secretary Cameron, and
others; and I was occasionally brought in
personal contact with these men, which
was to me a source of great interest. Mr.
Lincoln would occasionally come to the
office and sit at the desk awaiting replies
to telegrams, or perhaps merely anxious
for information.

All the pictures of this extraordinary man

are like him. He was so marked of feature
that it was impossible for any one to paint
him and not produce a likeness. He was
certainly one of the most homely men I
ever saw when his features were in
repose; but when excited or telling a story,
intellect shone through his eyes and
illuminated his face to a degree which I
have seldom or never seen in any other.
His manners were perfect because natural;
and he had a kind word for everybody,
even the youngest boy in the office. His
attentions were not graduated. They were
the same to all, as deferential in talking to
the messenger boy as to Secretary
Seward. His charm lay in the total absence
of manner. It was not so much, perhaps,
what he said as the way in which he said it
that never failed to win one. I have often
regretted that I did not note down carefully
at the time some of his curious sayings, for
he said even common things in an original
way. I never met a great man who so
thoroughly made himself one with all men
as Mr. Lincoln. As Secretary Hay so well
says, "It is impossible to imagine any one a
valet to Mr. Lincoln; he would have been
his companion." He was the most perfect
democrat, revealing in every word and act
the equality of men.

When Mason and Slidell in 1861 were

taken from the British ship Trent there was
intense anxiety upon the part of those who,
like myself, knew what the right of asylum
on her ships meant to Britain. It was certain
war or else a prompt return of the
prisoners. Secretary Cameron being
absent when the Cabinet was summoned
to consider the question, Mr. Scott was
invited to attend as Assistant Secretary of
War. I did my best to let him understand
that upon this issue Britain would fight
beyond question, and urged that he stand
firm for surrender, especially since it had
been the American doctrine that ships
should be immune from search. Mr. Scott,
knowing nothing of foreign affairs, was
disposed to hold the captives, but upon his
return from the meeting he told me that
Seward had warned the Cabinet it meant
war, just as I had said. Lincoln, too, was at
first inclined to hold the prisoners, but was
at last converted to Seward's policy. The
Cabinet, however, had decided to
postpone action until the morrow, when
Cameron and other absentees would be
present. Mr. Scott was requested by
Seward to meet Cameron on arrival and
get him right on the subject before going
to the meeting, for he was expected to be
in no surrendering mood. This was done
and all went well next day.

The general confusion which reigned at

Washington at this time had to be seen to
be understood. No description can convey
my initial impression of it. The first time I
saw General Scott, then
Commander-in-Chief, he was being
helped by two men across the pavement
from his office into his carriage. He was an
old, decrepit man, paralyzed not only in
body, but in mind; and it was upon this
noble relic of the past that the organization
of the forces of the Republic depended.
His chief commissary, General Taylor, was
in some degree a counterpart of Scott. It
was our business to arrange with these,
and others scarcely less fit, for the opening
of communications and for the
transportation of men and supplies. They
were seemingly one and all martinets who
had passed the age of usefulness. Days
would elapse before a decision could be
obtained upon matters which required
prompt action. There was scarcely a young
active officer at the head of any important
department--at least I cannot recall one.
Long years of peace had fossilized the
service.

The same cause had produced like results,

I understood, in the Navy Department, but
I was not brought in personal contact with
it. The navy was not important at the
beginning; it was the army that counted.
Nothing but defeat was to be looked for
until the heads of the various departments
were changed, and this could not be done
in a day. The impatience of the country at
the apparent delay in producing an
effective weapon for the great task thrown
upon the Government was no doubt
natural, but the wonder to me is that order
was so soon evolved from the chaos which
prevailed in every branch of the service.

As far as our operations were concerned

we had one great advantage. Secretary
Cameron authorized Mr. Scott (he had
been made a Colonel) to do what he
thought necessary without waiting for the
slow movements of the officials under the
Secretary of War. Of this authority
unsparing use was made, and the
important part played by the railway and
telegraph department of the Government
from the very beginning of the war is to be
attributed to the fact that we had the
cordial support of Secretary Cameron. He
was then in the possession of all his
faculties and grasped the elements of the
problem far better than his generals and
heads of departments. Popular clamor
compelled Lincoln to change him at last,
but those who were behind the scenes well
knew that if other departments had been
as well managed as was the War
Department under Cameron, all things
considered, much of disaster would have
been avoided.

Lochiel, as Cameron liked to be called,

was a man of sentiment. In his ninetieth
year he visited us in Scotland and, passing
through one of our glens, sitting on the
front seat of our four-in-hand coach, he
reverently took off his hat and bareheaded
rode through the glen, overcome by its
grandeur. The conversation turned once
upon the efforts which candidates for office
must themselves put forth and the fallacy
that office seeks the man, except in very
rare emergencies. Apropos of this Lochiel
told this story about Lincoln's second term:

One day at Cameron's country home near

Harrisburg, Pennsylvania, he received a
telegram saying that President Lincoln
would like to see him. Accordingly he
went to Washington. Lincoln began:

"Cameron, the people about me are telling

me that it is my patriotic duty to become a
candidate for a second term, that I am the
only man who can save my country, and so
on; and do you know I'm just beginning to
be fool enough to believe them a little.
What do you say, and how could it be
managed?"

"Well, Mr. President, twenty-eight years

ago President Jackson sent for me as you
have now done and told me just the same
story. His letter reached me in New
Orleans and I traveled ten days to reach
Washington. I told President Jackson I
thought the best plan would be to have the
Legislature of one of the States pass
resolutions insisting that the pilot should
not desert the ship during these stormy
times, and so forth. If one State did this I
thought others would follow. Mr. Jackson
concurred and I went to Harrisburg, and
had such a resolution prepared and
passed. Other States followed as I
expected and, as you know, he won a
second term."

"Well," said Lincoln, "could you do that

now?"

"No," said I, "I am too near to you, Mr.

President; but if you desire I might get a
friend to attend to it, I think."
"Well," said President Lincoln, "I leave the
matter with you."

"I sent for Foster here" (who was his

companion on the coach and our guest)
"and asked him to look up the Jackson
resolutions. We changed them a little to
meet new conditions and passed them.
The like result followed as in the case of
President Jackson. Upon my next visit to
Washington I went in the evening to the
President's public reception. When I
entered the crowded and spacious East
Room, being like Lincoln very tall, the
President recognized me over the mass of
people and holding up both white-gloved
hands which looked like two legs of
mutton, called out: 'Two more in to-day,
Cameron, two more.' That is, two
additional States had passed the
Jackson-Lincoln resolutions."
Apart from the light this incident throws
upon political life, it is rather remarkable
that the same man should have been called
upon by two presidents of the United
States, twenty-eight years apart, under
exactly similar circumstances and asked
for advice, and that, the same expedient
being employed, both men became
candidates and both secured second
terms. As was once explained upon a
memorable occasion: "There's figuring in
all them things."

When in Washington I had not met

General Grant, because he was in the
West up to the time of my leaving, but on a
journey to and from Washington he
stopped at Pittsburgh to make the
necessary arrangements for his removal to
the East. I met him on the line upon both
occasions and took him to dine with me in
Pittsburgh. There were no dining-cars
then. He was the most ordinary-looking
man of high position I had ever met, and
the last that one would select at first glance
as a remarkable man. I remember that
Secretary of War Stanton said that when he
visited the armies in the West, General
Grant and his staff entered his car; he
looked at them, one after the other, as they
entered and seeing General Grant, said to
himself, "Well, I do not know which is
General Grant, but there is one that cannot
be." Yet this was he. [Reading this years
after it was written, I laugh. It is pretty hard
on the General, for I have been taken for
him more than once.]

In those days of the war much was talked

about "strategy" and the plans of the
various generals. I was amazed at General
Grant's freedom in talking to me about
such things. Of course he knew that I had
been in the War Office, and was well
known to Secretary Stanton,[21] and had
some knowledge of what was going on;
but my surprise can be imagined when he
said to me:

"Well, the President and Stanton want me

to go East and take command there, and I
have agreed to do it. I am just going West
to make the necessary arrangements."

I said, "I suspected as much."

"I am going to put Sherman in charge," he

said.

"That will surprise the country," I said, "for

I think the impression is that General
Thomas should succeed."

"Yes, I know that," he said, "but I know the

men and Thomas will be the first to say that
Sherman is the man for the work. There
will be no trouble about that. The fact is the
western end is pretty far down, and the
next thing we must do is to push the
eastern end down a little."

[Footnote 21: Mr. Carnegie gave to

Stanton's college, Kenyon, $80,000, and on
April 26, 1906, delivered at the college an
address on the great War Secretary. It has
been published under the title _Edwin M.
Stanton, an Address by Andrew Carnegie
on Stanton Memorial Day at Kenyon
College_. (New York, 1906.)]

That was exactly what he did. And that was

Grant's way of putting strategy into words.
It was my privilege to become well
acquainted with him in after years. If ever
a man was without the slightest trace of
affectation, Grant was that man. Even
Lincoln did not surpass him in that: but
Grant was a quiet, slow man while Lincoln
was always alive and in motion. I never
heard Grant use a long or grand word, or
make any attempt at "manner," but the
general impression that he was always
reticent is a mistake. He was a surprisingly
good talker sometimes and upon occasion
liked to talk. His sentences were always
short and to the point, and his observations
upon things remarkably shrewd. When he
had nothing to say he said nothing. I
noticed that he was never tired of praising
his subordinates in the war. He spoke of
them as a fond father speaks of his
children.

The story is told that during the trials of

war in the West, General Grant began to
indulge too freely in liquor. His chief of
staff, Rawlins, boldly ventured to tell him
so. That this was the act of a true friend
Grant fully recognized.
"You do not mean that? I was wholly
unconscious of it. I am surprised!" said the
General.

"Yes, I do mean it. It is even beginning to

be a subject of comment among your
officers."

"Why did you not tell me before? I'll never

drink a drop of liquor again."

He never did. Time after time in later

years, dining with the Grants in New York,
I have seen the General turn down the
wine-glasses at his side. That indomitable
will of his enabled him to remain steadfast
to his resolve, a rare case as far as my
experience goes. Some have refrained for
a time. In one noted case one of our
partners refrained for three years, but
alas, the old enemy at last recaptured its
victim.
Grant, when President, was accused of
being pecuniarily benefited by certain
appointments, or acts, of his
administration, while his friends knew that
he was so poor that he had been
compelled to announce his intention of
abandoning the customary state dinners,
each one of which, he found, cost eight
hundred dollars--a sum which he could not
afford to pay out of his salary. The increase
of the presidential salary from $25,000 to
$50,000 a year enabled him, during his
second term, to save a little, although he
cared no more about money than about
uniforms. At the end of his first term I know
he had nothing. Yet I found, when in
Europe, that the impression was
widespread among the highest officials
there that there was something in the
charge that General Grant had benefited
pecuniarily by appointments. We know in
America how little weight to attach to these
charges, but it would have been well for
those who made them so recklessly to
have considered what effect they would
produce upon public opinion in other
lands.

The cause of democracy suffers more in

Britain to-day from the generally received
opinion that American politics are corrupt,
and therefore that republicanism
necessarily produces corruption, than
from any other one cause. Yet, speaking
with some knowledge of politics in both
lands, I have not the slightest hesitation in
saying that for every ounce of corruption
of public men in the new land of
republicanism there is one in the old land
of monarchy, only the forms of corruption
differ. Titles are the bribes in the
monarchy, not dollars. Office is a common
and proper reward in both. There is,
however, this difference in favor of the
monarchy; titles are given openly and are
not considered by the recipients or the
mass of the people as bribes.

When I was called to Washington in 1861,

it was supposed that the war would soon
be over; but it was seen shortly afterwards
that it was to be a question of years.
Permanent officials in charge would be
required. The Pennsylvania Railroad
Company was unable to spare Mr. Scott,
and Mr. Scott, in turn, decided that I must
return to Pittsburgh, where my services
were urgently needed, owing to the
demands made upon the Pennsylvania by
the Government. We therefore placed the
department at Washington in the hands of
others and returned to our respective
positions.

After my return from Washington reaction

followed and I was taken with my first
serious illness. I was completely broken
down, and after a struggle to perform my
duties was compelled to seek rest. One
afternoon, when on the railway line in
Virginia, I had experienced something like
a sunstroke, which gave me considerable
trouble. It passed off, however, but after
that I found I could not stand heat and had
to be careful to keep out of the sun--a hot
day wilting me completely. [That is the
reason why the cool Highland air in
summer has been to me a panacea for
many years. My physician has insisted that
I must avoid our hot American summers.]

Leave of absence was granted me by the

Pennsylvania Railroad Company, and the
long-sought opportunity to visit Scotland
came. My mother, my bosom friend Tom
Miller, and myself, sailed in the steamship
Etna, June 28, 1862, I in my twenty-seventh
year; and on landing in Liverpool we
proceeded at once to Dunfermline. No
change ever affected me so much as this
return to my native land. I seemed to be in
a dream. Every mile that brought us
nearer to Scotland increased the intensity
of my feelings. My mother was equally
moved, and I remember, when her eyes
first caught sight of the familiar yellow
bush, she exclaimed:

"Oh! there's the broom, the broom!"

Her heart was so full she could not restrain

her tears, and the more I tried to make
light of it or to soothe her, the more she
was overcome. For myself, I felt as if I
could throw myself upon the sacred soil
and kiss it.[22]

[Footnote 22: "It's a God's mercy I was born

a Scotchman, for I do not see how I could
ever have been contented to be anything
else. The little dour deevil, set in her own
ways, and getting them, too, level-headed
and shrewd, with an eye to the main
chance always and yet so lovingly weak,
so fond, so led away by song or story, so
easily touched to fine issues, so leal, so
true. Ah! you suit me, Scotia, and proud am
I that I am your son." (Andrew Carnegie,
_Our Coaching Trip_, p. 152. New York,
1882.)]

In this mood we reached Dunfermline.

Every object we passed was recognized at
once, but everything seemed so small,
compared with what I had imagined it, that
I was completely puzzled. Finally,
reaching Uncle Lauder's and getting into
the old room where he had taught Dod and
myself so many things, I exclaimed:

"You are all here; everything is just as I left

it, but you are now all playing with toys."

The High Street, which I had considered

not a bad Broadway, uncle's shop, which I
had compared with some New York
establishments, the little mounds about the
town, to which we had run on Sundays to
play, the distances, the height of the
houses, all had shrunk. Here was a city of
the Lilliputians. I could almost touch the
eaves of the house in which I was born,
and the sea--to walk to which on a
Saturday had been considered quite a
feat--was only three miles distant. The
rocks at the seashore, among which I had
gathered wilks (whelks) seemed to have
vanished, and a tame flat shoal remained.
The schoolhouse, around which had
centered many of my schoolboy
recollections--my only Alma Mater--and
the playground, upon which mimic battles
had been fought and races run, had shrunk
into ridiculously small dimensions. The
fine residences, Broomhall, Fordell, and
especially the conservatories at
Donibristle, fell one after the other into the
petty and insignificant. What I felt on a
later occasion on a visit to Japan, with its
small toy houses, was something like a
repetition of the impression my old home
made upon me.

Everything was there in miniature. Even

the old well at the head of Moodie Street,
where I began my early struggles, was
changed from what I had pictured it. But
one object remained all that I had
dreamed of it. There was no
disappointment in the glorious old Abbey
and its Glen. It was big enough and grand
enough, and the memorable carved letters
on the top of the tower--"King Robert The
Bruce"--filled my eye and my heart as fully
as of old. Nor was the Abbey bell
disappointing, when I heard it for the first
time after my return. For this I was
grateful. It gave me a rallying point, and
around the old Abbey, with its Palace ruins
and the Glen, other objects adjusted
themselves in their true proportions after a
time.

My relatives were exceedingly kind, and

the oldest of all, my dear old Auntie
Charlotte, in a moment of exultation
exclaimed:

"Oh, you will just be coming back here

some day and _keep a shop in the High
Street_."

To keep a shop in the High Street was her

idea of triumph. Her son-in-law and
daughter, both my full cousins, though
unrelated to each other, had risen to this
sublime height, and nothing was too great
to predict for her promising nephew.
There is an aristocracy even in
shopkeeping, and the family of the green
grocer of the High Street mingles not upon
equal terms with him of Moodie Street.

Auntie, who had often played my nurse,

liked to dwell upon the fact that I was a
screaming infant that had to be fed with
two spoons, as I yelled whenever one left
my mouth. Captain Jones, our
superintendent of the steel works at a later
day, described me as having been born
"with two rows of teeth and holes punched
for more," so insatiable was my appetite
for new works and increased production.
As I was the first child in our immediate
family circle, there were plenty of now
venerable relatives begging to be allowed
to play nurse, my aunties among them.
Many of my childhood pranks and words
they told me in their old age. One of them
that the aunties remembered struck me as
rather precocious.

I had been brought up upon wise saws and

one that my father had taught me was soon
given direct application. As a boy,
returning from the seashore three miles
distant, he had to carry me part of the way
upon his back. Going up a steep hill in the
gloaming he remarked upon the heavy
load, hoping probably I would propose to
walk a bit. The response, however, which
he received was:

"Ah, faither, never mind, patience and

perseverance make the man, ye ken."

He toiled on with his burden, but shaking

with laughter. He was hoist with his own
petard, but his burden grew lighter all the
same. I am sure of this.
My home, of course, was with my
instructor, guide, and inspirer, Uncle
Lauder--he who had done so much to make
me romantic, patriotic, and poetical at
eight. Now I was twenty-seven, but Uncle
Lauder still remained Uncle Lauder. He
had not shrunk, no one could fill his place.
We had our walks and talks constantly and
I was "Naig" again to him. He had never
had any name for me but that and never
did have. My dear, dear uncle, and more,
much more than uncle to me.[23]

[Footnote 23: "This uncle, who loved

liberty because it is the heritage of brave
souls, in the dark days of the American
Civil War stood almost alone in his
community for the cause which Lincoln
represented." (Hamilton Wright Mabie in
_Century Magazine_, vol. 64, p. 958.)]

I was still dreaming and so excited that I

could not sleep and had caught cold in the
bargain. The natural result of this was a
fever. I lay in uncle's house for six weeks, a
part of that time in a critical condition.
Scottish medicine was then as stern as
Scottish theology (both are now much
softened), and I was bled. My thin
American blood was so depleted that
when I was pronounced convalescent it
was long before I could stand upon my
feet. This illness put an end to my visit, but
by the time I had reached America again,
the ocean voyage had done me so much
good I was able to resume work.

I remember being deeply affected by the

reception I met with when I returned to my
division. The men of the eastern end had
gathered together with a cannon and while
the train passed I was greeted with a salvo.
This was perhaps the first occasion upon
which my subordinates had an opportunity
of making me the subject of any
demonstration, and their reception made a
lasting impression. I knew how much I
cared for them and it was pleasing to know
that they reciprocated my feelings.
Working-men always do reciprocate
kindly feeling. If we truly care for others
we need not be anxious about their
feelings for us. Like draws to like.
CHAPTER IX

BRIDGE-BUILDING

During the Civil War the price of iron went

up to something like $130 per ton. Even at
that figure it was not so much a question of
money as of delivery. The railway lines of
America were fast becoming dangerous
for want of new rails, and this state of
affairs led me to organize in 1864 a
rail-making concern at Pittsburgh. There
was no difficulty in obtaining partners and
capital, and the Superior Rail Mill and Blast
Furnaces were built.

In like manner the demand for locomotives

was very great, and with Mr. Thomas N.
Miller[24] I organized in 1866 the
Pittsburgh Locomotive Works, which has
been a prosperous and creditable
concern--locomotives made there having
obtained an enviable reputation
throughout the United States. It sounds like
a fairy tale to-day to record that in 1906 the
one-hundred-dollar shares of this
company sold for three thousand
dollars--that is, thirty dollars for one. Large
annual dividends had been paid regularly
and the company had been very
successful--sufficient proof of the policy:
"Make nothing but the very best." We
never did.

[Footnote 24: Mr. Carnegie had previous

to this--as early as 1861--been associated
with Mr. Miller in the Sun City Forge
Company, doing a small iron business.]

When at Altoona I had seen in the

Pennsylvania Railroad Company's works
the first small bridge built of iron. It
proved a success. I saw that it would never
do to depend further upon wooden
bridges for permanent railway structures.
An important bridge on the Pennsylvania
Railroad had recently burned and the
traffic had been obstructed for eight days.
Iron was the thing. I proposed to H.J.
Linville, who had designed the iron
bridge, and to John L. Piper and his
partner, Mr. Schiffler, who had charge of
bridges on the Pennsylvania line, that they
should come to Pittsburgh and I would
organize a company to build iron bridges.
It was the first company of its kind. I asked
my friend, Mr. Scott, of the Pennsylvania
Railroad, to go with us in the venture,
which he did. Each of us paid for a one fifth
interest, or $1250. My share I borrowed
from the bank. Looking back at it now the
sum seemed very small, but "tall oaks from
little acorns grow."

In this way was organized in 1862 the firm

of Piper and Schiffler which was merged
into the Keystone Bridge Company in
1863--a name which I remember I was
proud of having thought of as being most
appropriate for a bridge-building concern
in the State of Pennsylvania, the Keystone
State. From this beginning iron bridges
came generally into use in America,
indeed, in the world at large so far as I
know. My letters to iron manufacturers in
Pittsburgh were sufficient to insure the
new company credit. Small wooden shops
were erected and several bridge
structures were undertaken. Cast-iron was
the principal material used, but so well
were the bridges built that some made at
that day and since strengthened for
heavier traffic, still remain in use upon
various lines.

The question of bridging the Ohio River at

Steubenville came up, and we were asked
whether we would undertake to build a
railway bridge with a span of three
hundred feet over the channel. It seems
ridiculous at the present day to think of the
serious doubts entertained about our
ability to do this; but it must be
remembered this was before the days of
steel and almost before the use of
wrought-iron in America. The top cords
and supports were all of cast-iron. I urged
my partners to try it anyhow, and we
finally closed a contract, but I remember
well when President Jewett[25] of the
railway company visited the works and
cast his eyes upon the piles of heavy
cast-iron lying about, which were parts of
the forthcoming bridge, that he turned to
me and said:

"I don't believe these heavy castings can

be made to stand up and carry themselves,
much less carry a train across the Ohio
River."

[Footnote 25: Thomas L. Jewett, President

of the Panhandle.]

The Judge, however, lived to believe

differently. The bridge remained until
recently, though strengthened to carry
heavier traffic. We expected to make quite
a sum by this first important undertaking,
but owing to the inflation of the currency,
which occurred before the work was
finished, our margin of profit was almost
swallowed up. It is an evidence of the
fairness of President Edgar Thomson, of
the Pennsylvania, that, upon learning the
facts of the case, he allowed an extra sum
to secure us from loss. The subsequent
position of affairs, he said, was not
contemplated by either party when the
contract was made. A great and a good
man was Edgar Thomson, a close
bargainer for the Pennsylvania Railroad,
but ever mindful of the fact that the spirit of
the law was above the letter.

In Linville, Piper, and Schiffler, we had the

best talent of that day--Linville an
engineer, Piper a hustling, active
mechanic, and Schiffler sure and steady.
Colonel Piper was an exceptional man. I
heard President Thomson of the
Pennsylvania once say he would rather
have him at a burnt bridge than all the
engineering corps. There was one subject
upon which the Colonel displayed great
weakness (fortunately for us) and that was
the horse. Whenever a business discussion
became too warm, and the Colonel
showed signs of temper, which was not
seldom, it was a sure cure to introduce that
subject. Everything else would pass from
his mind; he became absorbed in the
fascinating topic of horseflesh. If he had
overworked himself, and we wished to get
him to take a holiday, we sent him to
Kentucky to look after a horse or two that
one or the other of us was desirous of
obtaining, and for the selection of which
we would trust no one but himself. But his
craze for horses sometimes brought him
into serious difficulties. He made his
appearance at the office one day with one
half of his face as black as mud could make
it, his clothes torn, and his hat missing, but
still holding the whip in one hand. He
explained that he had attempted to drive a
fast Kentucky colt; one of the reins had
broken and he had lost his "steerage-way,"
as he expressed it.

He was a grand fellow, "Pipe" as we called

him, and when he took a fancy to a person,
as he did to me, he was for and with him
always. In later days when I removed to
New York he transferred his affections to
my brother, whom he invariably called
Thomas, instead of Tom. High as I stood in
his favor, my brother afterwards stood
higher. He fairly worshiped him, and
anything that Tom said was law and
gospel. He was exceedingly jealous of our
other establishments, in which he was not
directly interested, such as our mills which
supplied the Keystone Works with iron.
Many a dispute arose between the mill
managers and the Colonel as to quality,
price, and so forth. On one occasion he
came to my brother to complain that a
bargain which he had made for the supply
of iron for a year had not been copied
correctly. The prices were "net," and
nothing had been said about "net" when
the bargain was made. He wanted to know
just what that word "net" meant.

"Well, Colonel," said my brother, "it means

that nothing more is to be added."
"All right, Thomas," said the Colonel,
entirely satisfied.

There is much in the way one puts things.

"Nothing to be deducted" might have
caused a dispute.

[Illustration: THOMAS MORRISON

CARNEGIE]

He was made furious one day by

Bradstreet's volume which gives the
standing of business concerns. Never
having seen such a book before, he was
naturally anxious to see what rating his
concern had. When he read that the
Keystone Bridge Works were "BC," which
meant "Bad Credit," it was with difficulty
he was restrained from going to see our
lawyers to have a suit brought against the
publishers. Tom, however, explained to
him that the Keystone Bridge Works were
in bad credit because they never
borrowed anything, and he was pacified.
No debt was one of the Colonel's hobbies.
Once, when I was leaving for Europe,
when many firms were hard up and some
failing around us, he said to me:

"The sheriff can't get us when you are gone

if I don't sign any notes, can he?"

"No," I said, "he can't."

"All right, we'll be here when you come

back."

Talking of the Colonel reminds me of

another unusual character with whom we
were brought in contact in these
bridge-building days. This was Captain
Eads, of St. Louis,[26] an original genius
_minus_ scientific knowledge to guide his
erratic ideas of things mechanical. He was
seemingly one of those who wished to
have everything done upon his own
original plans. That a thing had been done
in one way before was sufficient to cause
its rejection. When his plans for the St.
Louis Bridge were presented to us, I
handed them to the one man in the United
States who knew the subject best--our Mr.
Linville. He came to me in great concern,
saying:

"The bridge if built upon these plans will

not stand up; it will not carry its own
weight."

"Well," I said, "Captain Eads will come to

see you and in talking over matters
explain this to him gently, get it into
proper shape, lead him into the straight
path and say nothing about it to others."
[Footnote 26: Captain James B. Eads,
afterward famous for his jetty system in the
Mississippi River.]

This was successfully accomplished; but in

the construction of the bridge poor Piper
was totally unable to comply with the
extraordinary requirements of the Captain.
At first he was so delighted with having
received the largest contract that had yet
been let that he was all graciousness to
Captain Eads. It was not even "Captain" at
first, but "'Colonel' Eads, how do you do?
Delighted to see you." By and by matters
became a little complicated. We noticed
that the greeting became less cordial, but
still it was "Good-morning, Captain Eads."
This fell till we were surprised to hear
"Pipe" talking of "Mr. Eads." Before the
troubles were over, the "Colonel" had
fallen to "Jim Eads," and to tell the truth,
long before the work was out of the shops,
"Jim" was now and then preceded by a big
"D." A man may be possessed of great
ability, and be a charming, interesting
character, as Captain Eads undoubtedly
was, and yet not be able to construct the
first bridge of five hundred feet span over
the Mississippi River,[27] without availing
himself of the scientific knowledge and
practical experience of others.

[Footnote 27: The span was 515 feet, and at

that time considered the finest metal arch
in the world.]

When the work was finished, I had the

Colonel with me in St. Louis for some days
protecting the bridge against a threatened
attempt on the part of others to take
possession of it before we obtained full
payment. When the Colonel had taken up
the planks at both ends, and organized a
plan of relieving the men who stood guard,
he became homesick and exceedingly
anxious to return to Pittsburgh. He had
determined to take the night train and I
was at a loss to know how to keep him with
me until I thought of his one vulnerable
point. I told him, during the day, how
anxious I was to obtain a pair of horses for
my sister. I wished to make her a present
of a span, and I had heard that St. Louis
was a noted place for them. Had he seen
anything superb?

The bait took. He launched forth into a

description of several spans of horses he
had seen and stables he had visited. I
asked him if he could possibly stay over
and select the horses. I knew very well that
he would wish to see them and drive them
many times which would keep him busy. It
happened just as I expected. He
purchased a splendid pair, but then
another difficulty occurred about
transporting them to Pittsburgh. He would
not trust them by rail and no suitable boat
was to leave for several days. Providence
was on my side evidently. Nothing on
earth would induce that man to leave the
city until he saw those horses fairly started
and it was an even wager whether he
would not insist upon going up on the
steamer with them himself. We held the
bridge. "Pipe" made a splendid Horatius.
He was one of the best men and one of the
most valuable partners I ever was favored
with, and richly deserved the rewards
which he did so much to secure.

The Keystone Bridge Works have always

been a source of satisfaction to me. Almost
every concern that had undertaken to
erect iron bridges in America had failed.
Many of the structures themselves had
fallen and some of the worst railway
disasters in America had been caused in
that way. Some of the bridges had given
way under wind pressure but nothing has
ever happened to a Keystone bridge, and
some of them have stood where the wind
was not tempered. There has been no luck
about it. We used only the best material
and enough of it, making our own iron and
later our own steel. We were our own
severest inspectors, and would build a
safe structure or none at all. When asked
to build a bridge which we knew to be of
insufficient strength or of unscientific
design, we resolutely declined. Any piece
of work bearing the stamp of the Keystone
Bridge Works (and there are few States in
the Union where such are not to be found)
we were prepared to underwrite. We were
as proud of our bridges as Carlyle was of
the bridge his father built across the
Annan. "An honest brig," as the great son
rightly said.
This policy is the true secret of success.
Uphill work it will be for a few years until
your work is proven, but after that it is
smooth sailing. Instead of objecting to
inspectors they should be welcomed by all
manufacturing establishments. A high
standard of excellence is easily
maintained, and men are educated in the
effort to reach excellence. I have never
known a concern to make a decided
success that did not do good, honest work,
and even in these days of the fiercest
competition, when everything would seem
to be matter of price, there lies still at the
root of great business success the very
much more important factor of quality. The
effect of attention to quality, upon every
man in the service, from the president of
the concern down to the humblest laborer,
cannot be overestimated. And bearing on
the same question, clean, fine workshops
and tools, well-kept yards and
surroundings are of much greater
importance than is usually supposed.

I was very much pleased to hear a remark,

made by one of the prominent bankers
who visited the Edgar Thomson Works
during a Bankers Convention held at
Pittsburgh. He was one of a party of some
hundreds of delegates, and after they had
passed through the works he said to our
manager:

"Somebody appears to belong to these

works."

He put his finger there upon one of the

secrets of success. They did belong to
somebody. The president of an important
manufacturing work once boasted to me
that their men had chased away the first
inspector who had ventured to appear
among them, and that they had never been
troubled with another since. This was said
as a matter of sincere congratulation, but I
thought to myself: "This concern will never
stand the strain of competition; it is bound
to fail when hard times come." The result
proved the correctness of my belief. The
surest foundation of a manufacturing
concern is quality. After that, and a long
way after, comes cost.

I gave a great deal of personal attention for

some years to the affairs of the Keystone
Bridge Works, and when important
contracts were involved often went myself
to meet the parties. On one such occasion
in 1868, I visited Dubuque, Iowa, with our
engineer, Walter Katte. We were
competing for the building of the most
important railway bridge that had been
built up to that time, a bridge across the
wide Mississippi at Dubuque, to span
which was considered a great
undertaking. We found the river frozen
and crossed it upon a sleigh drawn by four
horses.

That visit proved how much success turns

upon trifles. We found we were not the
lowest bidder. Our chief rival was a
bridge-building concern in Chicago to
which the board had decided to award the
contract. I lingered and talked with some
of the directors. They were delightfully
ignorant of the merits of cast- and
wrought-iron. We had always made the
upper cord of the bridge of the latter,
while our rivals' was made of cast-iron.
This furnished my text. I pictured the result
of a steamer striking against the one and
against the other. In the case of the
wrought-iron cord it would probably only
bend; in the case of the cast-iron it would
certainly break and down would come the
bridge. One of the directors, the
well-known Perry Smith, was fortunately
able to enforce my argument, by stating to
the board that what I said was undoubtedly
the case about cast-iron. The other night
he had run his buggy in the dark against a
lamp-post which was of cast-iron and the
lamp-post had broken to pieces. Am I to
be censured if I had little difficulty here in
recognizing something akin to the hand of
Providence, with Perry Smith the manifest
agent?

"Ah, gentlemen," I said, "there is the point.

A little more money and you could have
had the indestructible wrought-iron and
your bridge would stand against any
steamboat. We never have built and we
never will build a cheap bridge. Ours don't
fall."

There was a pause; then the president of

the bridge company, Mr. Allison, the great
Senator, asked if I would excuse them for a
few moments. I retired. Soon they recalled
me and offered the contract, provided we
took the lower price, which was only a few
thousand dollars less. I agreed to the
concession. That cast-iron lamp-post so
opportunely smashed gave us one of our
most profitable contracts and, what is
more, obtained for us the reputation of
having taken the Dubuque bridge against
all competitors. It also laid the foundation
for me of a lifelong, unbroken friendship
with one of America's best and most
valuable public men, Senator Allison.

The moral of that story lies on the surface.

If you want a contract, be on the spot when
it is let. A smashed lamp-post or something
equally unthought of may secure the prize
if the bidder be on hand. And if possible
stay on hand until you can take the written
contract home in your pocket. This we did
at Dubuque, although it was suggested we
could leave and it would be sent after us to
execute. We preferred to remain, being
anxious to see more of the charms of
Dubuque.

After building the Steubenville Bridge, it

became a necessity for the Baltimore and
Ohio Railroad Company to build bridges
across the Ohio River at Parkersburg and
Wheeling, to prevent their great rival, the
Pennsylvania Railroad Company, from
possessing a decided advantage. The days
of ferryboats were then fast passing away.
It was in connection with the contracts for
these bridges that I had the pleasure of
making the acquaintance of a man, then of
great position, Mr. Garrett, president of
the Baltimore and Ohio.

We were most anxious to secure both

bridges and all the approaches to them,
but I found Mr. Garrett decidedly of the
opinion that we were quite unable to do so
much work in the time specified. He
wished to build the approaches and the
short spans in his own shops, and asked
me if we would permit him to use our
patents. I replied that we would feel highly
honored by the Baltimore and Ohio doing
so. The stamp of approval of the Baltimore
and Ohio Railroad would be worth ten
times the patent fees. He could use all, and
everything, we had.

There was no doubt as to the favorable

impression that made upon the great
railway magnate. He was much pleased
and, to my utter surprise, took me into his
private room and opened up a frank
conversation upon matters in general. He
touched especially upon his quarrels with
the Pennsylvania Railroad people, with Mr.
Thomson and Mr. Scott, the president and
vice-president, whom he knew to be my
special friends. This led me to say that I
had passed through Philadelphia on my
way to see him and had been asked by Mr.
Scott where I was going.

"I told him that I was going to visit you to

obtain the contracts for your great bridges
over the Ohio River. Mr. Scott said it was
not often that I went on a fool's errand, but
that I was certainly on one now; that Mr.
Garrett would never think for a moment of
giving me his contracts, for every one
knew that I was, as a former employee,
always friendly to the Pennsylvania
Railroad. Well, I said, we shall build Mr.
Garrett's bridges."

Mr. Garrett promptly replied that when the

interests of his company were at stake it
was the best always that won. His
engineers had reported that our plans
were the best and that Scott and Thomson
would see that he had only one rule--the
interests of his company. Although he very
well knew that I was a Pennsylvania
Railroad man, yet he felt it his duty to
award us the work.

The negotiation was still unsatisfactory to

me, because we were to get all the difficult
part of the work--the great spans of which
the risk was then considerable--while Mr.
Garrett was to build all the small and
profitable spans at his own shops upon our
plans and patents. I ventured to ask
whether he was dividing the work because
he honestly believed we could not open
his bridges for traffic as soon as his
masonry would permit. He admitted he
was. I told him that he need not have any
fear upon that point.

"Mr. Garrett," I said, "would you consider

my personal bond a good security?"

"Certainly," he said.

"Well, now," I replied, "bind me! I know

what I am doing. I will take the risk. How
much of a bond do you want me to give
you that your bridges will be opened for
traffic at the specified time if you give us
the entire contract, provided you get your
masonry ready?"

"Well, I would want a hundred thousand

dollars from you, young man."

"All right," I said, "prepare your bond.

Give us the work. Our firm is not going to
let me lose a hundred thousand dollars.
You know that."

"Yes," he said, "I believe if you are bound

for a hundred thousand dollars your
company will work day and night and I will
get my bridges."

This was the arrangement which gave us

what were then the gigantic contracts of
the Baltimore and Ohio Railroad. It is
needless to say that I never had to pay that
bond. My partners knew much better than
Mr. Garrett the conditions of his work. The
Ohio River was not to be trifled with, and
long before his masonry was ready we had
relieved ourselves from all responsibility
upon the bond by placing the
superstructure on the banks awaiting the
completion of the substructure which he
was still building.

Mr. Garrett was very proud of his Scottish

blood, and Burns having been once
touched upon between us we became firm
friends. He afterwards took me to his fine
mansion in the country. He was one of the
few Americans who then lived in the grand
style of a country gentleman, with many
hundreds of acres of beautiful land,
park-like drives, a stud of thoroughbred
horses, with cattle, sheep, and dogs, and a
home that realized what one had read of
the country life of a nobleman in England.

At a later date he had fully determined that

his railroad company should engage in the
manufacture of steel rails and had applied
for the right to use the Bessemer patents.
This was a matter of great moment to us.
The Baltimore and Ohio Railroad Company
was one of our best customers, and we
were naturally anxious to prevent the
building of steel-rail rolling mills at
Cumberland. It would have been a losing
enterprise for the Baltimore and Ohio, for I
was sure it could buy its steel rails at a
much cheaper rate than it could possibly
make the small quantity needed for itself. I
visited Mr. Garrett to talk the matter over
with him. He was then much pleased with
the foreign commerce and the lines of
steamships which made Baltimore their
port. He drove me, accompanied by
several of his staff, to the wharves where
he was to decide about their extension,
and as the foreign goods were being
discharged from the steamship side and
placed in the railway cars, he turned to me
and said:

"Mr. Carnegie, you can now begin to

appreciate the magnitude of our vast
system and understand why it is necessary
that we should make everything for
ourselves, even our steel rails. We cannot
depend upon private concerns to supply
us with any of the principal articles we
consume. We shall be a world to
ourselves."
"Well," I said, "Mr. Garrett, it is all very
grand, but really your 'vast system' does
not overwhelm me. I read your last annual
report and saw that you collected last year
for transporting the goods of others the
sum of fourteen millions of dollars. The
firms I control dug the material from the
hills, made their own goods, and sold them
to a much greater value than that. You are
really a very small concern compared with
Carnegie Brothers and Company."

My railroad apprenticeship came in there

to advantage. We heard no more of the
Baltimore and Ohio Railroad Company
entering into competition with us. Mr.
Garrett and I remained good friends to the
end. He even presented me with a Scotch
collie dog of his own rearing. That I had
been a Pennsylvania Railroad man was
drowned in the "wee drap o' Scotch bluid
atween us."
CHAPTER X

THE IRON WORKS

The Keystone Works have always been my

pet as being the parent of all the other
works. But they had not been long in
existence before the advantage of
wrought- over cast-iron became manifest.
Accordingly, to insure uniform quality, and
also to make certain shapes which were
not then to be obtained, we determined to
embark in the manufacture of iron. My
brother and I became interested with
Thomas N. Miller, Henry Phipps, and
Andrew Kloman in a small iron mill. Miller
was the first to embark with Kloman and he
brought Phipps in, lending him eight
hundred dollars to buy a one-sixth
interest, in November, 1861.
I must not fail to record that Mr. Miller was
the pioneer of our iron manufacturing
projects. We were all indebted to Tom,
who still lives (July 20, 1911) and sheds
upon us the sweetness and light of a most
lovable nature, a friend who grows more
precious as the years roll by. He has
softened by age, and even his outbursts
against theology as antagonistic to true
religion are in his fine old age much less
alarming. We are all prone to grow
philosophic in age, and perhaps this is
well. [In re-reading this--July 19, 1912--in
our retreat upon the high moors at
Aultnagar, I drop a tear for my bosom
friend, dear Tom Miller, who died in
Pittsburgh last winter. Mrs. Carnegie and I
attended his funeral. Henceforth life lacks
something, lacks much--my first partner in
early years, my dearest friend in old age.
May I go where he is, wherever that may
be.]
Andrew Kloman had a small steel-hammer
in Allegheny City. As a superintendent of
the Pennsylvania Railroad I had found that
he made the best axles. He was a great
mechanic--one who had discovered, what
was then unknown in Pittsburgh, that
whatever was worth doing with machinery
was worth doing well. His German mind
made him thorough. What he constructed
cost enormously, but when once started it
did the work it was intended to do from
year's end to year's end. In those early
days it was a question with axles generally
whether they would run any specified time
or break. There was no analysis of
material, no scientific treatment of it.

How much this German created! He was

the first man to introduce the cold saw that
cut cold iron the exact lengths. He
invented upsetting machines to make
bridge links, and also built the first
"universal" mill in America. All these were
erected at our works. When Captain Eads
could not obtain the couplings for the St.
Louis Bridge arches (the contractors failing
to make them) and matters were at a
standstill, Kloman told us that he could
make them and why the others had failed.
He succeeded in making them. Up to that
date they were the largest semicircles that
had ever been rolled. Our confidence in
Mr. Kloman may be judged from the fact
that when he said he could make them we
unhesitatingly contracted to furnish them.

I have already spoken of the intimacy

between our family and that of the
Phippses. In the early days my chief
companion was the elder brother, John.
Henry was several years my junior, but
had not failed to attract my attention as a
bright, clever lad. One day he asked his
brother John to lend him a quarter of a
dollar. John saw that he had important use
for it and handed him the shining quarter
without inquiry. Next morning an
advertisement appeared in the "Pittsburgh
Dispatch":

"A willing boy wishes work."

This was the use the energetic and willing

Harry had made of his quarter, probably
the first quarter he had ever spent at one
time in his life. A response came from the
well-known firm of Dilworth and Bidwell.
They asked the "willing boy" to call. Harry
went and obtained a position as errand
boy, and as was then the custom, his first
duty every morning was to sweep the
office. He went to his parents and obtained
their consent, and in this way the young
lad launched himself upon the sea of
business. There was no holding back a boy
like that. It was the old story. He soon
became indispensable to his employers,
obtained a small interest in a collateral
branch of their business; and then, ever on
the alert, it was not many years before he
attracted the attention of Mr. Miller, who
made a small investment for him with
Andrew Kloman. That finally resulted in
the building of the iron mill in
Twenty-Ninth Street. He had been a
schoolmate and great crony of my brother
Tom. As children they had played
together, and throughout life, until my
brother's death in 1886, these two formed,
as it were, a partnership within a
partnership. They invariably held equal
interests in the various firms with which
they were connected. What one did the
other did.

The errand boy is now one of the richest

men in the United States and has begun to
prove that he knows how to expend his
surplus. Years ago he gave beautiful
conservatories to the public parks of
Allegheny and Pittsburgh. That he
specified "that these should be open upon
Sunday" shows that he is a man of his time.
This clause in the gift created much
excitement. Ministers denounced him from
the pulpit and assemblies of the church
passed resolutions declaring against the
desecration of the Lord's Day. But the
people rose, _en masse_, against this
narrow-minded contention and the Council
of the city accepted the gift with
acclamation. The sound common sense of
my partner was well expressed when he
said in reply to a remonstrance by
ministers:

"It is all very well for you, gentlemen, who

work one day in the week and are masters
of your time the other six during which you
can view the beauties of Nature--all very
well for you--but I think it shameful that
you should endeavor to shut out from the
toiling masses all that is calculated to
entertain and instruct them during the only
day which you well know they have at their
disposal."

These same ministers have recently been

quarreling in their convention at
Pittsburgh upon the subject of instrumental
music in churches. But while they are
debating whether it is right to have organs
in churches, intelligent people are
opening museums, conservatories, and
libraries upon the Sabbath; and unless the
pulpit soon learns how to meet the real
wants of the people in this life (where
alone men's duties lie) much better than it
is doing at present, these rival claimants
for popular favor may soon empty their
churches.
Unfortunately Kloman and Phipps soon
differed with Miller about the business and
forced him out. Being convinced that
Miller was unfairly treated, I united with
him in building new works. These were the
Cyclops Mills of 1864. After they were set
running it became possible, and therefore
advisable, to unite the old and the new
works, and the Union Iron Mills were
formed by their consolidation in 1867. I did
not believe that Mr. Miller's reluctance to
associate again with his former partners,
Phipps and Kloman, could not be
overcome, because they would not control
the Union Works. Mr. Miller, my brother,
and I would hold the controlling interest.
But Mr. Miller proved obdurate and
begged me to buy his interest, which I
reluctantly did after all efforts had failed to
induce him to let bygones be bygones. He
was Irish, and the Irish blood when
aroused is uncontrollable. Mr. Miller has
since regretted (to me) his refusal of my
earnest request, which would have
enabled the pioneer of all of us to reap
what was only his rightful
reward--millionairedom for himself and his
followers.

We were young in manufacturing then and

obtained for the Cyclops Mills what was
considered at the time an enormous extent
of land--seven acres. For some years we
offered to lease a portion of the ground to
others. It soon became a question whether
we could continue the manufacture of iron
within so small an area. Mr. Kloman
succeeded in making iron beams and for
many years our mill was far in advance of
any other in that respect. We began at the
new mill by making all shapes which were
required, and especially such as no other
concern would undertake, depending
upon an increasing demand in our
growing country for things that were only
rarely needed at first. What others could
not or would not do we would attempt, and
this was a rule of our business which was
strictly adhered to. Also we would make
nothing except of excellent quality. We
always accommodated our customers,
even although at some expense to
ourselves, and in cases of dispute we gave
the other party the benefit of the doubt and
settled. These were our rules. We had no
lawsuits.

As I became acquainted with the

manufacture of iron I was greatly surprised
to find that the cost of each of the various
processes was unknown. Inquiries made of
the leading manufacturers of Pittsburgh
proved this. It was a lump business, and
until stock was taken and the books
balanced at the end of the year, the
manufacturers were in total ignorance of
results. I heard of men who thought their
business at the end of the year would show
a loss and had found a profit, and
_vice-versa_. I felt as if we were moles
burrowing in the dark, and this to me was
intolerable. I insisted upon such a system
of weighing and accounting being
introduced throughout our works as would
enable us to know what our cost was for
each process and especially what each
man was doing, who saved material, who
wasted it, and who produced the best
results.

To arrive at this was a much more difficult

task than one would imagine. Every
manager in the mills was naturally against
the new system. Years were required
before an accurate system was obtained,
but eventually, by the aid of many clerks
and the introduction of weighing scales at
various points in the mill, we began to
know not only what every department was
doing, but what each one of the many men
working at the furnaces was doing, and
thus to compare one with another. One of
the chief sources of success in
manufacturing is the introduction and strict
maintenance of a perfect system of
accounting so that responsibility for
money or materials can be brought home
to every man. Owners who, in the office,
would not trust a clerk with five dollars
without having a check upon him, were
supplying tons of material daily to men in
the mills without exacting an account of
their stewardship by weighing what each
returned in the finished form.

The Siemens Gas Furnace had been used

to some extent in Great Britain for heating
steel and iron, but it was supposed to be
too expensive. I well remember the
criticisms made by older heads among the
Pittsburgh manufacturers about the
extravagant expenditure we were making
upon these new-fangled furnaces. But in
the heating of great masses of material,
almost half the waste could sometimes be
saved by using the new furnaces. The
expenditure would have been justified,
even if it had been doubled. Yet it was
many years before we were followed in
this new departure; and in some of those
years the margin of profit was so small that
the most of it was made up from the
savings derived from the adoption of the
improved furnaces.

Our strict system of accounting enabled us

to detect the great waste possible in
heating large masses of iron. This
improvement revealed to us a valuable
man in a clerk, William Borntraeger, a
distant relative of Mr. Kloman, who came
from Germany. He surprised us one day
by presenting a detailed statement
showing results for a period, which
seemed incredible. All the needed labor
in preparing this statement he had
performed at night unasked and unknown
to us. The form adapted was uniquely
original. Needless to say, William soon
became superintendent of the works and
later a partner, and the poor German lad
died a millionaire. He well deserved his
fortune.

It was in 1862 that the great oil wells of

Pennsylvania attracted attention. My friend
Mr. William Coleman, whose daughter
became, at a later date, my sister-in-law,
was deeply interested in the discovery,
and nothing would do but that I should
take a trip with him to the oil regions. It
was a most interesting excursion. There
had been a rush to the oil fields and the
influx was so great that it was impossible
for all to obtain shelter. This, however, to
the class of men who flocked thither, was
but a slight drawback. A few hours sufficed
to knock up a shanty, and it was surprising
in how short a time they were able to
surround themselves with many of the
comforts of life. They were men above the
average, men who had saved considerable
sums and were able to venture something
in the search for fortune.

What surprised me was the good humor

which prevailed everywhere. It was a vast
picnic, full of amusing incidents.
Everybody was in high glee; fortunes were
supposedly within reach; everything was
booming. On the tops of the derricks
floated flags on which strange mottoes
were displayed. I remember looking down
toward the river and seeing two men
working their treadles boring for oil upon
the banks of the stream, and inscribed
upon their flag was "Hell or China." They
were going down, no matter how far.

The adaptability of the American was

never better displayed than in this region.
Order was soon evolved out of chaos.
When we visited the place not long after
we were serenaded by a brass band the
players of which were made up of the new
inhabitants along the creek. It would be
safe to wager that a thousand Americans in
a new land would organize themselves,
establish schools, churches, newspapers,
and brass bands--in short, provide
themselves with all the appliances of
civilization--and go ahead developing
their country before an equal number of
British would have discovered who among
them was the highest in hereditary rank
and had the best claims to leadership
owing to his grandfather. There is but one
rule among Americans--the tools to those
who can use them.

To-day Oil Creek is a town of many

thousand inhabitants, as is also Titusville at
the other end of the creek. The district
which began by furnishing a few barrels of
oil every season, gathered with blankets
from the surface of the creek by the
Seneca Indians, has now several towns and
refineries, with millions of dollars of
capital. In those early days all the
arrangements were of the crudest
character. When the oil was obtained it
was run into flat-bottomed boats which
leaked badly. Water ran into the boats and
the oil overflowed into the river. The creek
was dammed at various places, and upon a
stipulated day and hour the dams were
opened and upon the flood the oil boats
floated to the Allegheny River, and thence
to Pittsburgh.
In this way not only the creek, but the
Allegheny River, became literally covered
with oil. The loss involved in transportation
to Pittsburgh was estimated at fully a third
of the total quantity, and before the oil
boats started it is safe to say that another
third was lost by leakage. The oil gathered
by the Indians in the early days was
bottled in Pittsburgh and sold at high
prices as medicine--a dollar for a small
vial. It had general reputation as a sure
cure for rheumatic tendencies. As it
became plentiful and cheap its virtues
vanished. What fools we mortals be!

The most celebrated wells were upon the

Storey farm. Upon these we obtained an
option of purchase for forty thousand
dollars. We bought them. Mr. Coleman,
ever ready at suggestion, proposed to
make a lake of oil by excavating a pool
sufficient to hold a hundred thousand
barrels (the waste to be made good every
day by running streams of oil into it), and
to hold it for the not far distant day when,
as we then expected, the oil supply would
cease. This was promptly acted upon, but
after losing many thousands of barrels
waiting for the expected day (which has
not yet arrived) we abandoned the
reserve. Coleman predicted that when the
supply stopped, oil would bring ten
dollars a barrel and therefore we would
have a million dollars worth in the lake.
We did not think then of Nature's
storehouse below which still keeps on
yielding many thousands of barrels per
day without apparent exhaustion.

This forty-thousand-dollar investment

proved for us the best of all so far. The
revenues from it came at the most
opportune time.[28] The building of the
new mill in Pittsburgh required not only all
the capital we could gather, but the use of
our credit, which I consider, looking
backward, was remarkably good for
young men.

[Footnote 28: The wells on the Storey farm

paid in one year a million dollars in cash
and dividends, and the farm itself
eventually became worth, on a stock basis,
five million dollars.]

Having become interested in this oil

venture, I made several excursions to the
district and also, in 1864, to an oil field in
Ohio where a great well had been struck
which yielded a peculiar quality of oil well
fitted for lubricating purposes. My journey
thither with Mr. Coleman and Mr. David
Ritchie was one of the strangest
experiences I ever had. We left the railway
line some hundreds of miles from
Pittsburgh and plunged through a sparsely
inhabited district to the waters of Duck
Creek to see the monster well. We bought
it before leaving.

It was upon our return that adventures

began. The weather had been fine and the
roads quite passable during our journey
thither, but rain had set in during our stay.
We started back in our wagon, but before
going far fell into difficulties. The road had
become a mass of soft, tenacious mud and
our wagon labored fearfully. The rain fell
in torrents, and it soon became evident
that we were in for a night of it. Mr.
Coleman lay at full length on one side of
the wagon, and Mr. Ritchie on the other,
and I, being then very thin, weighing not
much more than a hundred pounds, was
nicely sandwiched between the two portly
gentlemen. Every now and then the wagon
proceeded a few feet heaving up and
down in the most outrageous manner, and
finally sticking fast. In this fashion we
passed the night. There was in front a seat
across the wagon, under which we got our
heads, and in spite of our condition the
night was spent in uproarious merriment.

By the next night we succeeded in

reaching a country town in the worst
possible plight. We saw the little frame
church of the town lighted and heard the
bell ringing. We had just reached our
tavern when a committee appeared stating
that they had been waiting for us and that
the congregation was assembled. It
appears that a noted exhorter had been
expected who had no doubt been delayed
as we had been. I was taken for the
absentee minister and asked how soon I
would be ready to accompany them to the
meeting-house. I was almost prepared
with my companions to carry out the joke
(we were in for fun), but I found I was too
exhausted with fatigue to attempt it. I had
never before come so near occupying a
pulpit.

My investments now began to require so

much of my personal attention that I
resolved to leave the service of the railway
company and devote myself exclusively to
my own affairs. I had been honored a short
time before this decision by being called
by President Thomson to Philadelphia. He
desired to promote me to the office of
assistant general superintendent with
headquarters at Altoona under Mr. Lewis. I
declined, telling him that I had decided to
give up the railroad service altogether,
that I was determined to make a fortune
and I saw no means of doing this honestly
at any salary the railroad company could
afford to give, and I would not do it by
indirection. When I lay down at night I was
going to get a verdict of approval from the
highest of all tribunals, the judge within.

I repeated this in my parting letter to

President Thomson, who warmly
congratulated me upon it in his letter of
reply. I resigned my position March 28,
1865, and received from the men on the
railway a gold watch. This and Mr.
Thomson's letter I treasure among my most
precious mementos.

The following letter was written to the men

on the Division:

PENNSYLVANIA RAILROAD COMPANY

SUPERINTENDENT'S OFFICE,
PITTSBURGH DIVISION PITTSBURGH,
_March 28, 1865_

To the Officers and Employees of the

Pittsburgh Division
 GENTLEMEN:

I cannot allow my connection with you

to cease without some expression of the
deep regret felt at parting.

Twelve years of pleasant intercourse

have served to inspire feelings of
personal regard for those who have so
faithfully labored with me in the service
of the Company. The coming change is
painful only as I reflect that in
consequence thereof I am not to be in
the future, as in the past, intimately
associated with you and with many others
in the various departments, who have
through business intercourse, become
my personal friends. I assure you although
the official relations hitherto existing
between us must soon close, I can never
fail to feel and evince the liveliest
interest in the welfare of such as have been
identified with the Pittsburgh Division in
times past, and who are, I trust, for
many years to come to contribute to the
success of the Pennsylvania Railroad
Company, and share in its justly
deserved prosperity.

Thanking you most sincerely for the

uniform kindness shown toward me, for
your zealous efforts made at all times to
meet my wishes, and asking for my
successor similar support at your hands,
I bid you all farewell.

Very respectfully

(Signed) ANDREW CARNEGIE

Thenceforth I never worked for a salary. A

man must necessarily occupy a narrow
field who is at the beck and call of others.
Even if he becomes president of a great
corporation he is hardly his own master,
unless he holds control of the stock. The
ablest presidents are hampered by boards
of directors and shareholders, who can
know but little of the business. But I am
glad to say that among my best friends
to-day are those with whom I labored in
the service of the Pennsylvania Railroad
Company.

In the year 1867, Mr. Phipps, Mr. J.W.

Vandevort, and myself revisited Europe,
traveling extensively through England and
Scotland, and made the tour of the
Continent. "Vandy" had become my
closest companion. We had both been
fired by reading Bayard Taylor's "Views
Afoot." It was in the days of the oil
excitement and shares were going up like
rockets. One Sunday, lying in the grass, I
said to "Vandy":
"If you could make three thousand dollars
would you spend it in a tour through
Europe with me?"

"Would a duck swim or an Irishman eat

potatoes?" was his reply.

The sum was soon made in oil stock by the

investment of a few hundred dollars which
"Vandy" had saved. This was the
beginning of our excursion. We asked my
partner, Harry Phipps, who was by this
time quite a capitalist, to join the party. We
visited most of the capitals of Europe, and
in all the enthusiasm of youth climbed
every spire, slept on mountain-tops, and
carried our luggage in knapsacks upon
our backs. We ended our journey upon
Vesuvius, where we resolved some day to
go around the world.
This visit to Europe proved most
instructive. Up to this time I had known
nothing of painting or sculpture, but it was
not long before I could classify the works
of the great painters. One may not at the
time justly appreciate the advantage he is
receiving from examining the great
masterpieces, but upon his return to
America he will find himself unconsciously
rejecting what before seemed truly
beautiful, and judging productions which
come before him by a new standard. That
which is truly great has so impressed itself
upon him that what is false or pretentious
proves no longer attractive.

My visit to Europe also gave me my first

great treat in music. The Handel
Anniversary was then being celebrated at
the Crystal Palace in London, and I had
never up to that time, nor have I often
since, felt the power and majesty of music
in such high degree. What I heard at the
Crystal Palace and what I subsequently
heard on the Continent in the cathedrals,
and at the opera, certainly enlarged my
appreciation of music. At Rome the Pope's
choir and the celebrations in the churches
at Christmas and Easter furnished, as it
were, a grand climax to the whole.

These visits to Europe were also of great

service in a commercial sense. One has to
get out of the swirl of the great Republic to
form a just estimate of the velocity with
which it spins. I felt that a manufacturing
concern like ours could scarcely develop
fast enough for the wants of the American
people, but abroad nothing seemed to be
going forward. If we excepted a few of the
capitals of Europe, everything on the
Continent seemed to be almost at a
standstill, while the Republic represented
throughout its entire extent such a scene as
there must have been at the Tower of
Babel, as pictured in the
story-books--hundreds rushing to and fro,
each more active than his neighbor, and
all engaged in constructing the mighty
edifice.

It was Cousin "Dod" (Mr. George Lauder)

to whom we were indebted for a new
development in our mill operations--the
first of its kind in America. He it was who
took our Mr. Coleman to Wigan in England
and explained the process of washing and
coking the dross from coal mines. Mr.
Coleman had constantly been telling us
how grand it would be to utilize what was
then being thrown away at our mines, and
was indeed an expense to dispose of. Our
Cousin "Dod" was a mechanical engineer,
educated under Lord Kelvin at Glasgow
University, and as he corroborated all that
Mr. Coleman stated, in December, 1871, I
undertook to advance the capital to build
works along the line of the Pennsylvania
Railroad. Contracts for ten years were
made with the leading coal companies for
their dross and with the railway companies
for transportation, and Mr. Lauder, who
came to Pittsburgh and superintended the
whole operation for years, began the
construction of the first coal-washing
machinery in America. He made a success
of it--he never failed to do that in any
mining or mechanical operation he
undertook--and he soon cleared the cost of
the works. No wonder that at a later date
my partners desired to embrace the coke
works in our general firm and thus capture
not only these, but Lauder also. "Dod" had
won his spurs.

[Illustration: GEORGE LAUDER]

The ovens were extended from time to

time until we had five hundred of them,
washing nearly fifteen hundred tons of coal
daily. I confess I never pass these coal
ovens at Larimer's Station without feeling
that if he who makes two blades of grass
grow where one grew before is a public
benefactor and lays the race under
obligation, those who produce superior
coke from material that has been for all
previous years thrown over the bank as
worthless, have great cause for
self-congratulation. It is fine to make
something out of nothing; it is also
something to be the first firm to do this
upon our continent.

We had another valuable partner in a

second cousin of mine, a son of Cousin
Morrison of Dunfermline. Walking through
the shops one day, the superintendent
asked me if I knew I had a relative there
who was proving an exceptional
mechanic. I replied in the negative and
asked that I might speak with him on our
way around. We met. I asked his name.

"Morrison," was the reply, "son of

Robert"--my cousin Bob.

"Well, how did you come here?"

"I thought we could better ourselves," he

said.

"Who have you with you?"

"My wife," was the reply.

"Why didn't you come first to see your

relative who might have been able to
introduce you here?"

"Well, I didn't feel I needed help if I only

got a chance."
There spoke the true Morrison, taught to
depend on himself, and independent as
Lucifer. Not long afterwards I heard of his
promotion to the superintendency of our
newly acquired works at Duquesne, and
from that position he steadily marched
upward. He is to-day a blooming, but still
sensible, millionaire. We are all proud of
Tom Morrison. [A note received from him
yesterday invites Mrs. Carnegie and
myself to be his guests during our coming
visit of a few days at the annual celebration
of the Carnegie Institute.]

I was always advising that our iron works

should be extended and new
developments made in connection with the
manufacture of iron and steel, which I saw
was only in its infancy. All apprehension of
its future development was dispelled by
the action of America with regard to the
tariff upon foreign imports. It was clear to
my mind that the Civil War had resulted in
a fixed determination upon the part of the
American people to build a nation within
itself, independent of Europe in all things
essential to its safety. America had been
obliged to import all her steel of every
form and most of the iron needed, Britain
being the chief seller. The people
demanded a home supply and Congress
granted the manufacturers a tariff of
twenty-eight per cent _ad valorem_ on
steel rails--the tariff then being equal to
about twenty-eight dollars per ton. Rails
were selling at about a hundred dollars
per ton, and other rates in proportion.

Protection has played a great part in the

development of manufacturing in the
United States. Previous to the Civil War it
was a party question, the South standing
for free trade and regarding a tariff as
favorable only to the North. The sympathy
shown by the British Government for the
Confederacy, culminating in the escape of
the Alabama and other privateers to prey
upon American commerce, aroused
hostility against that Government,
notwithstanding the majority of her
common people favored the United States.
The tariff became no longer a party
question, but a national policy, approved
by both parties. It had become a patriotic
duty to develop vital resources. No less
than ninety Northern Democrats in
Congress, including the Speaker of the
House, agreed upon that point.

Capital no longer hesitated to embark in

manufacturing, confident as it was that the
nation would protect it as long as
necessary. Years after the war, demands
for a reduction of the tariff arose and it was
my lot to be drawn into the controversy. It
was often charged that bribery of
Congressmen by manufacturers was
common. So far as I know there was no
foundation for this. Certainly the
manufacturers never raised any sums
beyond those needed to maintain the Iron
and Steel Association, a matter of a few
thousand dollars per year. They did,
however, subscribe freely to a campaign
when the issue was Protection _versus_
Free Trade.

The duties upon steel were successively

reduced, with my cordial support, until the
twenty-eight dollars duty on rails became
only one fourth or seven dollars per ton.
[To-day (1911) the duty is only about one
half of that, and even that should go in the
next revision.] The effort of President
Cleveland to pass a more drastic new tariff
was interesting. It cut too deep in many
places and its passage would have injured
more than one manufacture. I was called to
Washington, and tried to modify and, as I
believe, improve, the Wilson Bill. Senator
Gorman, Democratic leader of the Senate,
Governor Flower of New York, and a
number of the ablest Democrats were as
sound protectionists in moderation as I
was. Several of these were disposed to
oppose the Wilson Bill as being
unnecessarily severe and certain to
cripple some of our domestic industries.
Senator Gorman said to me he wished as
little as I did to injure any home producer,
and he thought his colleagues had
confidence in and would be guided by me
as to iron and steel rates, provided that
large reductions were made and that the
Republican Senators would stand unitedly
for a bill of that character. I remember his
words, "I can afford to fight the President
and beat him, but I can't afford to fight him
and be beaten."
Governor Flower shared these views.
There was little trouble in getting our party
to agree to the large reductions I
proposed. The Wilson-Gorman Tariff Bill
was adopted. Meeting Senator Gorman
later, he explained that he had to give way
on cotton ties to secure several Southern
Senators. Cotton ties had to be free. So
tariff legislation goes.

I was not sufficiently prominent in

manufacturing to take part in getting the
tariff established immediately after the
war, so it happened that my part has
always been to favor reduction of duties,
opposing extremes--the unreasonable
protectionists who consider the higher the
duties the better and declaim against any
reduction, and the other extremists who
denounce all duties and would adopt
unrestrained free trade.
We could now (1907) abolish all duties
upon steel and iron without injury,
essential as these duties were at the
beginning. Europe has not much surplus
production, so that should prices rise
exorbitantly here only a small amount
could be drawn from there and this would
instantly raise prices in Europe, so that our
home manufacturers could not be
seriously affected. Free trade would only
tend to prevent exorbitant prices here for
a time when the demand was excessive.
Home iron and steel manufacturers have
nothing to fear from free trade. [I recently
(1910) stated this in evidence before the
Tariff Commission at Washington.]
CHAPTER XI

NEW YORK AS HEADQUARTERS

Our business continued to expand and

required frequent visits on my part to the
East, especially to New York, which is as
London to Britain--the headquarters of all
really important enterprises in America.
No large concern could very well get on
without being represented there. My
brother and Mr. Phipps had full grasp of
the business at Pittsburgh. My field
appeared to be to direct the general
policy of the companies and negotiate the
important contracts.

My brother had been so fortunate as to

marry Miss Lucy Coleman, daughter of one
of our most valued partners and friends.
Our family residence at Homewood was
given over to him, and I was once more
compelled to break old associations and
leave Pittsburgh in 1867 to take up my
residence in New York. The change was
hard enough for me, but much harder for
my mother; but she was still in the prime of
life and we could be happy anywhere so
long as we were together. Still she did feel
the leaving of our home very much. We
were perfect strangers in New York, and at
first took up our quarters in the St. Nicholas
Hotel, then in its glory. I opened an office
in Broad Street.

For some time the Pittsburgh friends who

came to New York were our chief source of
happiness, and the Pittsburgh papers
seemed necessary to our existence. I
made frequent visits there and my mother
often accompanied me, so that our
connection with the old home was still
maintained. But after a time new
friendships were formed and new interests
awakened and New York began to be
called home. When the proprietors of the
St. Nicholas opened the Windsor Hotel
uptown, we took up our residence there
and up to the year 1887 that was our New
York home. Mr. Hawk, the proprietor,
became one of our valued friends and his
nephew and namesake still remains so.

Among the educative influences from

which I derived great advantage in New
York, none ranks higher than the
Nineteenth Century Club organized by Mr.
and Mrs. Courtlandt Palmer. The club met
at their house once a month for the
discussion of various topics and soon
attracted many able men and women. It
was to Madame Botta I owed my election to
membership--a remarkable woman, wife
of Professor Botta, whose drawing-room
became more of a salon than any in the
city, if indeed it were not the only one
resembling a salon at that time. I was
honored by an invitation one day to dine at
the Bottas' and there met for the first time
several distinguished people, among them
one who became my lifelong friend and
wise counselor, Andrew D. White, then
president of Cornell University, afterwards
Ambassador to Russia and Germany, and
our chief delegate to the Hague
Conference.

Here in the Nineteenth Century Club was

an arena, indeed. Able men and women
discussed the leading topics of the day in
due form, addressing the audience one
after another. The gatherings soon became
too large for a private room. The monthly
meetings were then held in the American
Art Galleries. I remember the first evening
I took part as one of the speakers the
subject was "The Aristocracy of the
Dollar." Colonel Thomas Wentworth
Higginson was the first speaker. This was
my introduction to a New York audience.
Thereafter I spoke now and then. It was
excellent training, for one had to read and
study for each appearance.

I had lived long enough in Pittsburgh to

acquire the manufacturing, as
distinguished from the speculative, spirit.
My knowledge of affairs, derived from my
position as telegraph operator, had
enabled me to know the few Pittsburgh
men or firms which then had dealings
upon the New York Stock Exchange, and I
watched their careers with deep interest.
To me their operations seemed simply a
species of gambling. I did not then know
that the credit of all these men or firms was
seriously impaired by the knowledge
(which it is almost impossible to conceal)
that they were given to speculation. But the
firms were then so few that I could have
counted them on the fingers of one hand.
The Oil and Stock Exchanges in Pittsburgh
had not as yet been founded and brokers'
offices with wires in connection with the
stock exchanges of the East were
unnecessary. Pittsburgh was emphatically
a manufacturing town.

I was surprised to find how very different

was the state of affairs in New York. There
were few even of the business men who
had not their ventures in Wall Street to a
greater or less extent. I was besieged with
inquiries from all quarters in regard to the
various railway enterprises with which I
was connected. Offers were made to me
by persons who were willing to furnish
capital for investment and allow me to
manage it--the supposition being that from
the inside view which I was enabled to
obtain I could invest for them successfully.
Invitations were extended to me to join
parties who intended quietly to buy up the
control of certain properties. In fact the
whole speculative field was laid out before
me in its most seductive guise.

All these allurements I declined. The most

notable offer of this kind I ever received
was one morning in the Windsor Hotel
soon after my removal to New York. Jay
Gould, then in the height of his career,
approached me and said he had heard of
me and he would purchase control of the
Pennsylvania Railroad Company and give
me one half of all profits if I would agree to
devote myself to its management. I
thanked him and said that, although Mr.
Scott and I had parted company in
business matters, I would never raise my
hand against him. Subsequently Mr. Scott
told me he had heard I had been selected
by New York interests to succeed him. I do
not know how he had learned this, as I had
never mentioned it. I was able to reassure
him by saying that the only railroad
company I would be president of would be
one I owned.

Strange what changes the whirligig of time

brings in. It was my part one morning in
1900, some thirty years afterwards, to tell
the son of Mr. Gould of his father's offer
and to say to him:

"Your father offered me control of the

great Pennsylvania system. Now I offer his
son in return the control of an international
line from ocean to ocean."

The son and I agreed upon the first

step--that was the bringing of his Wabash
line to Pittsburgh. This was successfully
done under a contract given the Wabash of
one third of the traffic of our steel
company. We were about to take up the
eastern extension from Pittsburgh to the
Atlantic when Mr. Morgan approached me
in March, 1901, through Mr. Schwab, and
asked if I really wished to retire from
business. I answered in the affirmative and
that put an end to our railway operations.

I have never bought or sold a share of

stock speculatively in my life, except one
small lot of Pennsylvania Railroad shares
that I bought early in life for investment
and for which I did not pay at the time
because bankers offered to carry it for me
at a low rate. I have adhered to the rule
never to purchase what I did not pay for,
and never to sell what I did not own. In
those early days, however, I had several
interests that were taken over in the course
of business. They included some stocks
and securities that were quoted on the
New York Stock Exchange, and I found that
when I opened my paper in the morning I
was tempted to look first at the quotations
of the stock market. As I had determined to
sell all my interests in every outside
concern and concentrate my attention
upon our manufacturing concerns in
Pittsburgh, I further resolved not even to
own any stock that was bought and sold
upon any stock exchange. With the
exception of trifling amounts which came
to me in various ways I have adhered
strictly to this rule.

Such a course should commend itself to

every man in the manufacturing business
and to all professional men. For the
manufacturing man especially the rule
would seem all-important. His mind must
be kept calm and free if he is to decide
wisely the problems which are continually
coming before him. Nothing tells in the
long run like good judgment, and no
sound judgment can remain with the man
whose mind is disturbed by the mercurial
changes of the Stock Exchange. It places
him under an influence akin to
intoxication. What is not, he sees, and what
he sees, is not. He cannot judge of relative
values or get the true perspective of
things. The molehill seems to him a
mountain and the mountain a molehill, and
he jumps at conclusions which he should
arrive at by reason. His mind is upon the
stock quotations and not upon the points
that require calm thought. Speculation is a
parasite feeding upon values, creating
none.

My first important enterprise after settling

in New York was undertaking to build a
bridge across the Mississippi at
Keokuk.[29] Mr. Thomson, president of the
Pennsylvania Railroad, and I contracted for
the whole structure, foundation, masonry,
and superstructure, taking bonds and
stocks in payment. The undertaking was a
splendid success in every respect, except
financially. A panic threw the connecting
railways into bankruptcy. They were
unable to pay the stipulated sums. Rival
systems built a bridge across the
Mississippi at Burlington and a railway
down the west side of the Mississippi to
Keokuk. The handsome profits which we
saw in prospect were never realized. Mr.
Thomson and myself, however, escaped
loss, although there was little margin left.

[Footnote 29: It was an iron bridge 2300

feet in length with a 380-foot span.]

The superstructure for this bridge was

built at our Keystone Works in Pittsburgh.
The undertaking required me to visit
Keokuk occasionally, and there I made the
acquaintance of clever and delightful
people, among them General and Mrs.
Reid, and Mr. and Mrs. Leighton. Visiting
Keokuk with some English friends at a later
date, the impression they received of
society in the Far West, on what to them
seemed the very outskirts of civilization,
was surprising. A reception given to us
one evening by General Reid brought
together an assembly creditable to any
town in Britain. More than one of the guests
had distinguished himself during the war
and had risen to prominence in the
national councils.

The reputation obtained in the building of

the Keokuk bridge led to my being
applied to by those who were in charge of
the scheme for bridging the Mississippi at
St. Louis, to which I have already referred.
This was connected with my first large
financial transaction. One day in 1869 the
gentleman in charge of the enterprise, Mr.
Macpherson (he was very Scotch), called
at my New York office and said they were
trying to raise capital to build the bridge.
He wished to know if I could not enlist
some of the Eastern railroad companies in
the scheme. After careful examination of
the project I made the contract for the
construction of the bridge on behalf of the
Keystone Bridge Works. I also obtained an
option upon four million dollars of first
mortgage bonds of the bridge company
and set out for London in March, 1869, to
negotiate their sale.

During the voyage I prepared a

prospectus which I had printed upon my
arrival in London, and, having upon my
previous visit made the acquaintance of
Junius S. Morgan, the great banker, I
called upon him one morning and opened
negotiations. I left with him a copy of the
prospectus, and upon calling next day was
delighted to find that Mr. Morgan viewed
the matter favorably. I sold him part of the
bonds with the option to take the
remainder; but when his lawyers were
called in for advice a score of changes
were required in the wording of the
bonds. Mr. Morgan said to me that as I was
going to Scotland I had better go now; I
could write the parties in St. Louis and
ascertain whether they would agree to the
changes proposed. It would be time
enough, he said, to close the matter upon
my return three weeks hence.

But I had no idea of allowing the fish to

play so long, and informed him that I
would have a telegram in the morning
agreeing to all the changes. The Atlantic
cable had been open for some time, but it
is doubtful if it had yet carried so long a
private cable as I sent that day. It was an
easy matter to number the lines of the
bond and then going carefully over them
to state what changes, omissions, or
additions were required in each line. I
showed Mr. Morgan the message before
sending it and he said:

"Well, young man, if you succeed in that

you deserve a red mark."

When I entered the office next morning, I

found on the desk that had been
appropriated to my use in Mr. Morgan's
private office the colored envelope which
contained the answer. There it was: "Board
meeting last night; changes all approved."
"Now, Mr. Morgan," I said, "we can
proceed, assuming that the bond is as your
lawyers desire." The papers were soon
closed.

[Illustration: JUNIUS SPENCER MORGAN]

While I was in the office Mr. Sampson, the
financial editor of "The Times," came in. I
had an interview with him, well knowing
that a few words from him would go far in
lifting the price of the bonds on the
Exchange. American securities had
recently been fiercely attacked, owing to
the proceedings of Fisk and Gould in
connection with the Erie Railway
Company, and their control of the judges
in New York, who seemed to do their
bidding. I knew this would be handed out
as an objection, and therefore I met it at
once. I called Mr. Sampson's attention to
the fact that the charter of the St. Louis
Bridge Company was from the National
Government. In case of necessity appeal
lay directly to the Supreme Court of the
United States, a body vying with their own
high tribunals. He said he would be
delighted to give prominence to this
commendable feature. I described the
bridge as a toll-gate on the continental
highway and this appeared to please him.
It was all plain and easy sailing, and when
he left the office, Mr. Morgan clapped me
on the shoulder and said:

"Thank you, young man; you have raised

the price of those bonds five per cent this
morning."

"All right, Mr. Morgan," I replied; "now

show me how I can raise them five per cent
more for you."

The issue was a great success, and the

money for the St. Louis Bridge was
obtained. I had a considerable margin of
profit upon the negotiation. This was my
first financial negotiation with the bankers
of Europe. Mr. Pullman told me a few days
later that Mr. Morgan at a dinner party had
told the telegraphic incident and
predicted, "That young man will be heard
from."

After closing with Mr. Morgan, I visited my

native town, Dunfermline, and at that time
made the town a gift of public baths. It is
notable largely because it was the first
considerable gift I had ever made. Long
before that I had, at my Uncle Lauder's
suggestion, sent a subscription to the fund
for the Wallace Monument on Stirling
Heights overlooking Bannockburn. It was
not much, but I was then in the telegraph
office and it was considerable out of a
revenue of thirty dollars per month with
family expenses staring us in the face.
Mother did not grudge it; on the contrary,
she was a very proud woman that her son's
name was seen on the list of contributors,
and her son felt he was really beginning to
be something of a man. Years afterward
my mother and I visited Stirling, and there
unveiled, in the Wallace Tower, a bust of
Sir Walter Scott, which she had presented
to the monument committee. We had then
made great progress, at least financially,
since the early subscription. But
distribution had not yet begun.[30] So far
with me it had been the age of
accumulation.

[Footnote 30: The ambitions of Mr.

Carnegie at this time (1868) are set forth in
the following memorandum made by him.
It has only recently come to light:

_St. Nicholas Hotel, New York, December,

1868_

Thirty-three and an income of $50,000 per

annum! By this time two years I can so
arrange all my business as to secure at
least $50,000 per annum. Beyond this
never earn--make no effort to increase
fortune, but spend the surplus each year
for benevolent purposes. Cast aside
business forever, except for others.

Settle in Oxford and get a thorough

education, making the acquaintance of
literary men--this will take three years'
active work--pay especial attention to
speaking in public. Settle then in London
and purchase a controlling interest in
some newspaper or live review and give
the general management of it attention,
taking a part in public matters, especially
those connected with education and
improvement of the poorer classes.

Man must have an idol--the amassing of

wealth is one of the worst species of
idolatry--no idol more debasing than the
worship of money. Whatever I engage in I
must push inordinately; therefore should I
be careful to choose that life which will be
the most elevating in its character. To
continue much longer overwhelmed by
business cares and with most of my
thoughts wholly upon the way to make
more money in the shortest time, must
degrade me beyond hope of permanent
recovery. I will resign business at
thirty-five, but during the ensuing two
years I wish to spend the afternoons in
receiving instruction and in reading
systematically.]

While visiting the Continent of Europe in

1867 and deeply interested in what I saw,
it must not be thought that my mind was
not upon affairs at home. Frequent letters
kept me advised of business matters. The
question of railway communication with
the Pacific had been brought to the front
by the Civil War, and Congress had
passed an act to encourage the
construction of a line. The first sod had just
been cut at Omaha and it was intended that
the line should ultimately be pushed
through to San Francisco. One day while in
Rome it struck me that this might be done
much sooner than was then anticipated.
The nation, having made up its mind that
its territory must be bound together, might
be trusted to see that no time was lost in
accomplishing it. I wrote my friend Mr.
Scott, suggesting that we should obtain the
contract to place sleeping-cars upon the
great California line. His reply contained
these words:

"Well, young man, you do take time by the

forelock."

Nevertheless, upon my return to America.

I pursued the idea. The sleeping-car
business, in which I was interested, had
gone on increasing so rapidly that it was
impossible to obtain cars enough to supply
the demand. This very fact led to the
forming of the present Pullman Company.
The Central Transportation Company was
simply unable to cover the territory with
sufficient rapidity, and Mr. Pullman
beginning at the greatest of all railway
centers in the world--Chicago--soon
rivaled the parent concern. He had also
seen that the Pacific Railroad would be the
great sleeping-car line of the world, and I
found him working for what I had started
after. He was, indeed, a lion in the path.
Again, one may learn, from an incident
which I had from Mr. Pullman himself, by
what trifles important matters are
sometimes determined.

The president of the Union Pacific Railway

was passing through Chicago. Mr. Pullman
called upon him and was shown into his
room. Lying upon the table was a telegram
addressed to Mr. Scott, saying, "Your
proposition for sleeping-cars is accepted."
Mr. Pullman read this involuntarily and
before he had time to refrain. He could not
help seeing it where it lay. When President
Durrant entered the room he explained
this to him and said:

"I trust you will not decide this matter until

I have made a proposition to you."

Mr. Durrant promised to wait. A meeting of

the board of directors of the Union Pacific
Company was held soon after this in New
York. Mr. Pullman and myself were in
attendance, both striving to obtain the
prize which neither he nor I undervalued.
One evening we began to mount the broad
staircase in the St. Nicholas Hotel at the
same time. We had met before, but were
not well acquainted. I said, however, as we
walked up the stairs:
"Good-evening, Mr. Pullman! Here we are
together, and are we not making a nice
couple of fools of ourselves?" He was not
disposed to admit anything and said:

"What do you mean?"

I explained the situation to him. We were

destroying by our rival propositions the
very advantages we desired to obtain.

"Well," he said, "what do you propose to

do about it?"

"Unite," I said. "Make a joint proposition to

the Union Pacific, your party and mine, and
organize a company."

"What would you call it?" he asked.

"The Pullman Palace Car Company," I

replied.
This suited him exactly; and it suited me
equally well.

"Come into my room and talk it over," said

the great sleeping-car man.

I did so, and the result was that we

obtained the contract jointly. Our company
was subsequently merged in the general
Pullman Company and we took stock in
that company for our Pacific interests. Until
compelled to sell my shares during the
subsequent financial panic of 1873 to
protect our iron and steel interests, I was, I
believe, the largest shareholder in the
Pullman Company.

This man Pullman and his career are so

thoroughly American that a few words
about him will not be out of place. Mr.
Pullman was at first a working carpenter,
but when Chicago had to be elevated he
took a contract on his own account to move
or elevate houses for a stipulated sum. Of
course he was successful, and from this
small beginning he became one of the
principal and best-known contractors in
that line. If a great hotel was to be raised
ten feet without disturbing its hundreds of
guests or interfering in any way with its
business, Mr. Pullman was the man. He
was one of those rare characters who can
see the drift of things, and was always to
be found, so to speak, swimming in the
main current where movement was the
fastest. He soon saw, as I did, that the
sleeping-car was a positive necessity upon
the American continent. He began to
construct a few cars at Chicago and to
obtain contracts upon the lines centering
there.

The Eastern concern was in no condition to

cope with that of an extraordinary man like
Mr. Pullman. I soon recognized this, and
although the original patents were with the
Eastern company and Mr. Woodruff
himself, the original patentee, was a large
shareholder, and although we might have
obtained damages for infringement of
patent after some years of litigation, yet
the time lost before this could be done
would have been sufficient to make
Pullman's the great company of the
country. I therefore earnestly advocated
that we should unite with Mr. Pullman, as I
had united with him before in the Union
Pacific contract. As the personal relations
between Mr. Pullman and some members
of the Eastern company were
unsatisfactory, it was deemed best that I
should undertake the negotiations, being
upon friendly footing with both parties. We
soon agreed that the Pullman Company
should absorb our company, the Central
Transportation Company, and by this
means Mr. Pullman, instead of being
confined to the West, obtained control of
the rights on the great Pennsylvania trunk
line to the Atlantic seaboard. This placed
his company beyond all possible rivals.
Mr. Pullman was one of the ablest men of
affairs I have ever known, and I am
indebted to him, among other things, for
one story which carried a moral.

Mr. Pullman, like every other man, had his

difficulties and disappointments, and did
not hit the mark every time. No one does.
Indeed, I do not know any one but himself
who could have surmounted the difficulties
surrounding the business of running
sleeping-cars in a satisfactory manner and
still retained some rights which the railway
companies were bound to respect. Railway
companies should, of course, operate their
own sleeping-cars. On one occasion when
we were comparing notes he told me that
he always found comfort in this story. An
old man in a Western county having
suffered from all the ills that flesh is heir to,
and a great many more than it usually
encounters, and being commiserated by
his neighbors, replied:

"Yes, my friends, all that you say is true. I

have had a long, long life full of troubles,
but there is one curious fact about
them--nine tenths of them never
happened."

True indeed; most of the troubles of

humanity are imaginary and should be
laughed out of court. It is folly to cross a
bridge until you come to it, or to bid the
Devil good-morning until you meet
him--perfect folly. All is well until the
stroke falls, and even then nine times out
of ten it is not so bad as anticipated. A wise
man is the confirmed optimist.

Success in these various negotiations had

brought me into some notice in New York,
and my next large operation was in
connection with the Union Pacific Railway
in 1871. One of its directors came to me
saying that they must raise in some way a
sum of six hundred thousand dollars
(equal to many millions to-day) to carry
them through a crisis; and some friends
who knew me and were on the executive
committee of that road had suggested that
I might be able to obtain the money and at
the same time get for the Pennsylvania
Railroad Company virtual control of that
important Western line. I believe Mr.
Pullman came with the director, or
perhaps it was Mr. Pullman himself who
first came to me on the subject.

I took up the matter, and it occurred to me

that if the directors of the Union Pacific
Railway would be willing to elect to its
board of directors a few such men as the
Pennsylvania Railroad would nominate, the
traffic to be thus obtained for the
Pennsylvania would justify that company in
helping the Union Pacific. I went to
Philadelphia and laid the subject before
President Thomson. I suggested that if the
Pennsylvania Railroad Company would
trust me with securities upon which the
Union Pacific could borrow money in New
York, we could control the Union Pacific in
the interests of the Pennsylvania. Among
many marks of Mr. Thomson's confidence
this was up to that time the greatest. He
was much more conservative when
handling the money of the railroad
company than his own, but the prize
offered was too great to be missed. Even if
the six hundred thousand dollars had been
lost, it would not have been a losing
investment for his company, and there was
little danger of this because we were
ready to hand over to him the securities
which we obtained in return for the loan to
the Union Pacific.

My interview with Mr. Thomson took place

at his house in Philadelphia, and as I rose
to go he laid his hand upon my shoulder,
saying:

"Remember, Andy, I look to you in this

matter. It is you I trust, and I depend on
your holding all the securities you obtain
and seeing that the Pennsylvania Railroad
is never in a position where it can lose a
dollar."

I accepted the responsibility, and the

result was a triumphant success. The Union
Pacific Company was exceedingly anxious
that Mr. Thomson himself should take the
presidency, but this he said was out of the
question. He nominated Mr. Thomas A.
Scott, vice-president of the Pennsylvania
Railroad, for the position. Mr. Scott, Mr.
Pullman, and myself were accordingly
elected directors of the Union Pacific
Railway Company in 1871.

The securities obtained for the loan

consisted of three millions of the shares of
the Union Pacific, which were locked in my
safe, with the option of taking them at a
price. As was to be expected, the
accession of the Pennsylvania Railroad
party rendered the stock of the Union
Pacific infinitely more valuable. The shares
advanced enormously. At this time I
undertook to negotiate bonds in London
for a bridge to cross the Missouri at
Omaha, and while I was absent upon this
business Mr. Scott decided to sell our
Union Pacific shares. I had left instructions
with my secretary that Mr. Scott, as one of
the partners in the venture, should have
access to the vault, as it might be
necessary in my absence that the
securities should be within reach of some
one; but the idea that these should be sold,
or that our party should lose the splendid
position we had acquired in connection
with the Union Pacific, never entered my
brain.

I returned to find that, instead of being a

trusted colleague of the Union Pacific
directors, I was regarded as having used
them for speculative purposes. No quartet
of men ever had a finer opportunity for
identifying themselves with a great work
than we had; and never was an opportunity
more recklessly thrown away. Mr. Pullman
was ignorant of the matter and as indignant
as myself, and I believe that he at once
re-invested his profits in the shares of the
Union Pacific. I felt that much as I wished to
do this and to repudiate what had been
done, it would be unbecoming and
perhaps ungrateful in me to separate
myself so distinctly from my first of friends,
Mr. Scott.

At the first opportunity we were

ignominiously but deservedly expelled
from the Union Pacific board. It was a
bitter dose for a young man to swallow.
And the transaction marked my first
serious difference with a man who up to
that time had the greatest influence with
me, the kind and affectionate employer of
my boyhood, Thomas A. Scott. Mr.
Thomson regretted the matter, but, as he
said, having paid no attention to it and
having left the whole control of it in the
hands of Mr. Scott and myself, he
presumed that I had thought best to sell
out. For a time I feared I had lost a valued
friend in Levi P. Morton, of Morton, Bliss &
Co., who was interested in Union Pacific,
but at last he found out that I was innocent.

The negotiations concerning two and a half

millions of bonds for the construction of
the Omaha Bridge were successful, and as
these bonds had been purchased by
persons connected with the Union Pacific
before I had anything to do with the
company, it was for them and not for the
Union Pacific Company that the
negotiations were conducted. This was not
explained to me by the director who
talked with me before I left for London.
Unfortunately, when I returned to New
York I found that the entire proceeds of the
bonds, including my profit, had been
appropriated by the parties to pay their
own debts, and I was thus beaten out of a
handsome sum, and had to credit to profit
and loss my expenses and time. I had
never before been cheated and found it
out so positively and so clearly. I saw that I
was still young and had a good deal to
learn. Many men can be trusted, but a few
need watching.
CHAPTER XII

BUSINESS NEGOTIATIONS

Complete success attended a negotiation

which I conducted about this time for
Colonel William Phillips, president of the
Allegheny Valley Railway at Pittsburgh.
One day the Colonel entered my New
York office and told me that he needed
money badly, but that he could get no
house in America to entertain the idea of
purchasing five millions of bonds of his
company although they were to be
guaranteed by the Pennsylvania Railroad
Company. The old gentleman felt sure that
he was being driven from pillar to post by
the bankers because they had agreed
among themselves to purchase the bonds
only upon their own terms. He asked
ninety cents on the dollar for them, but this
the bankers considered preposterously
high. Those were the days when Western
railway bonds were often sold to the
bankers at eighty cents on the dollar.

Colonel Phillips said he had come to see

whether I could not suggest some way out
of his difficulty. He had pressing need for
two hundred and fifty thousand dollars,
and this Mr. Thomson, of the Pennsylvania
Railroad, could not give him. The
Allegheny bonds were seven per cents,
but they were payable, not in gold, but in
currency, in America. They were therefore
wholly unsuited for the foreign market. But
I knew that the Pennsylvania Railroad
Company had a large amount of
Philadelphia and Erie Railroad six per cent
gold bonds in its treasury. It would be a
most desirable exchange on its part, I
thought, to give these bonds for the seven
per cent Allegheny bonds which bore its
guarantee.

I telegraphed Mr. Thomson, asking if the

Pennsylvania Railroad Company would
take two hundred and fifty thousand
dollars at interest and lend it to the
Allegheny Railway Company. Mr.
Thomson replied, "Certainly." Colonel
Phillips was happy. He agreed, in
consideration of my services, to give me a
sixty-days option to take his five millions of
bonds at the desired ninety cents on the
dollar. I laid the matter before Mr.
Thomson and suggested an exchange,
which that company was only too glad to
make, as it saved one per cent interest on
the bonds. I sailed at once for London with
the control of five millions of first mortgage
Philadelphia and Erie Bonds, guaranteed
by the Pennsylvania Railroad Company--a
magnificent security for which I wanted a
high price. And here comes in one of the
greatest of the hits and misses of my
financial life.

I wrote the Barings from Queenstown that I

had for sale a security which even their
house might unhesitatingly consider. On
my arrival in London I found at the hotel a
note from them requesting me to call. I did
so the next morning, and before I had left
their banking house I had closed an
agreement by which they were to bring
out this loan, and that until they sold the
bonds at par, less their two and a half per
cent commission, they would advance the
Pennsylvania Railroad Company four
millions of dollars at five per cent interest.
The sale left me a clear profit of more than
half a million dollars.

The papers were ordered to be drawn up,

but as I was leaving Mr. Russell Sturgis
said they had just heard that Mr. Baring
himself was coming up to town in the
morning. They had arranged to hold a
"court," and as it would be fitting to lay the
transaction before him as a matter of
courtesy they would postpone the signing
of the papers until the morrow. If I would
call at two o'clock the transaction would be
closed.

Never shall I forget the oppressed feeling

which overcame me as I stepped out and
proceeded to the telegraph office to wire
President Thomson. Something told me
that I ought not to do so. I would wait till
to-morrow when I had the contract in my
pocket. I walked from the banking house
to the Langham Hotel--four long miles.
When I reached there I found a messenger
waiting breathless to hand me a sealed
note from the Barings. Bismarck had
locked up a hundred millions in
Magdeburg. The financial world was
panic-stricken, and the Barings begged to
say that under the circumstances they
could not propose to Mr. Baring to go on
with the matter. There was as much chance
that I should be struck by lightning on my
way home as that an arrangement agreed
to by the Barings should be broken. And
yet it was. It was too great a blow to
produce anything like irritation or
indignation. I was meek enough to be
quite resigned, and merely congratulated
myself that I had not telegraphed Mr.
Thomson.

I decided not to return to the Barings, and

although J.S. Morgan & Co. had been
bringing out a great many American
securities I subsequently sold the bonds to
them at a reduced price as compared with
that agreed to by the Barings. I thought it
best not to go to Morgan & Co. at first,
because I had understood from Colonel
Phillips that the bonds had been
unsuccessfully offered by him to their
house in America and I supposed that the
Morgans in London might consider
themselves connected with the
negotiations through their house in New
York. But in all subsequent negotiations I
made it a rule to give the first offer to
Junius S. Morgan, who seldom permitted
me to leave his banking house without
taking what I had to offer. If he could not
buy for his own house, he placed me in
communication with a friendly house that
did, he taking an interest in the issue. It is a
great satisfaction to reflect that I never
negotiated a security which did not to the
end command a premium. Of course in this
case I made a mistake in not returning to
the Barings, giving them time and letting
the panic subside, which it soon did. When
one party to a bargain becomes excited,
the other should keep cool and patient.
As an incident of my financial operations I
remember saying to Mr. Morgan one day:

"Mr. Morgan, I will give you an idea and

help you to carry it forward if you will give
me one quarter of all the money you make
by acting upon it."

He laughingly said: "That seems fair, and

as I have the option to act upon it, or not,
certainly we ought to be willing to pay you
a quarter of the profit."

I called attention to the fact that the

Allegheny Valley Railway bonds which I
had exchanged for the Philadelphia and
Erie bonds bore the guarantee of the
Pennsylvania Railroad Company, and that
that great company was always in need of
money for essential extensions. A price
might be offered for these bonds which
might tempt the company to sell them, and
that at the moment there appeared to be
such a demand for American securities
that no doubt they could be floated. I
would write a prospectus which I thought
would float the bonds. After examining the
matter with his usual care he decided that
he would act upon my suggestion.

Mr. Thomson was then in Paris and I ran

over there to see him. Knowing that the
Pennsylvania Railroad had need for money
I told him that I had recommended these
securities to Mr. Morgan and if he would
give me a price for them I would see if I
could not sell them. He named a price
which was then very high, but less than the
price which these bonds have since
reached. Mr. Morgan purchased part of
them with the right to buy others, and in
this way the whole nine or ten millions of
Allegheny bonds were marketed and the
Pennsylvania Railroad Company placed in
funds.

The sale of the bonds had not gone very

far when the panic of 1873 was upon us.
One of the sources of revenue which I then
had was Mr. Pierpont Morgan. He said to
me one day:

"My father has cabled to ask whether you

wish to sell out your interest in that idea
you gave him."

I said: "Yes, I do. In these days I will sell

anything for money."

"Well," he said, "what would you take?"

I said I believed that a statement recently

rendered to me showed that there were
already fifty thousand dollars to my credit,
and I would take sixty thousand. Next
morning when I called Mr. Morgan handed
me checks for seventy thousand dollars.

"Mr. Carnegie," he said, "you were

mistaken. You sold out for ten thousand
dollars less than the statement showed to
your credit. It now shows not fifty but sixty
thousand to your credit, and the additional
ten makes seventy."

The payments were in two checks, one for

sixty thousand dollars and the other for the
additional ten thousand. I handed him
back the ten-thousand-dollar check,
saying:

"Well, that is something worthy of you.

Will you please accept these ten thousand
with my best wishes?"

"No, thank you," he said, "I cannot do that."

Such acts, showing a nice sense of
honorable understanding as against mere
legal rights, are not so uncommon in
business as the uninitiated might believe.
And, after that, it is not to be wondered at
if I determined that so far as lay in my
power neither Morgan, father or son, nor
their house, should suffer through me.
They had in me henceforth a firm friend.

[Illustration: JOHN PIERPONT MORGAN]

A great business is seldom if ever built up,

except on lines of the strictest integrity. A
reputation for "cuteness" and sharp
dealing is fatal in great affairs. Not the
letter of the law, but the spirit, must be the
rule. The standard of commercial morality
is now very high. A mistake made by any
one in favor of the firm is corrected as
promptly as if the error were in favor of the
other party. It is essential to permanent
success that a house should obtain a
reputation for being governed by what is
fair rather than what is merely legal. A rule
which we adopted and adhered to has
given greater returns than one would
believe possible, namely: always give the
other party the benefit of the doubt. This,
of course, does not apply to the
speculative class. An entirely different
atmosphere pervades that world. Men are
only gamblers there. Stock gambling and
honorable business are incompatible. In
recent years it must be admitted that the
old-fashioned "banker," like Junius S.
Morgan of London, has become rare.

Soon after being deposed as president of

the Union Pacific, Mr. Scott[31] resolved
upon the construction of the Texas Pacific
Railway. He telegraphed me one day in
New York to meet him at Philadelphia
without fail. I met him there with several
other friends, among them Mr. J.N.
McCullough, vice-president of the
Pennsylvania Railroad Company at
Pittsburgh. A large loan for the Texas
Pacific had fallen due in London and its
renewal was agreed to by Morgan & Co.,
provided I would join the other parties to
the loan. I declined. I was then asked
whether I would bring them all to ruin by
refusing to stand by my friends. It was one
of the most trying moments of my whole
life. Yet I was not tempted for a moment to
entertain the idea of involving myself. The
question of what was my duty came first
and prevented that. All my capital was in
manufacturing and every dollar of it was
required. I was the capitalist (then a
modest one, indeed) of our concern. All
depended upon me. My brother with his
wife and family, Mr. Phipps and his family,
Mr. Kloman and his family, all rose up
before me and claimed protection.
[Footnote 31: Colonel Thomas A. Scott left
the Union Pacific in 1872. The same year
he became president of the Texas Pacific,
and in 1874 president of the Pennsylvania.]

I told Mr. Scott that I had done my best to

prevent him from beginning to construct a
great railway before he had secured the
necessary capital. I had insisted that
thousands of miles of railway lines could
not be constructed by means of temporary
loans. Besides, I had paid two hundred and
fifty thousand dollars cash for an interest in
it, which he told me upon my return from
Europe he had reserved for me, although I
had never approved the scheme. But
nothing in the world would ever induce me
to be guilty of endorsing the paper of that
construction company or of any other
concern than our own firm.
I knew that it would be impossible for me
to pay the Morgan loan in sixty days, or
even to pay my proportion of it. Besides, it
was not that loan by itself, but the
half-dozen other loans that would be
required thereafter that had to be
considered. This marked another step in
the total business separation which had to
come between Mr. Scott and myself. It
gave more pain than all the financial trials
to which I had been subjected up to that
time.

It was not long after this meeting that the

disaster came and the country was startled
by the failure of those whom it had
regarded as its strongest men. I fear Mr.
Scott's premature death[32] can
measurably be attributed to the
humiliation which he had to bear. He was a
sensitive rather than a proud man, and his
seemingly impending failure cut him to the
quick. Mr. McManus and Mr. Baird,
partners in the enterprise, also soon
passed away. These two men were
manufacturers like myself and in no
position to engage in railway construction.

[Footnote 32: Died May 21, 1881.]

The business man has no rock more

dangerous to encounter in his career than
this very one of endorsing commercial
paper. It can easily be avoided if he asks
himself two questions: Have I surplus
means for all possible requirements which
will enable me to pay without
inconvenience the utmost sum for which I
am liable under this endorsement?
Secondly: Am I willing to lose this sum for
the friend for whom I endorse? If these two
questions can be answered in the
affirmative he may be permitted to oblige
his friend, but not otherwise, if he be a
wise man. And if he can answer the first
question in the affirmative it will be well
for him to consider whether it would not be
better then and there to pay the entire sum
for which his name is asked. I am sure it
would be. A man's means are a trust to be
sacredly held for his own creditors as long
as he has debts and obligations.

Notwithstanding my refusal to endorse the

Morgan renewal, I was invited to
accompany the parties to New York next
morning in their special car for the
purpose of consultation. This I was only too
glad to do. Anthony Drexel was also called
in to accompany us. During the journey
Mr. McCullough remarked that he had
been looking around the car and had
made up his mind that there was only one
sensible man in it; the rest had all been
"fools." Here was "Andy" who had paid for
his shares and did not owe a dollar or have
any responsibility in the matter, and that
was the position they all ought to have
been in.

Mr. Drexel said he would like me to

explain how I had been able to steer clear
of these unfortunate troubles. I answered:
by strict adherence to what I believed to
be my duty never to put my name to
anything which I knew I could not pay at
maturity; or, to recall the familiar saying of
a Western friend, never to go in where you
couldn't wade. This water was altogether
too deep for me.

Regard for this rule has kept not only

myself but my partners out of trouble.
Indeed, we had gone so far in our
partnership agreement as to prevent
ourselves from endorsing or committing
ourselves in any way beyond trifling sums,
except for the firm. This I also gave as a
reason why I could not endorse.

During the period which these events

cover I had made repeated journeys to
Europe to negotiate various securities, and
in all I sold some thirty millions of dollars
worth. This was at a time when the Atlantic
cable had not yet made New York a part of
London financially considered, and when
London bankers would lend their balances
to Paris, Vienna, or Berlin for a shadow of
difference in the rate of interest rather than
to the United States at a higher rate. The
Republic was considered less safe than the
Continent by these good people. My
brother and Mr. Phipps conducted the iron
business so successfully that I could leave
for weeks at a time without anxiety. There
was danger lest I should drift away from
the manufacturing to the financial and
banking business. My successes abroad
brought me tempting opportunities, but
my preference was always for
manufacturing. I wished to make
something tangible and sell it and I
continued to invest my profits in extending
the works at Pittsburgh.

The small shops put up originally for the

Keystone Bridge Company had been
leased for other purposes and ten acres of
ground had been secured in Lawrenceville
on which new and extensive shops were
erected. Repeated additions to the Union
Iron Mills had made them the leading mills
in the United States for all sorts of
structural shapes. Business was promising
and all the surplus earnings I was making
in other fields were required to expand the
iron business. I had become interested,
with my friends of the Pennsylvania
Railroad Company, in building some
railways in the Western States, but
gradually withdrew from all such
enterprises and made up my mind to go
entirely contrary to the adage not to put all
one's eggs in one basket. I determined that
the proper policy was "to put all good
eggs in one basket and then watch that
basket."

I believe the true road to pre�inent

success in any line is to make yourself
master in that line. I have no faith in the
policy of scattering one's resources, and in
my experience I have rarely if ever met a
man who achieved pre�inence in
money-making--certainly never one in
manufacturing--who was interested in
many concerns. The men who have
succeeded are men who have chosen one
line and stuck to it. It is surprising how few
men appreciate the enormous dividends
derivable from investment in their own
business. There is scarcely a manufacturer
in the world who has not in his works some
machinery that should be thrown out and
replaced by improved appliances; or who
does not for the want of additional
machinery or new methods lose more than
sufficient to pay the largest dividend
obtainable by investment beyond his own
domain. And yet most business men whom
I have known invest in bank shares and in
far-away enterprises, while the true gold
mine lies right in their own factories.

I have tried always to hold fast to this

important fact. It has been with me a
cardinal doctrine that I could manage my
own capital better than any other person,
much better than any board of directors.
The losses men encounter during a
business life which seriously embarrass
them are rarely in their own business, but
in enterprises of which the investor is not
master. My advice to young men would be
not only to concentrate their whole time
and attention on the one business in life in
which they engage, but to put every dollar
of their capital into it. If there be any
business that will not bear extension, the
true policy is to invest the surplus in
first-class securities which will yield a
moderate but certain revenue if some
other growing business cannot be found.
As for myself my decision was taken early.
I would concentrate upon the manufacture
of iron and steel and be master in that.

My visits to Britain gave me excellent

opportunities to renew and make
acquaintance with those prominent in the
iron and steel business--Bessemer in the
front, Sir Lothian Bell, Sir Bernard
Samuelson, Sir Windsor Richards, Edward
Martin, Bingley, Evans, and the whole host
of captains in that industry. My election to
the council, and finally to the presidency of
the British Iron and Steel Institute soon
followed, I being the first president who
was not a British subject. That honor was
highly appreciated, although at first
declined, because I feared that I could not
give sufficient time to its duties, owing to
my residence in America.

As we had been compelled to engage in

the manufacture of wrought-iron in order
to make bridges and other structures, so
now we thought it desirable to
manufacture our own pig iron. And this led
to the erection of the Lucy Furnace in the
year 1870--a venture which would have
been postponed had we fully appreciated
its magnitude. We heard from time to time
the ominous predictions made by our
older brethren in the manufacturing
business with regard to the rapid growth
and extension of our young concern, but
we were not deterred. We thought we had
sufficient capital and credit to justify the
building of one blast furnace.

The estimates made of its cost, however,

did not cover more than half the
expenditure. It was an experiment with us.
Mr. Kloman knew nothing about
blast-furnace operations. But even without
exact knowledge no serious blunder was
made. The yield of the Lucy Furnace
(named after my bright sister-in-law)
exceeded our most sanguine expectations
and the then unprecedented output of a
hundred tons per day was made from one
blast furnace, for one week--an output that
the world had never heard of before. We
held the record and many visitors came to
marvel at the marvel.

It was not, however, all smooth sailing with

our iron business. Years of panic came at
intervals. We had passed safely through
the fall in values following the war, when
iron from nine cents per pound dropped to
three. Many failures occurred and our
financial manager had his time fully
occupied in providing funds to meet
emergencies. Among many wrecks our
firm stood with credit unimpaired. But the
manufacture of pig iron gave us more
anxiety than any other department of our
business so far. The greatest service
rendered us in this branch of
manufacturing was by Mr. Whitwell, of the
celebrated Whitwell Brothers of England,
whose blast-furnace stoves were so
generally used. Mr. Whitwell was one of
the best-known of the visitors who came to
marvel at the Lucy Furnace, and I laid the
difficulty we then were experiencing
before him. He said immediately:

"That comes from the angle of the bell

being wrong."
He explained how it should be changed.
Our Mr. Kloman was slow to believe this,
but I urged that a small glass-model
furnace and two bells be made, one as the
Lucy was and the other as Mr. Whitwell
advised it should be. This was done, and
upon my next visit experiments were
made with each, the result being just as
Mr. Whitwell had foretold. Our bell
distributed the large pieces to the sides of
the furnace, leaving the center a dense
mass through which the blast could only
partially penetrate. The Whitwell bell
threw the pieces to the center leaving the
circumference dense. This made all the
difference in the world. The Lucy's
troubles were over.

What a kind, big, broad man was Mr.

Whitwell, with no narrow jealousy, no
withholding his knowledge! We had in
some departments learned new things and
were able to be of service to his firm in
return. At all events, after that everything
we had was open to the Whitwells.
[To-day, as I write, I rejoice that one of the
two still is with us and that our friendship is
still warm. He was my predecessor in the
presidency of the British Iron and Steel
Institute.]
CHAPTER XIII

THE AGE OF STEEL

Looking back to-day it seems incredible

that only forty years ago (1870) chemistry
in the United States was an almost
unknown agent in connection with the
manufacture of pig iron. It was the agency,
above all others, most needful in the
manufacture of iron and steel. The
blast-furnace manager of that day was
usually a rude bully, generally a foreigner,
who in addition to his other acquirements
was able to knock down a man now and
then as a lesson to the other unruly spirits
under him. He was supposed to diagnose
the condition of the furnace by instinct, to
possess some almost supernatural power
of divination, like his congener in the
country districts who was reputed to be
able to locate an oil well or water supply
by means of a hazel rod. He was a
veritable quack doctor who applied
whatever remedies occurred to him for the
troubles of his patient.

The Lucy Furnace was out of one trouble

and into another, owing to the great
variety of ores, limestone, and coke which
were then supplied with little or no regard
to their component parts. This state of
affairs became intolerable to us. We finally
decided to dispense with the
rule-of-thumb-and-intuition manager, and
to place a young man in charge of the
furnace. We had a young shipping clerk,
Henry M. Curry, who had distinguished
himself, and it was resolved to make him
manager.

Mr. Phipps had the Lucy Furnace under his

special charge. His daily visits to it saved
us from failure there. Not that the furnace
was not doing as well as other furnaces in
the West as to money-making, but being
so much larger than other furnaces its
variations entailed much more serious
results. I am afraid my partner had
something to answer for in his Sunday
morning visits to the Lucy Furnace when
his good father and sister left the house for
more devotional duties. But even if he had
gone with them his real earnest prayer
could not but have had reference at times
to the precarious condition of the Lucy
Furnace then absorbing his thoughts.

The next step taken was to find a chemist

as Mr. Curry's assistant and guide. We
found the man in a learned German, Dr.
Fricke, and great secrets did the doctor
open up to us. Iron stone from mines that
had a high reputation was now found to
contain ten, fifteen, and even twenty per
cent less iron than it had been credited
with. Mines that hitherto had a poor
reputation we found to be now yielding
superior ore. The good was bad and the
bad was good, and everything was
topsy-turvy. Nine tenths of all the
uncertainties of pig-iron making were
dispelled under the burning sun of
chemical knowledge.

At a most critical period when it was

necessary for the credit of the firm that the
blast furnace should make its best product,
it had been stopped because an
exceedingly rich and pure ore had been
substituted for an inferior ore--an ore
which did not yield more than two thirds of
the quantity of iron of the other. The
furnace had met with disaster because too
much lime had been used to flux this
exceptionally pure ironstone. The very
superiority of the materials had involved
us in serious losses.

What fools we had been! But then there

was this consolation: we were not as great
fools as our competitors. It was years after
we had taken chemistry to guide us that it
was said by the proprietors of some other
furnaces that they could not afford to
employ a chemist. Had they known the
truth then, they would have known that
they could not afford to be without one.
Looking back it seems pardonable to
record that we were the first to employ a
chemist at blast furnaces--something our
competitors pronounced extravagant.

The Lucy Furnace became the most

profitable branch of our business, because
we had almost the entire monopoly of
scientific management. Having discovered
the secret, it was not long (1872) before we
decided to erect an additional furnace.
This was done with great economy as
compared with our first experiment. The
mines which had no reputation and the
products of which many firms would not
permit to be used in their blast furnaces
found a purchaser in us. Those mines
which were able to obtain an enormous
price for their products, owing to a
reputation for quality, we quietly ignored.
A curious illustration of this was the
celebrated Pilot Knob mine in Missouri. Its
product was, so to speak, under a cloud. A
small portion of it only could be used, it
was said, without obstructing the furnace.
Chemistry told us that it was low in
phosphorus, but very high in silicon. There
was no better ore and scarcely any as rich,
if it were properly fluxed. We therefore
bought heavily of this and received the
thanks of the proprietors for rendering
their property valuable.
It is hardly believable that for several
years we were able to dispose of the
highly phosphoric cinder from the
puddling furnaces at a higher price than
we had to pay for the pure cinder from the
heating furnaces of our competitors--a
cinder which was richer in iron than the
puddled cinder and much freer from
phosphorus. Upon some occasion a blast
furnace had attempted to smelt the flue
cinder, and from its greater purity the
furnace did not work well with a mixture
intended for an impurer article; hence for
years it was thrown over the banks of the
river at Pittsburgh by our competitors as
worthless. In some cases we were even
able to exchange a poor article for a good
one and obtain a bonus.

But it is still more unbelievable that a

prejudice, equally unfounded, existed
against putting into the blast furnaces the
roll-scale from the mills which was pure
oxide of iron. This reminds me of my dear
friend and fellow-Dunfermline townsman,
Mr. Chisholm, of Cleveland. We had many
pranks together. One day, when I was
visiting his works at Cleveland, I saw men
wheeling this valuable roll-scale into the
yard. I asked Mr. Chisholm where they
were going with it, and he said:

"To throw it over the bank. Our managers

have always complained that they had bad
luck when they attempted to remelt it in
the blast furnace."

I said nothing, but upon my return to

Pittsburgh I set about having a joke at his
expense. We had then a young man in our
service named Du Puy, whose father was
known as the inventor of a direct process
in iron-making with which he was then
experimenting in Pittsburgh. I
recommended our people to send Du Puy
to Cleveland to contract for all the
roll-scale of my friend's establishment. He
did so, buying it for fifty cents per ton and
having it shipped to him direct. This
continued for some time. I expected
always to hear of the joke being
discovered. The premature death of Mr.
Chisholm occurred before I could apprise
him of it. His successors soon, however,
followed our example.

I had not failed to notice the growth of the

Bessemer process. If this proved
successful I knew that iron was destined to
give place to steel; that the Iron Age would
pass away and the Steel Age take its place.
My friend, John A. Wright, president of the
Freedom Iron Works at Lewiston,
Pennsylvania, had visited England
purposely to investigate the new process.
He was one of our best and most
experienced manufacturers, and his
decision was so strongly in its favor that he
induced his company to erect Bessemer
works. He was quite right, but just a little in
advance of his time. The capital required
was greater than he estimated. More than
this, it was not to be expected that a
process which was even then in somewhat
of an experimental stage in Britain could
be transplanted to the new country and
operated successfully from the start. The
experiment was certain to be long and
costly, and for this my friend had not made
sufficient allowance.

At a later date, when the process had

become established in England, capitalists
began to erect the present Pennsylvania
Steel Works at Harrisburg. These also had
to pass through an experimental stage and
at a critical moment would probably have
been wrecked but for the timely assistance
of the Pennsylvania Railroad Company. It
required a broad and able man like
President Thomson, of the Pennsylvania
Railroad, to recommend to his board of
directors that so large a sum as six
hundred thousand dollars should be
advanced to a manufacturing concern on
his road, that steel rails might be secured
for the line. The result fully justified his
action.

The question of a substitute for iron rails

upon the Pennsylvania Railroad and other
leading lines had become a very serious
one. Upon certain curves at Pittsburgh, on
the road connecting the Pennsylvania with
the Fort Wayne, I had seen new iron rails
placed every six weeks or two months.
Before the Bessemer process was known I
had called President Thomson's attention
to the efforts of Mr. Dodds in England, who
had carbonized the heads of iron rails with
good results. I went to England and
obtained control of the Dodds patents and
recommended President Thomson to
appropriate twenty thousand dollars for
experiments at Pittsburgh, which he did.
We built a furnace on our grounds at the
upper mill and treated several hundred
tons of rails for the Pennsylvania Railroad
Company and with remarkably good
results as compared with iron rails. These
were the first hard-headed rails used in
America. We placed them on some of the
sharpest curves and their superior service
far more than compensated for the
advance made by Mr. Thomson. Had the
Bessemer process not been successfully
developed, I verily believe that we should
ultimately have been able to improve the
Dodds process sufficiently to make its
adoption general. But there was nothing to
be compared with the solid steel article
which the Bessemer process produced.
Our friends of the Cambria Iron Company
at Johnstown, near Pittsburgh--the
principal manufacturers of rails in
America--decided to erect a Bessemer
plant. In England I had seen it
demonstrated, at least to my satisfaction,
that the process could be made a grand
success without undue expenditure of
capital or great risk. Mr. William Coleman,
who was ever alive to new methods,
arrived at the same conclusion. It was
agreed we should enter upon the
manufacture of steel rails at Pittsburgh. He
became a partner and also my dear friend
Mr. David McCandless, who had so kindly
offered aid to my mother at my father's
death. The latter was not forgotten. Mr.
John Scott and Mr. David A. Stewart, and
others joined me; Mr. Edgar Thomson and
Mr. Thomas A. Scott, president and
vice-president of the Pennsylvania
Railroad, also became stockholders,
anxious to encourage the development of
steel. The steel-rail company was
organized January 1, 1873.

The question of location was the first to

engage our serious attention. I could not
reconcile myself to any location that was
proposed, and finally went to Pittsburgh to
consult with my partners about it. The
subject was constantly in my mind and in
bed Sunday morning the site suddenly
appeared to me. I rose and called to my
brother:

"Tom, you and Mr. Coleman are right

about the location; right at Braddock's,
between the Pennsylvania, the Baltimore
and Ohio, and the river, is the best
situation in America; and let's call the
works after our dear friend Edgar
Thomson. Let us go over to Mr. Coleman's
and drive out to Braddock's."

We did so that day, and the next morning

Mr. Coleman was at work trying to secure
the property. Mr. McKinney, the owner,
had a high idea of the value of his farm.
What we had expected to purchase for five
or six hundred dollars an acre cost us two
thousand. But since then we have been
compelled to add to our original purchase
at a cost of five thousand dollars per acre.

There, on the very field of Braddock's

defeat, we began the erection of our
steel-rail mills. In excavating for the
foundations many relics of the battle were
found--bayonets, swords, and the like. It
was there that the then provost of
Dunfermline, Sir Arthur Halkett, and his
son were slain. How did they come to be
there will very naturally be asked. It must
not be forgotten that, in those days, the
provosts of the cities of Britain were
members of the aristocracy--the great men
of the district who condescended to enjoy
the honor of the position without
performing the duties. No one in trade was
considered good enough for the
provostship. We have remnants of this
aristocratic notion throughout Britain
to-day. There is scarcely any life assurance
or railway company, or in some cases
manufacturing company but must have at
its head, to enjoy the honors of the
presidency, some titled person totally
ignorant of the duties of the position. So it
was that Sir Arthur Halkett, as a gentleman,
was Provost of Dunfermline, but by calling
he followed the profession of arms and was
killed on this spot. It was a coincidence
that what had been the field of death to two
native-born citizens of Dunfermline should
be turned into an industrial hive by two
others.
Another curious fact has recently been
discovered. Mr. John Morley's address, in
1904 on Founder's Day at the Carnegie
Institute, Pittsburgh, referred to the
capture of Fort Duquesne by General
Forbes and his writing Prime Minister Pitt
that he had rechristened it "Pittsburgh" for
him. This General Forbes was then Laird of
Pittencrieff and was born in the Glen which
I purchased in 1902 and presented to
Dunfermline for a public park. So that two
Dunfermline men have been Lairds of
Pittencrieff whose chief work was in
Pittsburgh. One named Pittsburgh and the
other labored for its development.

In naming the steel mills as we did the

desire was to honor my friend Edgar
Thomson, but when I asked permission to
use his name his reply was significant. He
said that as far as American steel rails
were concerned, he did not feel that he
wished to connect his name with them, for
they had proved to be far from creditable.
Uncertainty was, of course, inseparable
from the experimental stage; but, when I
assured him that it was now possible to
make steel rails in America as good in
every particular as the foreign article, and
that we intended to obtain for our rails the
reputation enjoyed by the Keystone
bridges and the Kloman axles, he
consented.

He was very anxious to have us purchase

land upon the Pennsylvania Railroad, as
his first thought was always for that
company. This would have given the
Pennsylvania a monopoly of our traffic.
When he visited Pittsburgh a few months
later and Mr. Robert Pitcairn, my successor
as superintendent of the Pittsburgh
Division of the Pennsylvania, pointed out to
him the situation of the new works at
Braddock's Station, which gave us not only
a connection with his own line, but also
with the rival Baltimore and Ohio line, and
with a rival in one respect greater than
either--the Ohio River--he said, with a
twinkle of his eye to Robert, as Robert told
me:

"Andy should have located his works a few

miles farther east." But Mr. Thomson knew
the good and sufficient reasons which
determined the selection of the unrivaled
site.

The works were well advanced when the

financial panic of September, 1873, came
upon us. I then entered upon the most
anxious period of my business life. All was
going well when one morning in our
summer cottage, in the Allegheny
Mountains at Cresson, a telegram came
announcing the failure of Jay Cooke & Co.
Almost every hour after brought news of
some fresh disaster. House after house
failed. The question every morning was
which would go next. Every failure
depleted the resources of other concerns.
Loss after loss ensued, until a total
paralysis of business set in. Every weak
spot was discovered and houses that
otherwise would have been strong were
borne down largely because our country
lacked a proper banking system.

We had not much reason to be anxious

about our debts. Not what we had to pay of
our own debts could give us much trouble,
but rather what we might have to pay for
our debtors. It was not our bills payable
but our bills receivable which required
attention, for we soon had to begin
meeting both. Even our own banks had to
beg us not to draw upon our balances. One
incident will shed some light upon the
currency situation. One of our pay-days
was approaching. One hundred thousand
dollars in small notes were absolutely
necessary, and to obtain these we paid a
premium of twenty-four hundred dollars in
New York and had them expressed to
Pittsburgh. It was impossible to borrow
money, even upon the best collaterals; but
by selling securities, which I had in
reserve, considerable sums were
realized--the company undertaking to
replace them later.

It happened that some of the railway

companies whose lines centered in
Pittsburgh owed us large sums for material
furnished--the Fort Wayne road being the
largest debtor. I remember calling upon
Mr. Thaw, the vice-president of the Fort
Wayne, and telling him we must have our
money. He replied:
"You ought to have your money, but we
are not paying anything these days that is
not protestable."

"Very good," I said, "your freight bills are

in that category and we shall follow your
excellent example. Now I am going to
order that we do not pay you one dollar for
freight."

"Well, if you do that," he said, "we will stop

your freight."

I said we would risk that. The railway

company could not proceed to that
extremity. And as a matter of fact we ran
for some time without paying the freight
bills. It was simply impossible for the
manufacturers of Pittsburgh to pay their
accruing liabilities when their customers
stopped payment. The banks were forced
to renew maturing paper. They behaved
splendidly to us, as they always have
done, and we steered safely through. But
in a critical period like this there was one
thought uppermost with me, to gather
more capital and keep it in our business so
that come what would we should never
again be called upon to endure such
nights and days of racking anxiety.

Speaking for myself in this great crisis, I

was at first the most excited and anxious of
the partners. I could scarcely control
myself. But when I finally saw the strength
of our financial position I became
philosophically cool and found myself
quite prepared, if necessary, to enter the
directors' rooms of the various banks with
which we dealt, and lay our entire position
before their boards. I felt that this could
result in nothing discreditable to us. No
one interested in our business had lived
extravagantly. Our manner of life had
been the very reverse of this. No money
had been withdrawn from the business to
build costly homes, and, above all, not one
of us had made speculative ventures upon
the stock exchange, or invested in any
other enterprises than those connected
with the main business. Neither had we
exchanged endorsements with others.
Besides this we could show a prosperous
business that was making money every
year.

I was thus enabled to laugh away the fears

of my partners, but none of them rejoiced
more than I did that the necessity for
opening our lips to anybody about our
finances did not arise. Mr. Coleman, good
friend and true, with plentiful means and
splendid credit, did not fail to volunteer to
give us his endorsements. In this we stood
alone; William Coleman's name, a tower of
strength, was for us only. How the grand
old man comes before me as I write. His
patriotism knew no bounds. Once when
visiting his mills, stopped for the Fourth of
July, as they always were, he found a corps
of men at work repairing the boilers. He
called the manager to him and asked what
this meant. He ordered all work
suspended.

"Work on the Fourth of July!" he

exclaimed, "when there's plenty of
Sundays for repairs!" He was furious.

When the cyclone of 1873 struck us we at

once began to reef sail in every quarter.
Very reluctantly did we decide that the
construction of the new steel works must
cease for a time. Several prominent
persons, who had invested in them,
became unable to meet their payments
and I was compelled to take over their
interests, repaying the full cost to all. In
that way control of the company came into
my hands.

The first outburst of the storm had affected

the financial world connected with the
Stock Exchange. It was some time before it
reached the commercial and
manufacturing world. But the situation
grew worse and worse and finally led to
the crash which involved my friends in the
Texas Pacific enterprise, of which I have
already spoken. This was to me the
severest blow of all. People could, with
difficulty, believe that occupying such
intimate relations as I did with the Texas
group, I could by any possibility have kept
myself clear of their financial obligations.

Mr. Schoenberger, president of the

Exchange Bank at Pittsburgh, with which
we conducted a large business, was in
New York when the news reached him of
the embarrassment of Mr. Scott and Mr.
Thomson. He hastened to Pittsburgh, and
at a meeting of his board next morning
said it was simply impossible that I was not
involved with them. He suggested that the
bank should refuse to discount more of our
bills receivable. He was alarmed to find
that the amount of these bearing our
endorsement and under discount, was so
large. Prompt action on my part was
necessary to prevent serious trouble. I
took the first train for Pittsburgh, and was
able to announce there to all concerned
that, although I was a shareholder in the
Texas enterprise, my interest was paid for.
My name was not upon one dollar of their
paper or of any other outstanding paper. I
stood clear and clean without a financial
obligation or property which I did not own
and which was not fully paid for. My only
obligations were those connected with our
business; and I was prepared to pledge for
it every dollar I owned, and to endorse
every obligation the firm had outstanding.

Up to this time I had the reputation in

business of being a bold, fearless, and
perhaps a somewhat reckless young man.
Our operations had been extensive, our
growth rapid and, although still young, I
had been handling millions. My own
career was thought by the elderly ones of
Pittsburgh to have been rather more
brilliant than substantial. I know of an
experienced one who declared that if
"Andrew Carnegie's brains did not carry
him through his luck would." But I think
nothing could be farther from the truth
than the estimate thus suggested. I am sure
that any competent judge would be
surprised to find how little I ever risked for
myself or my partners. When I did big
things, some large corporation like the
Pennsylvania Railroad Company was
behind me and the responsible party. My
supply of Scotch caution never has been
small; but I was apparently something of a
dare-devil now and then to the
manufacturing fathers of Pittsburgh. They
were old and I was young, which made all
the difference.

The fright which Pittsburgh financial

institutions had with regard to myself and
our enterprises rapidly gave place to
perhaps somewhat unreasoning
confidence. Our credit became
unassailable, and thereafter in times of
financial pressure the offerings of money
to us increased rather than diminished,
just as the deposits of the old Bank of
Pittsburgh were never so great as when
the deposits in other banks ran low. It was
the only bank in America which redeemed
its circulation in gold, disdaining to take
refuge under the law and pay its
obligations in greenbacks. It had few
notes, and I doubt not the decision paid as
an advertisement.

In addition to the embarrassment of my

friends Mr. Scott, Mr. Thomson, and others,
there came upon us later an even severer
trial in the discovery that our partner, Mr.
Andrew Kloman, had been led by a party
of speculative people into the Escanaba
Iron Company. He was assured that the
concern was to be made a stock company,
but before this was done his colleagues
had succeeded in creating an enormous
amount of liabilities--about seven hundred
thousand dollars. There was nothing but
bankruptcy as a means of reinstating Mr.
Kloman.

This gave us more of a shock than all that

had preceded, because Mr. Kloman, being
a partner, had no right to invest in another
iron company, or in any other company
involving personal debt, without informing
his partners. There is one imperative rule
for men in business--no secrets from
partners. Disregard of this rule involved
not only Mr. Kloman himself, but our
company, in peril, coming, as it did, atop
of the difficulties of my Texas Pacific
friends with whom I had been intimately
associated. The question for a time was
whether there was anything really sound.
Where could we find bedrock upon which
we could stand?

Had Mr. Kloman been a business man it

would have been impossible ever to allow
him to be a partner with us again after this
discovery. He was not such, however, but
the ablest of practical mechanics with
some business ability. Mr. Kloman's
ambition had been to be in the office,
where he was worse than useless, rather
than in the mill devising and running new
machinery, where he was without a peer.
We had some difficulty in placing him in
his proper position and keeping him there,
which may have led him to seek an outlet
elsewhere. He was perhaps flattered by
men who were well known in the
community; and in this case he was led by
persons who knew how to reach him by
extolling his wonderful business abilities
in addition to his mechanical
genius--abilities which his own partners,
as already suggested, but faintly
recognized.

After Mr. Kloman had passed through the

bankruptcy court and was again free, we
offered him a ten per cent interest in our
business, charging for it only the actual
capital invested, with nothing whatever for
good-will. This we were to carry for him
until the profits paid for it. We were to
charge interest only on the cost, and he
was to assume no responsibility. The offer
was accompanied by the condition that he
should not enter into any other business or
endorse for others, but give his whole time
and attention to the mechanical and not the
business management of the mills. Could
he have been persuaded to accept this, he
would have been a multimillionaire; but
his pride, and more particularly that of his
family, perhaps, would not permit this. He
would go into business on his own account,
and, notwithstanding the most urgent
appeals on my part, and that of my
colleagues, he persisted in the
determination to start a new rival concern
with his sons as business managers. The
result was failure and premature death.

How foolish we are not to recognize what

we are best fitted for and can perform, not
only with ease but with pleasure, as
masters of the craft. More than one able
man I have known has persisted in
blundering in an office when he had great
talent for the mill, and has worn himself
out, oppressed with cares and anxieties,
his life a continual round of misery, and the
result at last failure. I never regretted
parting with any man so much as Mr.
Kloman. His was a good heart, a great
mechanical brain, and had he been left to
himself I believe he would have been glad
to remain with us. Offers of capital from
others--offers which failed when
needed--turned his head, and the great
mechanic soon proved the poor man of
affairs.[33]

[Footnote 33: Long after the circumstances

here recited, Mr. Isidor Straus called upon
Mr. Henry Phipps and asked him if two
statements which had been publicly made
about Mr. Carnegie and his partners in the
steel company were true. Mr. Phipps
replied they were not. Then said Mr.
Straus:

"Mr. Phipps, you owe it to yourself and

also to Mr. Carnegie to say so publicly."

This Mr. Phipps did in the _New York

Herald_, January 30, 1904, in the following
handsome manner and without Mr.
Carnegie's knowledge:

_Question:_ "In a recent publication

mention was made of Mr. Carnegie's not
having treated Mr. Miller, Mr. Kloman, and
yourself properly during your early
partnership, and at its termination. Can
you tell me anything about this?"

_Answer:_ "Mr. Miller has already spoken

for himself in this matter, and I can say that
the treatment received from Mr. Carnegie
during our partnership, so far as I was
concerned, was always fair and liberal.

"My association with Mr. Kloman in

business goes back forty-three years.
Everything in connection with Mr.
Carnegie's partnership with Mr. Kloman
was of a pleasant nature.

"At a much more recent date, when the

firm of Carnegie, Kloman and Company
was formed, the partners were Andrew
Carnegie, Thomas M. Carnegie, Andrew
Kloman, and myself. The Carnegies held
the controlling interest.

"After the partnership agreement was

signed, Mr. Kloman said to me that the
Carnegies, owning the larger interest,
might be too enterprising in making
improvements, which might lead us into
serious trouble; and he thought that they
should consent to an article in the
partnership agreement requiring the
consent of three partners to make effective
any vote for improvements. I told him that
we could not exact what he asked, as their
larger interest assured them control, but I
would speak to them. When the subject
was broached, Mr. Carnegie promptly
said that if he could not carry Mr. Kloman
or myself with his brother in any
improvements he would not wish them
made. Other matters were arranged by
courtesy during our partnership in the
same manner."

_Question:_ "What you have told me

suggests the question, why did Mr. Kloman
leave the firm?"

_Answer:_ "During the great depression

which followed the panic of 1873, Mr.
Kloman, through an unfortunate
partnership in the Escanaba Furnace
Company, lost his means, and his interest
in our firm had to be disposed of. We
bought it at book value at a time when
manufacturing properties were selling at
ruinous prices, often as low as one third or
one half their cost.

"After the settlement had been made with

the creditors of the Escanaba Company,
Mr. Kloman was offered an interest by Mr.
Carnegie of $100,000 in our firm, to be
paid only from future profits. This Mr.
Kloman declined, as he did not feel like
taking an interest which formerly had been
much larger. Mr. Carnegie gave him
$40,000 from the firm to make a new start.
This amount was invested in a rival
concern, which soon closed.

"I knew of no disagreement during this

early period with Mr. Carnegie, and their
relations continued pleasant as long as Mr.
Kloman lived. Harmony always marked
their intercourse, and they had the
kindliest feeling one for the other."]
CHAPTER XIV

PARTNERS, BOOKS, AND TRAVEL

When Mr. Kloman had severed his

connection with us there was no hesitation
in placing William Borntraeger in charge
of the mills. It has always been with
especial pleasure that I have pointed to the
career of William. He came direct from
Germany--a young man who could not
speak English, but being distantly
connected with Mr. Kloman was employed
in the mills, at first in a minor capacity. He
promptly learned English and became a
shipping clerk at six dollars per week. He
had not a particle of mechanical
knowledge, and yet such was his
unflagging zeal and industry for the
interests of his employer that he soon
became marked for being everywhere
about the mill, knowing everything, and
attending to everything.

William was a character. He never got

over his German idioms and his inverted
English made his remarks very effective.
Under his superintendence the Union Iron
Mills became a most profitable branch of
our business. He had overworked himself
after a few years' application and we
decided to give him a trip to Europe. He
came to New York by way of Washington.
When he called upon me in New York he
expressed himself as more anxious to
return to Pittsburgh than to revisit
Germany. In ascending the Washington
Monument he had seen the Carnegie
beams in the stairway and also at other
points in public buildings, and as he
expressed it:

"It yust make me so broud dat I want to go

right back and see dat everyting is going
right at de mill."

Early hours in the morning and late in the

dark hours at night William was in the
mills. His life was there. He was among the
first of the young men we admitted to
partnership, and the poor German lad at
his death was in receipt of an income, as I
remember, of about $50,000 a year, every
cent of which was deserved. Stories about
him are many. At a dinner of our partners
to celebrate the year's business, short
speeches were in order from every one.
William summed up his speech thus:

"What we haf to do, shentlemens, is to get

brices up and costs down and efery man
_stand on his own bottom_." There was
loud, prolonged, and repeated laughter.

Captain Evans ("Fighting Bob") was at one

time government inspector at our mills. He
was a severe one. William was sorely
troubled at times and finally offended the
Captain, who complained of his behavior.
We tried to get William to realize the
importance of pleasing a government
official. William's reply was:

"But he gomes in and smokes my cigars"

(bold Captain! William reveled in one-cent
Wheeling tobies) "and then he goes and
contems my iron. What does you tinks of a
man like dat? But I apologize and dreat
him right to-morrow."

The Captain was assured William had

agreed to make due amends, but he
laughingly told us afterward that William's
apology was:

"Vell, Captain, I hope you vas all right dis

morning. I haf noting against you,
Captain," holding out his hand, which the
Captain finally took and all was well.

William once sold to our neighbor, the

pioneer steel-maker of Pittsburgh, James
Park, a large lot of old rails which we could
not use. Mr. Park found them of a very bad
quality. He made claims for damages and
William was told that he must go with Mr.
Phipps to meet Mr. Park and settle. Mr.
Phipps went into Mr. Park's office, while
William took a look around the works in
search of the condemned material, which
was nowhere to be seen. Well did William
know where to look. He finally entered the
office, and before Mr. Park had time to say
a word William began:

"Mr. Park, I vas glad to hear dat de old

rails what I sell you don't suit for steel. I
will buy dem all from you back, five
dollars ton profit for you." Well did
William know that they had all been used.
Mr. Park was non-plussed, and the affair
ended. William had triumphed.

Upon one of my visits to Pittsburgh William

told me he had something "particular" he
wished to tell me--something he couldn't
tell any one else. This was upon his return
from the trip to Germany. There he had
been asked to visit for a few days a former
schoolfellow, who had risen to be a
professor:

"Well, Mr. Carnegie, his sister who kept

his house was very kind to me, and ven I
got to Hamburg I tought I sent her yust a
little present. She write me a letter, then I
write her a letter. She write me and I write
her, and den I ask her would she marry
me. She was very educated, but she write
yes. Den I ask her to come to New York,
and I meet her dere, but, Mr. Carnegie,
dem people don't know noting about
business and de mills. Her bruder write
me dey want me to go dere again and
marry her in Chairmany, and I can go
away not again from de mills. I tought I
yust ask you aboud it."

"Of course you can go again. Quite right,

William, you should go. I think the better
of her people for feeling so. You go over at
once and bring her home. I'll arrange it."
Then, when parting, I said: "William, I
suppose your sweetheart is a beautiful,
tall, 'peaches-and-cream' kind of German
young lady."

"Vell, Mr. Carnegie, she is a leetle stout. If

_I had the rolling of her I give her yust one
more pass_." All William's illustrations
were founded on mill practice. [I find
myself bursting into fits of laughter this
morning (June, 1912) as I re-read this
story. But I did this also when reading that
"Every man must stand on his own
bottom."]

Mr. Phipps had been head of the

commercial department of the mills, but
when our business was enlarged, he was
required for the steel business. Another
young man, William L. Abbott, took his
place. Mr. Abbott's history is somewhat
akin to Borntraeger's. He came to us as a
clerk upon a small salary and was soon
assigned to the front in charge of the
business of the iron mills. He was no less
successful than was William. He became a
partner with an interest equal to William's,
and finally was promoted to the
presidency of the company.

Mr. Curry had distinguished himself by

this time in his management of the Lucy
Furnaces, and he took his place among the
partners, sharing equally with the others.
There is no way of making a business
successful that can vie with the policy of
promoting those who render exceptional
service. We finally converted the firm of
Carnegie, McCandless & Co. into the
Edgar Thomson Steel Company, and
included my brother and Mr. Phipps, both
of whom had declined at first to go into the
steel business with their too enterprising
senior. But when I showed them the
earnings for the first year and told them if
they did not get into steel they would find
themselves in the wrong boat, they both
reconsidered and came with us. It was
fortunate for them as for us.

My experience has been that no

partnership of new men gathered
promiscuously from various fields can
prove a good working organization as at
first constituted. Changes are required.
Our Edgar Thomson Steel Company was
no exception to this rule. Even before we
began to make rails, Mr. Coleman became
dissatisfied with the management of a
railway official who had come to us with a
great and deserved reputation for method
and ability. I had, therefore, to take over
Mr. Coleman's interest. It was not long,
however, before we found that his
judgment was correct. The new man had
been a railway auditor, and was excellent
in accounts, but it was unjust to expect
him, or any other office man, to be able to
step into manufacturing and be successful
from the start. He had neither the
knowledge nor the training for this new
work. This does not mean that he was not a
splendid auditor. It was our own blunder in
expecting the impossible.

The mills were at last about ready to

begin[34] and an organization the auditor
proposed was laid before me for approval.
I found he had divided the works into two
departments and had given control of one
to Mr. Stevenson, a Scotsman who
afterwards made a fine record as a
manufacturer, and control of the other to a
Mr. Jones. Nothing, I am certain, ever
affected the success of the steel company
more than the decision which I gave upon
that proposal. Upon no account could two
men be in the same works with equal
authority. An army with two
commanders-in-chief, a ship with two
captains, could not fare more disastrously
than a manufacturing concern with two
men in command upon the same ground,
even though in two different departments.
I said:

"This will not do. I do not know Mr.

Stevenson, nor do I know Mr. Jones, but
one or the other must be made captain and
he alone must report to you."

[Footnote 34: The steel-rail mills were

ready and rails were rolled in 1874.]

The decision fell upon Mr. Jones and in this

way we obtained "The Captain," who
afterward made his name famous
wherever the manufacture of Bessemer
steel is known.

The Captain was then quite young, spare

and active, bearing traces of his Welsh
descent even in his stature, for he was
quite short. He came to us as a
two-dollar-a-day mechanic from the
neighboring works at Johnstown. We soon
saw that he was a character. Every
movement told it. He had volunteered as a
private during the Civil War and carried
himself so finely that he became captain of
a company which was never known to
flinch. Much of the success of the Edgar
Thomson Works belongs to this man.

In later years he declined an interest in the

firm which would have made him a
millionaire. I told him one day that some of
the young men who had been given an
interest were now making much more than
he was and we had voted to make him a
partner. This entailed no financial
responsibility, as we always provided that
the cost of the interest given was payable
only out of profits.

"No," he said, "I don't want to have my

thoughts running on business. I have
enough trouble looking after these works.
Just give me a h--l of a salary if you think
I'm worth it."

"All right, Captain, the salary of the

President of the United States is yours."
"That's the talk," said the little
Welshman.[35]

[Footnote 35: The story is told that when

Mr. Carnegie was selecting his younger
partners he one day sent for a young
Scotsman, Alexander R. Peacock, and
asked him rather abruptly:

"Peacock, what would you give to be made

a millionaire?"

"A liberal discount for cash, sir," was the

answer.

He was a partner owning a two per cent

interest when the Carnegie Steel Company
was merged into the United States Steel
Corporation.]

Our competitors in steel were at first

disposed to ignore us. Knowing the
difficulties they had in starting their own
steel works, they could not believe we
would be ready to deliver rails for another
year and declined to recognize us as
competitors. The price of steel rails when
we began was about seventy dollars per
ton. We sent our agent through the country
with instructions to take orders at the best
prices he could obtain; and before our
competitors knew it, we had obtained a
large number--quite sufficient to justify us
in making a start.

So perfect was the machinery, so

admirable the plans, so skillful were the
men selected by Captain Jones, and so
great a manager was he himself, that our
success was phenomenal. I think I place a
unique statement on record when I say that
the result of the first month's operations left
a margin of profit of $11,000. It is also
remarkable that so perfect was our system
of accounts that we knew the exact amount
of the profit. We had learned from
experience in our iron works what exact
accounting meant. There is nothing more
profitable than clerks to check up each
transfer of material from one department
to another in process of manufacture.

The new venture in steel having started off

so promisingly, I began to think of taking a
holiday, and my long-cherished purpose
of going around the world came to the
front. Mr. J.W. Vandevort ("Vandy") and I
accordingly set out in the autumn of 1878. I
took with me several pads suitable for
penciling and began to make a few notes
day by day, not with any intention of
publishing a book; but thinking, perhaps, I
might print a few copies of my notes for
private circulation. The sensation which
one has when he first sees his remarks in
the form of a printed book is great. When
the package came from the printers I
re-read the book trying to decide whether
it was worth while to send copies to my
friends. I came to the conclusion that upon
the whole it was best to do so and await the
verdict.

The writer of a book designed for his

friends has no reason to anticipate an
unkind reception, but there is always some
danger of its being damned with faint
praise. The responses in my case,
however, exceeded expectations, and
were of such a character as to satisfy me
that the writers really had enjoyed the
book, or meant at least a part of what they
said about it. Every author is prone to
believe sweet words. Among the first that
came were in a letter from Anthony
Drexel, Philadelphia's great banker,
complaining that I had robbed him of
several hours of sleep. Having begun the
book he could not lay it down and retired
at two o'clock in the morning after
finishing. Several similar letters were
received. I remember Mr. Huntington,
president of the Central Pacific Railway,
meeting me one morning and saying he
was going to pay me a great compliment.

"What is it?" Tasked.

"Oh, I read your book from end to end."

"Well," I said, "that is not such a great

compliment. Others of our mutual friends
have done that."

"Oh, yes, but probably none of your

friends are like me. I have not read a book
for years except my ledger and I did not
intend to read yours, but when I began it I
could not lay it down. My ledger is the
only book I have gone through for five
years."

I was not disposed to credit all that my

friends said, but others who had obtained
the book from them were pleased with it
and I lived for some months under
intoxicating, but I trust not perilously
pernicious, flattery. Several editions of the
book were printed to meet the request for
copies. Some notices of it and extracts got
into the papers, and finally Charles
Scribner's Sons asked to publish it for the
market. So "Round the World"[36] came
before the public and I was at last "an
author."

[Footnote 36: _Round the World_, by

Andrew Carnegie. New York and London,
1884.]

A new horizon was opened up to me by

this voyage. It quite changed my
intellectual outlook. Spencer and Darwin
were then high in the zenith, and I had
become deeply interested in their work. I
began to view the various phases of human
life from the standpoint of the evolutionist.
In China I read Confucius; in India, Buddha
and the sacred books of the Hindoos;
among the Parsees, in Bombay, I studied
Zoroaster. The result of my journey was to
bring a certain mental peace. Where there
had been chaos there was now order. My
mind was at rest. I had a philosophy at last.
The words of Christ "The Kingdom of
Heaven is within you," had a new meaning
for me. Not in the past or in the future, but
now and here is Heaven within us. All our
duties lie in this world and in the present,
and trying impatiently to peer into that
which lies beyond is as vain as fruitless.

All the remnants of theology in which I had

been born and bred, all the impressions
that Swedenborg had made upon me, now
ceased to influence me or to occupy my
thoughts. I found that no nation had all the
truth in the revelation it regards as divine,
and no tribe is so low as to be left without
some truth; that every people has had its
great teacher; Buddha for one; Confucius
for another; Zoroaster for a third; Christ for
a fourth. The teachings of all these I found
ethically akin so that I could say with
Matthew Arnold, one I was so proud to call
friend:

"Children of men! the unseen Power,

whose eye For ever doth accompany
mankind Hath looked on no religion
scornfully That men did ever find.

Which has not taught weak wills how

much they can? Which has not fall'n in
the dry heart like rain? Which has not
cried to sunk, self-weary man, _Thou
must be born again_."

"The Light of Asia," by Edwin Arnold, came

out at this time and gave me greater
delight than any similar poetical work I
had recently read. I had just been in India
and the book took me there again. My
appreciation of it reached the author's ears
and later having made his acquaintance in
London, he presented me with the original
manuscript of the book. It is one of my
most precious treasures. Every person
who can, even at a sacrifice, make the
voyage around the world should do so. All
other travel compared to it seems
incomplete, gives us merely vague
impressions of parts of the whole. When
the circle has been completed, you feel on
your return that you have seen (of course
only in the mass) all there is to be seen.
The parts fit into one symmetrical whole
and you see humanity wherever it is
placed working out a destiny tending to
one definite end.

The world traveler who gives careful study

to the bibles of the various religions of the
East will be well repaid. The conclusion
reached will be that the inhabitants of each
country consider their own religion the
best of all. They rejoice that their lot has
been cast where it is, and are disposed to
pity the less fortunate condemned to live
beyond their sacred limits. The masses of
all nations are usually happy, each mass
certain that:

"East or West Home is best."

Two illustrations of this from our "Round

the World" trip may be noted:

Visiting the tapioca workers in the

woods near Singapore, we found them
busily engaged, the children running
about stark naked, the parents clothed
in the usual loose rags. Our party
attracted great attention. We asked our
guide to tell the people that we came
from a country where the water in such
a pond as that before us would become
solid at this season of the year and we
could walk upon it and that sometimes it
would be so hard horses and wagons
crossed wide rivers on the ice. They
wondered and asked why we didn't
come and live among them. They really
were very happy.

Again:

On the way to the North Cape we visited

a reindeer camp of the Laplanders. A
sailor from the ship was deputed to go
with the party. I walked homeward with
him, and as we approached the fiord
looking down and over to the opposite
shore we saw a few straggling huts and
one two-story house under construction.
What is that new building for? we asked.

"That is to be the home of a man born in

Tromso who has made a great deal of
money and has now come back to spend
his days there. He is very rich."

"You told me you had travelled all over

the world. You have seen London, New
York, Calcutta, Melbourne, and other
places. If you made a fortune like that man
what place would you make your home
in old age?" His eye glistened as he
said:

"Ah, there's no place like Tromso." This

is in the arctic circle, six months of
night, but he had been born in Tromso.
Home, sweet, sweet home!

Among the conditions of life or the laws of

nature, some of which seem to us faulty,
some apparently unjust and merciless,
there are many that amaze us by their
beauty and sweetness. Love of home,
regardless of its character or location,
certainly is one of these. And what a
pleasure it is to find that, instead of the
Supreme Being confining revelation to one
race or nation, every race has the message
best adapted for it in its present stage of
development. The Unknown Power has
neglected none.
CHAPTER XV

COACHING TRIP AND MARRIAGE

The Freedom of my native town

(Dunfermline) was conferred upon me July
12, 1877, the first Freedom and the
greatest honor I ever received. I was
overwhelmed. Only two signatures upon
the roll came between mine and Sir Walter
Scott's, who had been made a Burgess. My
parents had seen him one day sketching
Dunfermline Abbey and often told me
about his appearance. My speech in reply
to the Freedom was the subject of much
concern. I spoke to my Uncle Bailie
Morrison, telling him I just felt like saying
so and so, as this really was in my heart.
He was an orator himself and he spoke
words of wisdom to me then.
"Just say that, Andra; nothing like saying
just what you really feel."

It was a lesson in public speaking which I

took to heart. There is one rule I might
suggest for youthful orators. When you
stand up before an audience reflect that
there are before you only men and
women. You should speak to them as you
speak to other men and women in daily
intercourse. If you are not trying to be
something different from yourself, there is
no more occasion for embarrassment than
if you were talking in your office to a party
of your own people--none whatever. It is
trying to be other than one's self that
unmans one. Be your own natural self and
go ahead. I once asked Colonel Ingersoll,
the most effective public speaker I ever
heard, to what he attributed his power.
"Avoid elocutionists like snakes," he said,
"and be yourself."
[Illustration: AN AMERICAN
FOUR-IN-HAND IN BRITAIN]

I spoke again at Dunfermline, July 27,

1881, when my mother laid the foundation
stone there of the first free library building
I ever gave. My father was one of five
weavers who founded the earliest library
in the town by opening their own books to
their neighbors. Dunfermline named the
building I gave "Carnegie Library." The
architect asked for my coat of arms. I
informed him I had none, but suggested
that above the door there might be carved
a rising sun shedding its rays with the
motto: "Let there be light." This he
adopted.

We had come up to Dunfermline with a

coaching party. When walking through
England in the year 1867 with George
Lauder and Harry Phipps I had formed the
idea of coaching from Brighton to
Inverness with a party of my dearest
friends. The time had come for the
long-promised trip, and in the spring of
1881 we sailed from New York, a party of
eleven, to enjoy one of the happiest
excursions of my life. It was one of the
holidays from business that kept me young
and happy--worth all the medicine in the
world.

All the notes I made of the coaching trip

were a few lines a day in twopenny
pass-books bought before we started. As
with "Round the World," I thought that I
might some day write a magazine article,
or give some account of my excursion for
those who accompanied me; but one
wintry day I decided that it was scarcely
worth while to go down to the New York
office, three miles distant, and the question
was how I should occupy the spare time. I
thought of the coaching trip, and decided
to write a few lines just to see how I should
get on. The narrative flowed freely, and
before the day was over I had written
between three and four thousand words. I
took up the pleasing task every stormy day
when it was unnecessary for me to visit the
office, and in exactly twenty sittings I had
finished a book. I handed the notes to
Scribner's people and asked them to print
a few hundred copies for private
circulation. The volume pleased my
friends, as "Round the World" had done.
Mr. Champlin one day told me that Mr.
Scribner had read the book and would like
very much to publish it for general
circulation upon his own account, subject
to a royalty.

The vain author is easily persuaded that

what he has done is meritorious, and I
consented. [Every year this still nets me a
small sum in royalties. And thirty years
have gone by, 1912.] The letters I received
upon the publication[37] of it were so
numerous and some so gushing that my
people saved them and they are now
bound together in scrapbook form, to
which additions are made from time to
time. The number of invalids who have
been pleased to write me, stating that the
book had brightened their lives, has been
gratifying. Its reception in Britain was
cordial; the "Spectator" gave it a favorable
review. But any merit that the book has
comes, I am sure, from the total absence of
effort on my part to make an impression. I
wrote for my friends; and what one does
easily, one does well. I reveled in the
writing of the book, as I had in the journey
itself.

[Footnote 37: Published privately in 1882

under the title _Our Coaching Trip,
Brighton to Inverness_. Published by the
Scribners in 1883 under the title of _An
American Four-in-Hand in Britain_.]

The year 1886 ended in deep gloom for

me. My life as a happy careless young
man, with every want looked after, was
over. I was left alone in the world. My
mother and brother passed away in
November, within a few days of each
other, while I lay in bed under a severe
attack of typhoid fever, unable to move
and, perhaps fortunately, unable to feel
the full weight of the catastrophe, being
myself face to face with death.

I was the first stricken, upon returning

from a visit in the East to our cottage at
Cresson Springs on top of the Alleghanies
where my mother and I spent our happy
summers. I had been quite unwell for a
day or two before leaving New York. A
physician being summoned, my trouble
was pronounced typhoid fever. Professor
Dennis was called from New York and he
corroborated the diagnosis. An attendant
physician and trained nurse were
provided at once. Soon after my mother
broke down and my brother in Pittsburgh
also was reported ill.

I was despaired of, I was so low, and then

my whole nature seemed to change. I
became reconciled, indulged in pleasing
meditations, was without the slightest pain.
My mother's and brother's serious
condition had not been revealed to me,
and when I was informed that both had left
me forever it seemed only natural that I
should follow them. We had never been
separated; why should we be now? But it
was decreed otherwise.
I recovered slowly and the future began to
occupy my thoughts. There was only one
ray of hope and comfort in it. Toward that
my thoughts always turned. For several
years I had known Miss Louise Whitfield.
Her mother permitted her to ride with me
in the Central Park. We were both very
fond of riding. Other young ladies were on
my list. I had fine horses and often rode in
the Park and around New York with one or
the other of the circle. In the end the others
all faded into ordinary beings. Miss
Whitfield remained alone as the perfect
one beyond any I had met. Finally I began
to find and admit to myself that she stood
the supreme test I had applied to several
fair ones in my time. She alone did so of all
I had ever known. I could recommend
young men to apply this test before
offering themselves. If they can honestly
believe the following lines, as I did, then
all is well:
 "Full many a lady I've eyed with best
regard: for several virtues Have I liked
several women, never any With so full
soul, but some defect in her Did quarrel
with the noblest grace she owed, And
put it to the foil; but you, O you, So
perfect and so peerless are created Of
every creature's best."[38]

[Footnote 38: Ferdinand to Miranda in

_The Tempest_.]

In my soul I could echo those very words.

To-day, after twenty years of life with her,
if I could find stronger words I could
truthfully use them.

My advances met with indifferent success.

She was not without other and younger
admirers. My wealth and future plans were
against me. I was rich and had everything
and she felt she could be of little use or
benefit to me. Her ideal was to be the real
helpmeet of a young, struggling man to
whom she could and would be
indispensable, as her mother had been to
her father. The care of her own family had
largely fallen upon her after her father's
death when she was twenty-one. She was
now twenty-eight; her views of life were
formed. At times she seemed more
favorable and we corresponded. Once,
however, she returned my letters saying
she felt she must put aside all thought of
accepting me.

Professor and Mrs. Dennis took me from

Cresson to their own home in New York, as
soon as I could be removed, and I lay
there some time under the former's
personal supervision. Miss Whitfield
called to see me, for I had written her the
first words from Cresson I was able to
write. She saw now that I needed her. I was
left alone in the world. Now she could be
in every sense the "helpmeet." Both her
heart and head were now willing and the
day was fixed. We were married in New
York April 22, 1887, and sailed for our
honeymoon which was passed on the Isle
of Wight.

[Illustration: ANDREW CARNEGIE

(ABOUT 1878)]

Her delight was intense in finding the wild

flowers. She had read of Wandering
Willie, Heartsease, Forget-me-nots, the
Primrose, Wild Thyme, and the whole list
of homely names that had been to her only
names till now. Everything charmed her.
Uncle Lauder and one of my cousins came
down from Scotland and visited us, and
then we soon followed to the residence at
Kilgraston they had selected for us in
which to spend the summer. Scotland
captured her. There was no doubt about
that. Her girlish reading had been of
Scotland--Scott's novels and "Scottish
Chiefs" being her favorites. She soon
became more Scotch than I. All this was
fulfilling my fondest dreams.

We spent some days in Dunfermline and

enjoyed them much. The haunts and
incidents of my boyhood were visited and
recited to her by all and sundry. She got
nothing but flattering accounts of her
husband which gave me a good start with
her.

I was presented with the Freedom of

Edinburgh as we passed northward--Lord
Rosebery making the speech. The crowd
in Edinburgh was great. I addressed the
working-men in the largest hall and
received a present from them as did Mrs.
Carnegie also--a brooch she values highly.
She heard and saw the pipers in all their
glory and begged there should be one at
our home--a piper to walk around and
waken us in the morning and also to play
us in to dinner. American as she is to the
core, and Connecticut Puritan at that, she
declared that if condemned to live upon a
lonely island and allowed to choose only
one musical instrument, it would be the
pipes. The piper was secured quickly
enough. One called and presented
credentials from Cluny McPherson. We
engaged him and were preceded by him
playing the pipes as we entered our
Kilgraston house.

We enjoyed Kilgraston, although Mrs.

Carnegie still longed for a wilder and
more Highland home. Matthew Arnold
visited us, as did Mr. and Mrs. Blaine,
Senator and Mrs. Eugene Hale, and many
friends.[39] Mrs. Carnegie would have my
relatives up from Dunfermline, especially
the older uncles and aunties. She charmed
every one. They expressed their surprise
to me that she ever married me, but I told
them I was equally surprised. The match
had evidently been predestined.

[Footnote 39: John Hay, writing to his

friend Henry Adams under date of London,
August 25, 1887, has the following to say
about the party at Kilgraston: "After that we
went to Andy Carnegie in Perthshire, who
is keeping his honeymoon, having just
married a pretty girl.... The house is
thronged with visitors--sixteen when we
came away--we merely stayed three days:
the others were there for a fortnight.
Among them were your friends Blaine and
Hale of Maine. Carnegie likes it so well he
is going to do it every summer and is
looking at all the great estates in the
County with a view of renting or
purchasing. We went with him one day to
Dupplin Castle, where I saw the most
beautiful trees I ever beheld in my
wandering life. The old Earl of ---- is
miserably poor--not able to buy a bottle of
seltzer--with an estate worth millions in the
hands of his creditors, and sure to be sold
one of these days to some enterprising
Yankee or British Buttonmaker. I wish you
or Carnegie would buy it. I would visit you
frequently." (Thayer, _Life and Letters of
John Hay_, vol. II, p. 74.)]

We took our piper with us when we

returned to New York, and also our
housekeeper and some of the servants.
Mrs. Nicoll remains with us still and is now,
after twenty years' faithful service, as a
member of the family. George Irvine, our
butler, came to us a year later and is also
as one of us. Maggie Anderson, one of the
servants, is the same. They are devoted
people, of high character and true
loyalty.[40]

[Footnote 40: "No man is a true gentleman

who does not inspire the affection and
devotion of his servants." (_Problems of
To-day_, by Andrew Carnegie. New York,
1908, p. 59.)]

The next year we were offered and took

Cluny Castle. Our piper was just the man
to tell us all about it. He had been born and
bred there and perhaps influenced our
selection of that residence where we spent
several summers.

On March 30, 1897, there came to us our

daughter. As I first gazed upon her Mrs.
Carnegie said,
"Her name is Margaret after your mother.
Now one request I have to make."

"What is it, Lou?"

"We must get a summer home since this

little one has been given us. We cannot
rent one and be obliged to go in and go
out at a certain date. It should be our
home."

"Yes," I agreed.

"I make only one condition."

"What is that?" I asked.

"It must be in the Highlands of Scotland."

"Bless you," was my reply. "That suits me.

You know I have to keep out of the sun's
rays, and where can we do that so surely
as among the heather? I'll be a committee
of one to inquire and report."

Skibo Castle was the result.

It is now twenty years since Mrs. Carnegie

entered and changed my life, a few months
after the passing of my mother and only
brother left me alone in the world. My life
has been made so happy by her that I
cannot imagine myself living without her
guardianship. I thought I knew her when
she stood Ferdinand's test,[41] but it was
only the surface of her qualities I had seen
and felt. Of their purity, holiness, wisdom, I
had not sounded the depth. In every
emergency of our active, changing, and in
later years somewhat public life, in all her
relations with others, including my family
and her own, she has proved the diplomat
and peace-maker. Peace and good-will
attend her footsteps wherever her blessed
influence extends. In the rare instances
demanding heroic action it is she who first
realizes this and plays the part.

[Footnote 41: The reference is to the

quotation from _The Tempest_ on page
214.]

The Peace-Maker has never had a quarrel

in all her life, not even with a schoolmate,
and there does not live a soul upon the
earth who has met her who has the
slightest cause to complain of neglect. Not
that she does not welcome the best and
gently avoid the undesirable--none is
more fastidious than she--but neither rank,
wealth, nor social position affects her one
iota. She is incapable of acting or speaking
rudely; all is in perfect good taste. Still, she
never lowers the standard. Her intimates
are only of the best. She is always thinking
how she can do good to those around
her--planning for this one and that in case
of need and making such judicious
arrangements or presents as surprise
those co�erating with her.

I cannot imagine myself going through

these twenty years without her. Nor can I
endure the thought of living after her. In
the course of nature I have not that to meet;
but then the thought of what will be cast
upon her, a woman left alone with so much
requiring attention and needing a man to
decide, gives me intense pain and I
sometimes wish I had this to endure for
her. But then she will have our blessed
daughter in her life and perhaps that will
keep her patient. Besides, Margaret needs
her more than she does her father.

[Illustration: MRS. ANDREW CARNEGIE]

[Illustration: MARGARET CARNEGIE AT

FIFTEEN]

Why, oh, why, are we compelled to leave

the heaven we have found on earth and go
we know not where! For I can say with
Jessica:

"It is very meet The Lord Bassanio

live an upright life; For, having such a
blessing in his lady, He finds the joys of
heaven here on earth."
CHAPTER XVI

MILLS AND THE MEN

The one vital lesson in iron and steel that I

learned in Britain was the necessity for
owning raw materials and finishing the
completed article ready for its purpose.
Having solved the steel-rail problem at the
Edgar Thomson Works, we soon
proceeded to the next step. The difficulties
and uncertainties of obtaining regular
supplies of pig iron compelled us to begin
the erection of blast furnaces. Three of
these were built, one, however, being a
reconstructed blast furnace purchased
from the Escanaba Iron Company, with
which Mr. Kloman had been connected. As
is usual in such cases, the furnace cost us
as much as a new one, and it never was as
good. There is nothing so unsatisfactory as
purchases of inferior plants.

But although this purchase was a mistake,

directly considered, it proved, at a
subsequent date, a source of great profit
because it gave us a furnace small enough
for the manufacture of spiegel and, at a
later date, of ferro-manganese. We were
the second firm in the United States to
manufacture our own spiegel, and the first,
and for years the only, firm in America that
made ferro-manganese. We had been
dependent upon foreigners for a supply of
this indispensable article, paying as high
as eighty dollars a ton for it. The manager
of our blast furnaces, Mr. Julian Kennedy,
is entitled to the credit of suggesting that
with the ores within reach we could make
ferro-manganese in our small furnace. The
experiment was worth trying and the result
was a great success. We were able to
supply the entire American demand and
prices fell from eighty to fifty dollars per
ton as a consequence.

While testing the ores of Virginia we found

that these were being quietly purchased
by Europeans for ferro-manganese, the
owners of the mine being led to believe
that they were used for other purposes.
Our Mr. Phipps at once set about
purchasing that mine. He obtained an
option from the owners, who had neither
capital nor skill to work it efficiently. A
high price was paid to them for their
interests, and (with one of them, Mr. Davis,
a very able young man) we became the
owners, but not until a thorough
investigation of the mine had proved that
there was enough of manganese ore in
sight to repay us. All this was done with
speed; not a day was lost when the
discovery was made. And here lies the
great advantage of a partnership over a
corporation. The president of the latter
would have had to consult a board of
directors and wait several weeks and
perhaps months for their decision. By that
time the mine would probably have
become the property of others.

We continued to develop our blast-furnace

plant, every new one being a great
improvement upon the preceding, until at
last we thought we had arrived at a
standard furnace. Minor improvements
would no doubt be made, but so far as we
could see we had a perfect plant and our
capacity was then fifty thousand tons per
month of pig iron.

The blast-furnace department was no

sooner added than another step was seen
to be essential to our independence and
success. The supply of superior coke was a
fixed quantity--the Connellsville field
being defined. We found that we could not
get on without a supply of the fuel essential
to the smelting of pig iron; and a very
thorough investigation of the question led
us to the conclusion that the Frick Coke
Company had not only the best coal and
coke property, but that it had in Mr. Frick
himself a man with a positive genius for its
management. He had proved his ability by
starting as a poor railway clerk and
succeeding. In 1882 we purchased one half
of the stock of this company, and by
subsequent purchases from other holders
we became owners of the great bulk of the
shares.

There now remained to be acquired only

the supply of iron stone. If we could obtain
this we should be in the position occupied
by only two or three of the European
concerns. We thought at one time we had
succeeded in discovering in Pennsylvania
this last remaining link in the chain. We
were misled, however, in our investment
in the Tyrone region, and lost
considerable sums as the result of our
attempts to mine and use the ores of that
section. They promised well at the edges
of the mines, where the action of the
weather for ages had washed away
impurities and enriched the ore, but when
we penetrated a small distance they
proved too "lean" to work.

Our chemist, Mr. Prousser, was then sent

to a Pennsylvania furnace among the hills
which we had leased, with instructions to
analyze all the materials brought to him
from the district, and to encourage people
to bring him specimens of minerals. A
striking example of the awe inspired by
the chemist in those days was that only
with great difficulty could he obtain a man
or a boy to assist him in the laboratory. He
was suspected of illicit intercourse with the
Powers of Evil when he undertook to tell
by his suspicious-looking apparatus what a
stone contained. I believe that at last we
had to send him a man from our office at
Pittsburgh.

One day he sent us a report of analyses of

ore remarkable for the absence of
phosphorus. It was really an ore suitable
for making Bessemer steel. Such a
discovery attracted our attention at once.
The owner of the property was Moses
Thompson, a rich farmer, proprietor of
seven thousand acres of the most beautiful
agricultural land in Center County,
Pennsylvania. An appointment was made
to meet him upon the ground from which
the ore had been obtained. We found the
mine had been worked for a charcoal blast
furnace fifty or sixty years before, but it
had not borne a good reputation then, the
reason no doubt being that its product was
so much purer than other ores that the
same amount of flux used caused trouble
in smelting. It was so good it was good for
nothing in those days of old.

We finally obtained the right to take the

mine over at any time within six months,
and we therefore began the work of
examination, which every purchaser of
mineral property should make most
carefully. We ran lines across the hillside
fifty feet apart, with cross-lines at distances
of a hundred feet apart, and at each point
of intersection we put a shaft down through
the ore. I believe there were eighty such
shafts in all and the ore was analyzed at
every few feet of depth, so that before we
paid over the hundred thousand dollars
asked we knew exactly what there was of
ore. The result hoped for was more than
realized. Through the ability of my cousin
and partner, Mr. Lauder, the cost of mining
and washing was reduced to a low figure,
and the Scotia ore made good all the
losses we had incurred in the other mines,
paid for itself, and left a profit besides. In
this case, at least, we snatched victory
from the jaws of defeat. We trod upon sure
ground with the chemist as our guide. It
will be seen that we were determined to
get raw materials and were active in the
pursuit.

We had lost and won, but the escapes in

business affairs are sometimes very
narrow. Driving with Mr. Phipps from the
mills one day we passed the National Trust
Company office on Penn Street, Pittsburgh.
I noticed the large gilt letters across the
window, "Stockholders individually
liable." That very morning in looking over
a statement of our affairs I had noticed
twenty shares "National Trust Company"
on the list of assets. I said to Harry:

"If this is the concern we own shares in,

won't you please sell them before you
return to the office this afternoon?"

He saw no need for haste. It would be done

in good time.

"No, Harry, oblige me by doing it

instantly."

He did so and had it transferred. Fortunate,

indeed, was this, for in a short time the
bank failed with an enormous deficit. My
cousin, Mr. Morris, was among the ruined
shareholders. Many others met the same
fate. Times were panicky, and had we
been individually liable for all the debts of
the National Trust Company our credit
would inevitably have been seriously
imperiled. It was a narrow escape. And
with only twenty shares (two thousand
dollars' worth of stock), taken to oblige
friends who wished our name on their list
of shareholders! The lesson was not lost.
The sound rule in business is that you may
give money freely when you have a
surplus, but your name never--neither as
endorser nor as member of a corporation
with individual liability. A trifling
investment of a few thousand dollars, a
mere trifle--yes, but a trifle possessed of
deadly explosive power.

The rapid substitution of steel for iron in

the immediate future had become obvious
to us. Even in our Keystone Bridge Works,
steel was being used more and more in
place of iron. King Iron was about to be
deposed by the new King Steel, and we
were becoming more and more
dependent upon it. We had about
concluded in 1886 to build alongside of the
Edgar Thomson Mills new works for the
manufacture of miscellaneous shapes of
steel when it was suggested to us that the
five or six leading manufacturers of
Pittsburgh, who had combined to build
steel mills at Homestead, were willing to
sell their mills to us.

These works had been built originally by a

syndicate of manufacturers, with the view
of obtaining the necessary supplies of
steel which they required in their various
concerns, but the steel-rail business, being
then in one of its booms, they had been
tempted to change plans and construct a
steel-rail mill. They had been able to make
rails as long as prices remained high, but,
as the mills had not been specially
designed for this purpose, they were
without the indispensable blast furnaces
for the supply of pig iron, and had no coke
lands for the supply of fuel. They were in
no condition to compete with us.

It was advantageous for us to purchase

these works. I felt there was only one way
we could deal with their owners, and that
was to propose a consolidation with
Carnegie Brothers & Co. We offered to do
so on equal terms, every dollar they had
invested to rank against our dollars. Upon
this basis the negotiation was promptly
concluded. We, however, gave to all
parties the option to take cash, and most
fortunately for us, all elected to do so
except Mr. George Singer, who continued
with us to his and our entire satisfaction.
Mr. Singer told us afterwards that his
associates had been greatly exercised as
to how they could meet the proposition I
was to lay before them. They were much
afraid of being overreached but when I
proposed equality all around, dollar for
dollar, they were speechless.
This purchase led to the reconstruction of
all our firms. The new firm of Carnegie,
Phipps & Co. was organized in 1886 to run
the Homestead Mills. The firm of Wilson,
Walker & Co. was embraced in the firm of
Carnegie, Phipps & Co., Mr. Walker being
elected chairman. My brother was
chairman of Carnegie Brothers & Co. and
at the head of all. A further extension of
our business was the establishing of the
Hartman Steel Works at Beaver Falls,
designed to work into a hundred various
forms the product of the Homestead Mills.
So now we made almost everything in
steel from a wire nail up to a twenty-inch
steel girder, and it was then not thought
probable that we should enter into any
new field.

It may be interesting here to note the

progress of our works during the decade
1888 to 1897. In 1888 we had twenty
millions of dollars invested; in 1897 more
than double or over forty-five millions. The
600,000 tons of pig iron we made per
annum in 1888 was trebled; we made
nearly 2,000,000. Our product of iron and
steel was in 1888, say, 2000 tons per day; it
grew to exceed 6000 tons. Our coke works
then embraced about 5000 ovens; they
were trebled in number, and our capacity,
then 6000 tons, became 18,000 tons per
day. Our Frick Coke Company in 1897 had
42,000 acres of coal land, more than two
thirds of the true Connellsville vein. Ten
years hence increased production may be
found to have been equally rapid. It may
be accepted as an axiom that a
manufacturing concern in a growing
country like ours begins to decay when it
stops extending.

To make a ton of steel one and a half tons

of iron stone has to be mined, transported
by rail a hundred miles to the Lakes,
carried by boat hundreds of miles,
transferred to cars, transported by rail one
hundred and fifty miles to Pittsburgh; one
and a half tons of coal must be mined and
manufactured into coke and carried
fifty-odd miles by rail; and one ton of
limestone mined and carried one hundred
and fifty miles to Pittsburgh. How then
could steel be manufactured and sold
without loss at three pounds for two cents?
This, I confess, seemed to me incredible,
and little less than miraculous, but it was
so.

America is soon to change from being the

dearest steel manufacturing country to the
cheapest. Already the shipyards of Belfast
are our customers. This is but the
beginning. Under present conditions
America can produce steel as cheaply as
any other land, notwithstanding its
higher-priced labor. There is no labor so
cheap as the dearest in the mechanical
field, provided it is free, contented,
zealous, and reaping reward as it renders
service. And here America leads.

One great advantage which America will

have in competing in the markets of the
world is that her manufacturers will have
the best home market. Upon this they can
depend for a return upon capital, and the
surplus product can be exported with
advantage, even when the prices received
for it do not more than cover actual cost,
provided the exports be charged with
their proportion of all expenses. The
nation that has the best home market,
especially if products are standardized, as
ours are, can soon outsell the foreign
producer. The phrase I used in Britain in
this connection was: "The Law of the
Surplus." It afterward came into general
use in commercial discussions.
CHAPTER XVII

THE HOMESTEAD STRIKE

While upon the subject of our

manufacturing interests, I may record that
on July 1, 1892, during my absence in the
Highlands of Scotland, there occurred the
one really serious quarrel with our
workmen in our whole history. For
twenty-six years I had been actively in
charge of the relations between ourselves
and our men, and it was the pride of my
life to think how delightfully satisfactory
these had been and were. I hope I fully
deserved what my chief partner, Mr.
Phipps, said in his letter to the "New York
Herald," January 30, 1904, in reply to one
who had declared I had remained abroad
during the Homestead strike, instead of
flying back to support my partners. It was
to the effect that "I was always disposed to
yield to the demands of the men, however
unreasonable"; hence one or two of my
partners did not wish me to return.[42]
Taking no account of the reward that
comes from feeling that you and your
employees are friends and judging only
from economical results, I believe that
higher wages to men who respect their
employers and are happy and contented
are a good investment, yielding, indeed,
big dividends.

[Footnote 42: The full statement of Mr.

Phipps is as follows:

_Question:_ "It was stated that Mr.

Carnegie acted in a cowardly manner in
not returning to America from Scotland
and being present when the strike was in
progress at Homestead."
_Answer:_ "When Mr. Carnegie heard of
the trouble at Homestead he immediately
wired that he would take the first ship for
America, but his partners begged him not
to appear, as they were of the opinion that
the welfare of the Company required that
he should not be in this country at the time.
They knew of his extreme disposition to
always grant the demands of labor,
however unreasonable.

"I have never known of any one interested

in the business to make any complaint
about Mr. Carnegie's absence at that time,
but all the partners rejoiced that they were
permitted to manage the affair in their own
way." (Henry Phipps in the _New York
Herald_, January 30, 1904.)]

The manufacture of steel was

revolutionized by the Bessemer
open-hearth and basic inventions. The
machinery hitherto employed had become
obsolete, and our firm, recognizing this,
spent several millions at Homestead
reconstructing and enlarging the works.
The new machinery made about sixty per
cent more steel than the old. Two hundred
and eighteen tonnage men (that is, men
who were paid by the ton of steel
produced) were working under a three
years' contract, part of the last year being
with the new machinery. Thus their
earnings had increased almost sixty per
cent before the end of the contract.

The firm offered to divide this sixty per

cent with them in the new scale to be made
thereafter. That is to say, the earnings of
the men would have been thirty per cent
greater than under the old scale and the
other thirty per cent would have gone to
the firm to recompense it for its outlay. The
work of the men would not have been
much harder than it had been hitherto, as
the improved machinery did the work.
This was not only fair and liberal, it was
generous, and under ordinary
circumstances would have been accepted
by the men with thanks. But the firm was
then engaged in making armor for the
United States Government, which we had
declined twice to manufacture and which
was urgently needed. It had also the
contract to furnish material for the Chicago
Exhibition. Some of the leaders of the men,
knowing these conditions, insisted upon
demanding the whole sixty per cent,
thinking the firm would be compelled to
give it. The firm could not agree, nor
should it have agreed to such an attempt
as this to take it by the throat and say,
"Stand and deliver." It very rightly
declined. Had I been at home nothing
would have induced me to yield to this
unfair attempt to extort.
Up to this point all had been right enough.
The policy I had pursued in cases of
difference with our men was that of
patiently waiting, reasoning with them,
and showing them that their demands
were unfair; but never attempting to
employ new men in their places--never.
The superintendent of Homestead,
however, was assured by the three
thousand men who were not concerned in
the dispute that they could run the works,
and were anxious to rid themselves of the
two hundred and eighteen men who had
banded themselves into a union and into
which they had hitherto refused to admit
those in other departments--only the
"heaters" and "rollers" of steel being
eligible.

My partners were misled by this

superintendent, who was himself misled.
He had not had great experience in such
affairs, having recently been promoted
from a subordinate position. The unjust
demands of the few union men, and the
opinion of the three thousand non-union
men that they were unjust, very naturally
led him into thinking there would be no
trouble and that the workmen would do as
they had promised. There were many men
among the three thousand who could take,
and wished to take, the places of the two
hundred and eighteen--at least so it was
reported to me.

It is easy to look back and say that the vital

step of opening the works should never
have been taken. All the firm had to do
was to say to the men: "There is a labor
dispute here and you must settle it
between yourselves. The firm has made
you a most liberal offer. The works will run
when the dispute is adjusted, and not till
then. Meanwhile your places remain open
to you." Or, it might have been well if the
superintendent had said to the three
thousand men, "All right, if you will come
and run the works without protection," thus
throwing upon them the responsibility of
protecting themselves--three thousand
men as against two hundred and eighteen.
Instead of this it was thought advisable (as
an additional precaution by the state
officials, I understand) to have the sheriff
with guards to protect the thousands
against the hundreds. The leaders of the
latter were violent and aggressive men;
they had guns and pistols, and, as was
soon proved, were able to intimidate the
thousands.

I quote what I once laid down in writing as

our rule: "My idea is that the Company
should be known as determined to let the
men at any works stop work; that it will
confer freely with them and wait patiently
until they decide to return to work, never
thinking of trying new men--never." The
best men as men, and the best workmen,
are not walking the streets looking for
work. Only the inferior class as a rule is
idle. The kind of men we desired are
rarely allowed to lose their jobs, even in
dull times. It is impossible to get new men
to run successfully the complicated
machinery of a modern steel plant. The
attempt to put in new men converted the
thousands of old men who desired to work,
into lukewarm supporters of our policy, for
workmen can always be relied upon to
resent the employment of new men. Who
can blame them?

If I had been at home, however, I might

have been persuaded to open the works,
as the superintendent desired, to test
whether our old men would go to work as
they had promised. But it should be noted
that the works were not opened at first by
my partners for new men. On the contrary,
it was, as I was informed upon my return,
at the wish of the thousands of our old men
that they were opened. This is a vital point.
My partners were in no way blamable for
making the trial so recommended by the
superintendent. Our rule never to employ
new men, but to wait for the old to return,
had not been violated so far. In regard to
the second opening of the works, after the
strikers had shot the sheriff's officers, it is
also easy to look back and say, "How much
better had the works been closed until the
old men voted to return"; but the Governor
of Pennsylvania, with eight thousand
troops, had meanwhile taken charge of the
situation.

I was traveling in the Highlands of Scotland

when the trouble arose, and did not hear
of it until two days after. Nothing I have
ever had to meet in all my life, before or
since, wounded me so deeply. No pangs
remain of any wound received in my
business career save that of Homestead. It
was so unnecessary. The men were
outrageously wrong. The strikers, with the
new machinery, would have made from
four to nine dollars a day under the new
scale--thirty per cent more than they were
making with the old machinery. While in
Scotland I received the following cable
from the officers of the union of our
workmen:

"Kind master, tell us what you wish us to do

and we shall do it for you."

This was most touching, but, alas, too late.

The mischief was done, the works were in
the hands of the Governor; it was too late.
I received, while abroad, numerous kind
messages from friends conversant with the
circumstances, who imagined my
unhappiness. The following from Mr.
Gladstone was greatly appreciated:

MY DEAR MR. CARNEGIE,

My wife has long ago offered her

thanks, with my own, for your most kind
congratulations. But I do not forget that you
have been suffering yourself from
anxieties, and have been exposed to
imputations in connection with your gallant
efforts to direct rich men into a course of
action more enlightened than that which
they usually follow. I wish I could
relieve you from these imputations of
journalists, too often rash, conceited or
censorious, rancorous, ill-natured. I
wish to do the little, the very little, that is in
my power, which is simply to say how
sure I am that no one who knows you
will be prompted by the unfortunate
occurrences across the water (of which
manifestly we cannot know the exact
merits) to qualify in the slightest degree
either his confidence in your generous
views or his admiration of the good and
great work you have already done.

Wealth is at present like a monster

threatening to swallow up the moral life
of man; you by precept and by example
have been teaching him to disgorge. I
for one thank you.

Believe me

Very faithfully yours

(Signed) W.E. GLADSTONE

I insert this as giving proof, if proof were

needed, of Mr. Gladstone's large,
sympathetic nature, alive and sensitive to
everything transpiring of a nature to
arouse sympathy--Neapolitans, Greeks,
and Bulgarians one day, or a stricken
friend the next.

The general public, of course, did not

know that I was in Scotland and knew
nothing of the initial trouble at Homestead.
Workmen had been killed at the Carnegie
Works, of which I was the controlling
owner. That was sufficient to make my
name a by-word for years. But at last some
satisfaction came. Senator Hanna was
president of the National Civic Federation,
a body composed of capitalists and
workmen which exerted a benign
influence over both employers and
employed, and the Honorable Oscar
Straus, who was then vice-president,
invited me to dine at his house and meet
the officials of the Federation. Before the
date appointed Mark Hanna, its president,
my lifelong friend and former agent at
Cleveland, had suddenly passed away. I
attended the dinner. At its close Mr. Straus
arose and said that the question of a
successor to Mr. Hanna had been
considered, and he had to report that
every labor organization heard from had
favored me for the position. There were
present several of the labor leaders who,
one after another, arose and corroborated
Mr. Straus.

I do not remember so complete a surprise

and, I shall confess, one so grateful to me.
That I deserved well from labor I felt. I
knew myself to be warmly sympathetic
with the working-man, and also that I had
the regard of our own workmen; but
throughout the country it was naturally the
reverse, owing to the Homestead riot. The
Carnegie Works meant to the public Mr.
Carnegie's war upon labor's just earnings.

I arose to explain to the officials at the

Straus dinner that I could not possibly
accept the great honor, because I had to
escape the heat of summer and the head of
the Federation must be on hand at all
seasons ready to grapple with an
outbreak, should one occur. My
embarrassment was great, but I managed
to let all understand that this was felt to be
the most welcome tribute I could have
received--a balm to the hurt mind. I closed
by saying that if elected to my lamented
friend's place upon the Executive
Committee I should esteem it an honor to
serve. To this position I was elected by
unanimous vote. I was thus relieved from
the feeling that I was considered
responsible by labor generally, for the
Homestead riot and the killing of
workmen.

I owe this vindication to Mr. Oscar Straus,

who had read my articles and speeches of
early days upon labor questions, and who
had quoted these frequently to workmen.
The two labor leaders of the Amalgamated
Union, White and Schaeffer from
Pittsburgh, who were at this dinner, were
also able and anxious to enlighten their
fellow-workmen members of the Board as
to my record with labor, and did not fail to
do so.

A mass meeting of the workmen and their

wives was afterwards held in the Library
Hall at Pittsburgh to greet me, and I
addressed them from both my head and
my heart. The one sentence I remember,
and always shall, was to the effect that
capital, labor, and employer were a
three-legged stool, none before or after
the others, all equally indispensable. Then
came the cordial hand-shaking and all was
well. Having thus rejoined hands and
hearts with our employees and their wives,
I felt that a great weight had been
effectually lifted, but I had had a terrible
experience although thousands of miles
from the scene.

An incident flowing from the Homestead

trouble is told by my friend, Professor John
C. Van Dyke, of Rutgers College.

In the spring of 1900, I went up from

Guaymas, on the Gulf of California, to
the ranch of a friend at La Noria Verde,
thinking to have a week's shooting in the
mountains of Sonora. The ranch was far
enough removed from civilization, and I
had expected meeting there only a few
Mexicans and many Yaqui Indians, but
much to my surprise I found an
English-speaking man, who proved to be
an American. I did not have long to wait
in order to find out what brought him
there, for he was very lonesome and
disposed to talk. His name was
McLuckie, and up to 1892 he had been a
skilled mechanic in the employ of the
Carnegie Steel Works at Homestead. He
was what was called a "top hand,"
received large wages, was married, and
at that time had a home and
considerable property. In addition, he had
been honored by his fellow-townsmen
and had been made burgomaster of
Homestead.

When the strike of 1892 came McLuckie

naturally sided with the strikers, and in
his capacity as burgomaster gave the
order to arrest the Pinkerton detectives
who had come to Homestead by
steamer to protect the works and preserve
 order. He believed he was fully justified
in doing this. As he explained it to me,
the detectives were an armed force
invading his bailiwick, and he had a right
to arrest and disarm them. The order
led to bloodshed, and the conflict was
begun in real earnest.

The story of the strike is, of course, well

known to all. The strikers were finally
defeated. As for McLuckie, he was
indicted for murder, riot, treason, and I
know not what other offenses. He was
compelled to flee from the State, was
wounded, starved, pursued by the officers
of the law, and obliged to go into hiding
until the storm blew over. Then he
found that he was blacklisted by all the
steel men in the United States and could
not get employment anywhere. His
money was gone, and, as a final blow, his
wife died and his home was broken up.
After many vicissitudes he resolved to
go to Mexico, and at the time I met him he
was trying to get employment in the
mines about fifteen miles from La Noria
Verde. But he was too good a mechanic for
the Mexicans, who required in mining
the cheapest kind of unskilled peon
labor. He could get nothing to do and had
no money. He was literally down to his
last copper. Naturally, as he told the
story of his misfortunes, I felt very sorry for
him, especially as he was a most
intelligent person and did no
unnecessary whining about his troubles.

I do not think I told him at the time that I

knew Mr. Carnegie and had been with
him at Cluny in Scotland shortly after
the Homestead strike, nor that I knew from
Mr. Carnegie the other side of the story.
But McLuckie was rather careful not to
blame Mr. Carnegie, saying to me
several times that if "Andy" had been there
the trouble would never have arisen. He
seemed to think "the boys" could get on
very well with "Andy" but not so well with
some of his partners.

I was at the ranch for a week and saw a

good deal of McLuckie in the evenings.
When I left there, I went directly to
Tucson, Arizona, and from there I had
occasion to write to Mr. Carnegie, and
in the letter I told him about meeting
with McLuckie. I added that I felt very
sorry for the man and thought he had
been treated rather badly. Mr. Carnegie
answered at once, and on the margin of
the letter wrote in lead pencil: "Give
McLuckie all the money he wants, but
don't mention my name." I wrote to
McLuckie immediately, offering him
what money he needed, mentioning no
sum, but giving him to understand that it
would be sufficient to put him on his feet
again. He declined it. He said he would
fight it out and make his own way, which
was the right-enough American spirit. I
could not help but admire it in him.

As I remember now, I spoke about him

later to a friend, Mr. J.A. Naugle, the
general manager of the Sonora Railway. At
any rate, McLuckie got a job with the
railway at driving wells, and made a
great success of it. A year later, or
perhaps it was in the autumn of the same
year, I again met him at Guaymas,
where he was superintending some
repairs on his machinery at the railway
shops. He was much changed for the
better, seemed happy, and to add to his
contentment, had taken unto himself a
Mexican wife. And now that his sky was
cleared, I was anxious to tell him the truth
about my offer that he might not think
unjustly of those who had been
compelled to fight him. So before I left
him, I said,

"McLuckie, I want you to know now that

the money I offered you was not mine.
That was Andrew Carnegie's money. It was
his offer, made through me."

McLuckie was fairly stunned, and all he

could say was:

"Well, that was damned white of Andy,

wasn't it?"

I would rather risk that verdict of

McLuckie's as a passport to Paradise than
all the theological dogmas invented by
man. I knew McLuckie well as a good
fellow. It was said his property in
Homestead was worth thirty thousand
dollars. He was under arrest for the
shooting of the police officers because he
was the burgomaster, and also the
chairman of the Men's Committee of
Homestead. He had to fly, leaving all
behind him.

After this story got into print, the following

skit appeared in the newspapers because I
had declared I'd rather have McLuckie's
few words on my tombstone than any other
inscription, for it indicated I had been kind
to one of our workmen:

"JUST BY THE WAY"

SANDY ON ANDY

Oh! hae ye heared what Andy's spiered to

hae upo' his tomb, When a' his gowd is
gie'n awa an' Death has sealed his doom!
Nae Scriptur' line wi' tribute fine that
dealers aye keep handy, But juist this
irreleegious screed--"That's damned white
of Andy!"

The gude Scot laughs at epitaphs that are

but meant to flatter, But never are was sae
profane, an' that's nae laughin' matter. Yet,
gin he gies his siller all awa, mon, he's a
dandy, An' we'll admit his right to it, for
"That's damned white of Andy!"

There's not to be a "big, big D," an' then a

dash thereafter, For Andy would na spoil
the word by trying to make it safter; He's
not the lad to juggle terms, or soothing
speech to bandy. A blunt, straightforward
mon is he--an' "That's damned white of
Andy!"

Sae when he's deid, we'll gie good heed,

an' write it as he askit; We'll carve it on his
headstone an' we'll stamp it on his casket:
"Wha dees rich, dees disgraced," says he,
an' sure's my name is Sandy, 'T wull be nae
rich man that he'll dee--an' "That's damned
white of Andy!"[43]

[Footnote 43: Mr. Carnegie was very fond

of this story because, being human, he was
fond of applause and, being a Robert
Burns radical, he preferred the applause of
Labor to that of Rank. That one of his men
thought he had acted "white" pleased him
beyond measure. He stopped short with
that tribute and never asked, never knew,
why or how the story happened to be told.
Perhaps this is the time and place to tell
the story of the story.

Sometime in 1901 over a dinner table in

New York, I heard a statement regarding
Mr. Carnegie that he never gave anything
without the requirement that his name be
attached to the gift. The remark came from
a prominent man who should have known
he was talking nonsense. It rather angered
me. I denied the statement, saying that I,
personally, had given away money for Mr.
Carnegie that only he and I knew about,
and that he had given many thousands in
this way through others. By way of
illustration I told the story about McLuckie.
A Pittsburgh man at the table carried the
story back to Pittsburgh, told it there, and
it finally got into the newspapers. Of
course the argument of the story, namely,
that Mr. Carnegie sometimes gave without
publicity, was lost sight of and only the
refrain, "It was damned white of Andy,"
remained. Mr. Carnegie never knew that
there was an argument. He liked the
refrain. Some years afterward at Skibo
(1906), when he was writing this
Autobiography, he asked me if I would not
write out the story for him. I did so. I am
now glad of the chance to write an
explanatory note about it.... _John C. Van
Dyke._]
CHAPTER XVIII

PROBLEMS OF LABOR

I should like to record here some of the

labor disputes I have had to deal with, as
these may point a moral to both capital and
labor.

The workers at the blast furnaces in our

steel-rail works once sent in a
"round-robin" stating that unless the firm
gave them an advance of wages by
Monday afternoon at four o'clock they
would leave the furnaces. Now, the scale
upon which these men had agreed to work
did not lapse until the end of the year,
several months off. I felt if men would
break an agreement there was no use in
making a second agreement with them,
but nevertheless I took the night train from
New York and was at the works early in the
morning.

I asked the superintendent to call together

the three committees which governed the
works--not only the blast-furnace
committee that was alone involved, but the
mill and the converting works committees
as well. They appeared and, of course,
were received by me with great courtesy,
not because it was good policy to be
courteous, but because I have always
enjoyed meeting our men. I am bound to
say that the more I know of working-men
the higher I rate their virtues. But it is with
them as Barrie says with women: "Dootless
the Lord made a' things weel, but he left
some michty queer kinks in women." They
have their prejudices and "red rags,"
which have to be respected, for the main
root of trouble is ignorance, not hostility.
The committee sat in a semicircle before
me, all with their hats off, of course, as
mine was also; and really there was the
appearance of a model assembly.

Addressing the chairman of the mill

committee, I said:

"Mr. Mackay" (he was an old gentleman

and wore spectacles), "have we an
agreement with you covering the
remainder of the year?"

Taking the spectacles off slowly, and

holding them in his hand, he said:

"Yes, sir, you have, Mr. Carnegie, and you

haven't got enough money to make us
break it either."

"There spoke the true American

workman," I said. "I am proud of you."
"Mr. Johnson" (who was chairman of the
rail converters' committee), "have we a
similar agreement with you?"

Mr. Johnson was a small, spare man; he

spoke very deliberately:

"Mr. Carnegie, when an agreement is

presented to me to sign, I read it carefully,
and if it don't suit me, I don't sign it, and if it
does suit me, I do sign it, and when I sign it
I keep it."

"There again speaks the self-respecting

American workman," I said.

Turning now to the chairman of the

blast-furnaces committee, an Irishman
named Kelly, I addressed the same
question to him:

"Mr. Kelly, have we an agreement with you

covering the remainder of this year?"

Mr. Kelly answered that he couldn't say

exactly. There was a paper sent round and
he signed it, but didn't read it over
carefully, and didn't understand just what
was in it. At this moment our
superintendent, Captain Jones, excellent
manager, but impulsive, exclaimed
abruptly:

"Now, Mr. Kelly, you know I read that over

twice and discussed it with you!"

"Order, order, Captain! Mr. Kelly is

entitled to give his explanation. I sign
many a paper that I do not
read--documents our lawyers and partners
present to me to sign. Mr. Kelly states that
he signed this document under such
circumstances and his statement must be
received. But, Mr. Kelly, I have always
found that the best way is to carry out the
provisions of the agreement one signs
carelessly and resolve to be more careful
next time. Would it not be better for you to
continue four months longer under this
agreement, and then, when you sign the
next one, see that you understand it?"

There was no answer to this, and I arose

and said:

"Gentlemen of the Blast-Furnace

Committee, you have threatened our firm
that you will break your agreement and
that you will leave these blast furnaces
(which means disaster) unless you get a
favorable answer to your threat by four
o'clock to-day. It is not yet three, but your
answer is ready. You may leave the blast
furnaces. The grass will grow around them
before we yield to your threat. The worst
day that labor has ever seen in this world
is that day in which it dishonors itself by
breaking its agreement. You have your
answer."

The committee filed out slowly and there

was silence among the partners. A
stranger who was coming in on business
met the committee in the passage and he
reported:

"As I came in, a man wearing spectacles

pushed up alongside of an Irishman he
called Kelly, and he said: 'You fellows
might just as well understand it now as
later. There's to be no d----d monkeying
round these works.'"

That meant business. Later we heard from

one of our clerks what took place at the
furnaces. Kelly and his committee
marched down to them. Of course, the
men were waiting and watching for the
committee and a crowd had gathered.
When the furnaces were reached, Kelly
called out to them:

"Get to work, you spalpeens, what are you

doing here? Begorra, the little boss just hit
from the shoulder. He won't fight, but he
says he has sat down, and begorra, we all
know he'll be a skeleton afore he rises. Get
to work, ye spalpeens."

The Irish and Scotch-Irish are queer, but

the easiest and best fellows to get on with,
if you only know how. That man Kelly was
my stanch friend and admirer ever
afterward, and he was before that one of
our most violent men. My experience is
that you can always rely upon the great
body of working-men to do what is right,
provided they have not taken up a position
and promised their leaders to stand by
them. But their loyalty to their leaders
even when mistaken, is something to make
us proud of them. Anything can be done
with men who have this feeling of loyalty
within them. They only need to be treated
fairly.

The way a strike was once broken at our

steel-rail mills is interesting. Here again, I
am sorry to say, one hundred and
thirty-four men in one department had
bound themselves under secret oath to
demand increased wages at the end of the
year, several months away. The new year
proved very unfavorable for business, and
other iron and steel manufacturers
throughout the country had effected
reductions in wages. Nevertheless, these
men, having secretly sworn months
previously that they would not work unless
they got increased wages, thought
themselves bound to insist upon their
demands. We could not advance wages
when our competitors were reducing
them, and the works were stopped in
consequence. Every department of the
works was brought to a stand by these
strikers. The blast furnaces were
abandoned a day or two before the time
agreed upon, and we were greatly
troubled in consequence.

I went to Pittsburgh and was surprised to

find the furnaces had been banked,
contrary to agreement. I was to meet the
men in the morning upon arrival at
Pittsburgh, but a message was sent to me
from the works stating that the men had
"left the furnaces and would meet me
to-morrow." Here was a nice reception! My
reply was:

"No they won't. Tell them I shall not be

here to-morrow. Anybody can stop work;
the trick is to start it again. Some fine day
these men will want the works started and
will be looking around for somebody who
can start them, and I will tell them then just
what I do now: that the works will never
start except upon a sliding scale based
upon the prices we get for our products.
That scale will last three years and it will
not be submitted by the men. They have
submitted many scales to us. It is our turn
now, and we are going to submit a scale to
them.

"Now," I said to my partners, "I am going

back to New York in the afternoon.
Nothing more is to be done."

A short time after my message was

received by the men they asked if they
could come in and see me that afternoon
before I left.

I answered: "Certainly!"
They came in and I said to them:

"Gentlemen, your chairman here, Mr.

Bennett, assured you that I would make my
appearance and settle with you in some
way or other, as I always have settled. That
is true. And he told you that I would not
fight, which is also true. He is a true
prophet. But he told you something else in
which he was slightly mistaken. He said I
_could_ not fight. Gentlemen," looking Mr.
Bennett straight in the eye and closing and
raising my fist, "he forgot that I was Scotch.
But I will tell you something; I will never
fight you. I know better than to fight labor.
I will not fight, but I can beat any
committee that was ever made at sitting
down, and I have sat down. These works
will never start until the men vote by a
two-thirds majority to start them, and then,
as I told you this morning, they will start on
our sliding scale. I have nothing more to
say."

They retired. It was about two weeks

afterwards that one of the house servants
came to my library in New York with a
card, and I found upon it the names of two
of our workmen, and also the name of a
reverend gentleman. The men said they
were from the works at Pittsburgh and
would like to see me.

"Ask if either of these gentlemen belongs

to the blast-furnace workers who banked
the furnaces contrary to agreement."

The man returned and said "No." I replied:

"In that case go down and tell them that I
shall be pleased to have them come up."

Of course they were received with

genuine warmth and cordiality and we sat
and talked about New York, for some time,
this being their first visit.

"Mr. Carnegie, we really came to talk

about the trouble at the works," the
minister said at last.

"Oh, indeed!" I answered. "Have the men

voted?"

"No," he said.

My rejoinder was:

"You will have to excuse me from entering

upon that subject; I said I never would
discuss it until they voted by a two-thirds
majority to start the mills. Gentlemen, you
have never seen New York. Let me take
you out and show you Fifth Avenue and the
Park, and we shall come back here to
lunch at half-past one."
This we did, talking about everything
except the one thing that they wished to
talk about. We had a good time, and I
know they enjoyed their lunch. There is
one great difference between the
American working-man and the foreigner.
The American is a man; he sits down at
lunch with people as if he were (as he
generally is) a gentleman born. It is
splendid.

They returned to Pittsburgh, not another

word having been said about the works.
But the men soon voted (there were very
few votes against starting) and I went
again to Pittsburgh. I laid before the
committee the scale under which they
were to work. It was a sliding scale based
on the price of the product. Such a scale
really makes capital and labor partners,
sharing prosperous and disastrous times
together. Of course it has a minimum, so
that the men are always sure of living
wages. As the men had seen these scales,
it was unnecessary to go over them. The
chairman said:

"Mr. Carnegie, we will agree to

everything. And now," he said hesitatingly,
"we have one favor to ask of you, and we
hope you will not refuse it."

"Well, gentlemen, if it be reasonable I

shall surely grant it."

"Well, it is this: That you permit the officers

of the union to sign these papers for the
men."

"Why, certainly, gentlemen! With the

greatest pleasure! And then I have a small
favor to ask of you, which I hope you will
not refuse, as I have granted yours. Just to
please me, after the officers have signed,
let every workman sign also for himself.
You see, Mr. Bennett, this scale lasts for
three years, and some man, or body of
men, might dispute whether your
president of the union had authority to
bind them for so long, but if we have his
signature also, there cannot be any
misunderstanding."

There was a pause; then one man at his

side whispered to Mr. Bennett (but I heard
him perfectly):

"By golly, the jig's up!"

So it was, but it was not by direct attack,

but by a flank movement. Had I not
allowed the union officers to sign, they
would have had a grievance and an excuse
for war. As it was, having allowed them to
do so, how could they refuse so simple a
request as mine, that each free and
independent American citizen should also
sign for himself. My recollection is that as a
matter of fact the officers of the union
never signed, but they may have done so.
Why should they, if every man's signature
was required? Besides this, the workmen,
knowing that the union could do nothing
for them when the scale was adopted,
neglected to pay dues and the union was
deserted. We never heard of it again. [That
was in 1889, now twenty-seven years ago.
The scale has never been changed. The
men would not change it if they could; it
works for their benefit, as I told them it
would.]

Of all my services rendered to labor the

introduction of the sliding scale is chief. It
is the solution of the capital and labor
problem, because it really makes them
partners--alike in prosperity and
adversity. There was a yearly scale in
operation in the Pittsburgh district in the
early years, but it is not a good plan
because men and employers at once
begin preparing for a struggle which is
almost certain to come. It is far better for
both employers and employed to set no
date for an agreed-upon scale to end. It
should be subject to six months' or a year's
notice on either side, and in that way might
and probably would run on for years.

To show upon what trifles a contest

between capital and labor may turn, let me
tell of two instances which were amicably
settled by mere incidents of seemingly
little consequence. Once when I went out
to meet a men's committee, which had in
our opinion made unfair demands, I was
informed that they were influenced by a
man who secretly owned a drinking
saloon, although working in the mills. He
was a great bully. The sober, quiet
workmen were afraid of him, and the
drinking men were his debtors. He was the
real instigator of the movement.

We met in the usual friendly fashion. I was

glad to see the men, many of whom I had
long known and could call by name. When
we sat down at the table the leader's seat
was at one end and mine at the other. We
therefore faced each other. After I had laid
our proposition before the meeting, I saw
the leader pick up his hat from the floor
and slowly put it on his head, intimating
that he was about to depart. Here was my
chance.

"Sir, you are in the presence of gentlemen!

Please be so good as to take your hat off or
leave the room!"

My eyes were kept full upon him. There

was a silence that could be felt. The great
bully hesitated, but I knew whatever he
did, he was beaten. If he left it was
because he had treated the meeting
discourteously by keeping his hat on, he
was no gentleman; if he remained and took
off his hat, he had been crushed by the
rebuke. I didn't care which course he took.
He had only two and either of them was
fatal. He had delivered himself into my
hands. He very slowly took off the hat and
put it on the floor. Not a word did he speak
thereafter in that conference. I was told
afterward that he had to leave the place.
The men rejoiced in the episode and a
settlement was harmoniously effected.

When the three years' scale was proposed

to the men, a committee of sixteen was
chosen by them to confer with us. Little
progress was made at first, and I
announced my engagements compelled
me to return the next day to New York.
Inquiry was made as to whether we would
meet a committee of thirty-two, as the men
wished others added to the committee--a
sure sign of division in their ranks. Of
course we agreed. The committee came
from the works to meet me at the office in
Pittsburgh. The proceedings were opened
by one of our best men, Billy Edwards (I
remember him well; he rose to high
position afterwards), who thought that the
total offered was fair, but that the scale was
not equable. Some departments were all
right, others were not fairly dealt with.
Most of the men were naturally of this
opinion, but when they came to indicate
the underpaid, there was a difference, as
was to be expected. No two men in the
different departments could agree. Billy
began:

"Mr. Carnegie, we agree that the total sum

per ton to be paid is fair, but we think it is
not properly distributed among us. Now,
Mr. Carnegie, you take my job--"

"Order, order!" I cried. "None of that, Billy.

Mr. Carnegie 'takes no man's job.' Taking
another's job is an unpardonable offense
among high-classed workmen."

There was loud laughter, followed by

applause, and then more laughter. I
laughed with them. We had scored on
Billy. Of course the dispute was soon
settled. It is not solely, often it is not
chiefly, a matter of dollars with workmen.
Appreciation, kind treatment, a fair
deal--these are often the potent forces with
the American workmen.

Employers can do so many desirable

things for their men at little cost. At one
meeting when I asked what we could do
for them, I remember this same Billy
Edwards rose and said that most of the
men had to run in debt to the storekeepers
because they were paid monthly. Well I
remember his words:

"I have a good woman for wife who

manages well. We go into Pittsburgh every
fourth Saturday afternoon and buy our
supplies wholesale for the next month and
save one third. Not many of your men can
do this. Shopkeepers here charge so
much. And another thing, they charge very
high for coal. If you paid your men every
two weeks, instead of monthly, it would be
as good for the careful men as a raise in
wages of ten per cent or more."

"Mr. Edwards, that shall be done," I

replied.

It involved increased labor and a few more

clerks, but that was a small matter. The
remark about high prices charged set me
to thinking why the men could not open a
co�erative store. This was also
arranged--the firm agreeing to pay the
rent of the building, but insisting that the
men themselves take the stock and
manage it. Out of that came the Braddock's
Co�erative Society, a valuable institution
for many reasons, not the least of them that
it taught the men that business had its
difficulties.

The coal trouble was cured effectively by

our agreeing that the company sell all its
men coal at the net cost price to us (about
half of what had been charged by coal
dealers, so I was told) and arranging to
deliver it at the men's houses--the buyer
paying only actual cost of cartage.

There was another matter. We found that

the men's savings caused them anxiety, for
little faith have the prudent, saving men in
banks and, unfortunately, our Government
at that time did not follow the British in
having post-office deposit banks. We
offered to take the actual savings of each
workman, up to two thousand dollars, and
pay six per cent interest upon them, to
encourage thrift. Their money was kept
separate from the business, in a trust fund,
and lent to such as wished to build homes
for themselves. I consider this one of the
best things that can be done for the saving
workman.

It was such concessions as these that

proved the most profitable investments
ever made by the company, even from an
economical standpoint. It pays to go
beyond the letter of the bond with your
men. Two of my partners, as Mr. Phipps
has put it, "knew my extreme disposition to
always grant the demands of labor,
however unreasonable," but looking back
upon my failing in this respect, I wish it
had been greater--much greater. No
expenditure returned such dividends as
the friendship of our workmen.

We soon had a body of workmen, I truly

believe, wholly unequaled--the best
workmen and the best men ever drawn
together. Quarrels and strikes became
things of the past. Had the Homestead men
been our own old men, instead of men we
had to pick up, it is scarcely possible that
the trouble there in 1892 could have
arisen. The scale at the steel-rail mills,
introduced in 1889, has been running up to
the present time (1914), and I think there
never has been a labor grievance at the
works since. The men, as I have already
stated, dissolved their old union because
there was no use paying dues to a union
when the men themselves had a three
years' contract. Although their labor union
is dissolved another and a better one has
taken its place--a cordial union between
the employers and their men, the best
union of all for both parties.

It is for the interest of the employer that his

men shall make good earnings and have
steady work. The sliding scale enables the
company to meet the market; and
sometimes to take orders and keep the
works running, which is the main thing for
the working-men. High wages are well
enough, but they are not to be compared
with steady employment. The Edgar
Thomson Mills are, in my opinion, the ideal
works in respect to the relations of capital
and labor. I am told the men in our day,
and even to this day (1914) prefer two to
three turns, but three turns are sure to
come. Labor's hours are to be shortened as
we progress. Eight hours will be the
rule--eight for work, eight for sleep, and
eight for rest and recreation.

There have been many incidents in my

business life proving that labor troubles
are not solely founded upon wages. I
believe the best preventive of quarrels to
be recognition of, and sincere interest in,
the men, satisfying them that you really
care for them and that you rejoice in their
success. This I can sincerely say--that I
always enjoyed my conferences with our
workmen, which were not always in
regard to wages, and that the better I knew
the men the more I liked them. They have
usually two virtues to the employer's one,
and they are certainly more generous to
each other.

Labor is usually helpless against capital.

The employer, perhaps, decides to shut up
the shops; he ceases to make profits for a
short time. There is no change in his
habits, food, clothing, pleasures--no
agonizing fear of want. Contrast this with
his workman whose lessening means of
subsistence torment him. He has few
comforts, scarcely the necessities for his
wife and children in health, and for the
sick little ones no proper treatment. It is
not capital we need to guard, but helpless
labor. If I returned to business to-morrow,
fear of labor troubles would not enter my
mind, but tenderness for poor and
sometimes misguided though
well-meaning laborers would fill my heart
and soften it; and thereby soften theirs.

Upon my return to Pittsburgh in 1892, after

the Homestead trouble, I went to the works
and met many of the old men who had not
been concerned in the riot. They
expressed the opinion that if I had been at
home the strike would never have
happened. I told them that the company
had offered generous terms and beyond
its offer I should not have gone; that before
their cable reached me in Scotland, the
Governor of the State had appeared on the
scene with troops and wished the law
vindicated; that the question had then
passed out of my partners' hands. I added:

"You were badly advised. My partners'

offer should have been accepted. It was
very generous. I don't know that I would
have offered so much."

To this one of the rollers said to me:

"Oh, Mr. Carnegie, it wasn't a question of

dollars. The boys would have let you kick
'em, but they wouldn't let that other man
stroke their hair."
So much does sentiment count for in the
practical affairs of life, even with the
laboring classes. This is not generally
believed by those who do not know them,
but I am certain that disputes about wages
do not account for one half the
disagreements between capital and labor.
There is lack of due appreciation and of
kind treatment of employees upon the part
of the employers.

Suits had been entered against many of the

strikers, but upon my return these were
promptly dismissed. All the old men who
remained, and had not been guilty of
violence, were taken back. I had cabled
from Scotland urging that Mr. Schwab be
sent back to Homestead. He had been only
recently promoted to the Edgar Thomson
Works. He went back, and "Charlie," as he
was affectionately called, soon restored
order, peace, and harmony. Had he
remained at the Homestead Works, in all
probability no serious trouble would have
arisen. "Charlie" liked his workmen and
they liked him; but there still remained at
Homestead an unsatisfactory element in
the men who had previously been
discarded from our various works for good
reasons and had found employment at the
new works before we purchased them.
CHAPTER XIX

THE "GOSPEL OF WEALTH"

After my book, "The Gospel of

Wealth,"[44] was published, it was
inevitable that I should live up to its
teachings by ceasing to struggle for more
wealth. I resolved to stop accumulating
and begin the infinitely more serious and
difficult task of wise distribution. Our
profits had reached forty millions of
dollars per year and the prospect of
increased earnings before us was
amazing. Our successors, the United States
Steel Corporation, soon after the purchase,
netted sixty millions in one year. Had our
company continued in business and
adhered to our plans of extension, we
figured that seventy millions in that year
might have been earned.
[Footnote 44: _The Gospel of Wealth_
(Century Company, New York, 1900)
contains various magazine articles written
between 1886 and 1899 and published in
the _Youth's Companion_, the _Century
Magazine_, the _North American Review_,
the _Forum_, the _Contemporary Review_,
the _Fortnightly Review_, the _Nineteenth
Century_, and the _Scottish Leader_.
Gladstone asked that the article in the
_North American Review_ be printed in
England. It was published in the _Pall Mall
Budget_ and christened the "Gospel of
Wealth." Gladstone, Cardinal Manning,
Rev. Hugh Price, and Rev. Dr. Hermann
Adler answered it, and Mr. Carnegie
replied to them.]

Steel had ascended the throne and was

driving away all inferior material. It was
clearly seen that there was a great future
ahead; but so far as I was concerned I
knew the task of distribution before me
would tax me in my old age to the utmost.
As usual, Shakespeare had placed his
talismanic touch upon the thought and
framed the sentence--

"So distribution should undo excess,

And each man have enough."

At this juncture--that is March, 1901--Mr.

Schwab told me Mr. Morgan had said to
him he should really like to know if I
wished to retire from business; if so he
thought he could arrange it. He also said
he had consulted our partners and that
they were disposed to sell, being attracted
by the terms Mr. Morgan had offered. I
told Mr. Schwab that if my partners were
desirous to sell I would concur, and we
finally sold.
[Illustration: CHARLES M. SCHWAB]

There had been so much deception by

speculators buying old iron and steel mills
and foisting them upon innocent
purchasers at inflated
values--hundred-dollar shares in some
cases selling for a trifle--that I declined to
take anything for the common stock. Had I
done so, it would have given me just about
one hundred millions more of five per cent
bonds, which Mr. Morgan said afterwards I
could have obtained. Such was the
prosperity and such the money value of
our steel business. Events proved I should
have been quite justified in asking the
additional sum named, for the common
stock has paid five per cent continuously
since.[45] But I had enough, as has been
proved, to keep me busier than ever
before, trying to distribute it.
[Footnote 45: The Carnegie Steel
Company was bought by Mr. Morgan at
Mr. Carnegie's own price. There was some
talk at the time of his holding out for a
higher price than he received, but
testifying before a committee of the House
of Representatives in January, 1912, Mr.
Carnegie said: "I considered what was fair:
and that is the option Morgan got. Schwab
went down and arranged it. I never saw
Morgan on the subject or any man
connected with him. Never a word passed
between him and me. I gave my
memorandum and Morgan saw it was
eminently fair. I have been told many
times since by insiders that I should have
asked $100,000,000 more and could have
got it easily. Once for all, I want to put a
stop to all this talk about Mr. Carnegie
'forcing high prices for anything.'"]

My first distribution was to the men in the

mills. The following letters and papers will
explain the gift:

_New York, N.Y., March 12, 1901_

I make this first use of surplus wealth,

four millions of first mortgage 5%
Bonds, upon retiring from business, as an
acknowledgment of the deep debt which
I owe to the workmen who have
contributed so greatly to my success. It is
designed to relieve those who may suffer
from accidents, and provide small
pensions for those needing help in old
age.

In addition I give one million dollars of

such bonds, the proceeds thereof to be
used to maintain the libraries and halls I
have built for our workmen.

In return, the Homestead workmen

presented the following address:

_Munhall, Pa., Feb'y 23, 1903_

MR. ANDREW CARNEGIE New York,

N.Y.

DEAR SIR:

We, the employees of the Homestead

Steel Works, desire by this means to
express to you through our Committee our
great appreciation of your benevolence
in establishing the "Andrew Carnegie
Relief Fund," the first annual report of its
operation having been placed before us
during the past month.

The interest which you have always

shown in your workmen has won for you
an appreciation which cannot be
expressed by mere words. Of the many
channels through which you have
sought to do good, we believe that the
"Andrew Carnegie Relief Fund" stands
first. We have personal knowledge of
cares lightened and of hope and strength
renewed in homes where human
prospects seemed dark and discouraging.

Respectfully yours

{ HARRY F. ROSE, _Roller_

{ JOHN BELL, JR., _Blacksmith_
Committee { J.A. HORTON, _Timekeeper_
{ WALTER A. GREIG, _Electric
Foreman_ { HARRY CUSACK,
_Yardmaster_

The Lucy Furnace men presented me with

a beautiful silver plate and inscribed upon
it the following address:

ANDREW CARNEGIE RELIEF FUND

 LUCY FURNACES

_Whereas_, Mr. Andrew Carnegie, in

his munificent philanthropy, has
endowed the "Andrew Carnegie Relief
Fund" for the benefit of employees of
the Carnegie Company, Therefore be it

_Resolved_, that the employees of the

Lucy Furnaces, in special meeting
assembled, do convey to Mr. Andrew
Carnegie their sincere thanks for and
appreciation of his unexcelled and
bounteous endowment, and furthermore
be it

_Resolved_, that it is their earnest wish

and prayer that his life may be long
spared to enjoy the fruits of his works.

{ JAMES SCOTT, _Chairman_

 { LOUIS A. HUTCHISON, _Secretary_
{ JAMES DALY Committee { R.C.
TAYLOR { JOHN V. WARD
{ FREDERICK VOELKER { JOHN M.
VEIGH

I sailed soon for Europe, and as usual some

of my partners did not fail to accompany
me to the steamer and bade me good-bye.
But, oh! the difference to me! Say what we
would, do what we would, the solemn
change had come. This I could not fail to
realize. The wrench was indeed severe
and there was pain in the good-bye which
was also a farewell.

Upon my return to New York some months

later, I felt myself entirely out of place, but
was much cheered by seeing several of
"the boys" on the pier to welcome me--the
same dear friends, but so different. I had
lost my partners, but not my friends. This
was something; it was much. Still a
vacancy was left. I had now to take up my
self-appointed task of wisely disposing of
surplus wealth. That would keep me
deeply interested.

One day my eyes happened to see a line in

that most valuable paper, the "Scottish
American," in which I had found many
gems. This was the line:

"The gods send thread for a web begun."

It seemed almost as if it had been sent

directly to me. This sank into my heart, and
I resolved to begin at once my first web.
True enough, the gods sent thread in the
proper form. Dr. J.S. Billings, of the New
York Public Libraries, came as their agent,
and of dollars, five and a quarter millions
went at one stroke for sixty-eight branch
libraries, promised for New York City.
Twenty more libraries for Brooklyn
followed.

My father, as I have stated, had been one

of the five pioneers in Dunfermline who
combined and gave access to their few
books to their less fortunate neighbors. I
had followed in his footsteps by giving my
native town a library--its foundation stone
laid by my mother--so that this public
library was really my first gift. It was
followed by giving a public library and
hall to Allegheny City--our first home in
America. President Harrison kindly
accompanied me from Washington and
opened these buildings. Soon after this,
Pittsburgh asked for a library, which was
given. This developed, in due course, into
a group of buildings embracing a museum,
a picture gallery, technical schools, and
the Margaret Morrison School for Young
Women. This group of buildings I opened
to the public November 5, 1895. In
Pittsburgh I had made my fortune and in
the twenty-four millions already spent on
this group,[46] she gets back only a small
part of what she gave, and to which she is
richly entitled.

[Footnote 46: The total gifts to the

Carnegie Institute at Pittsburgh amounted
to about twenty-eight million dollars.]

The second large gift was to found the

Carnegie Institution of Washington. The
28th of January, 1902, I gave ten million
dollars in five per cent bonds, to which
there has been added sufficient to make
the total cash value twenty-five millions of
dollars, the additions being made upon
record of results obtained. I naturally
wished to consult President Roosevelt
upon the matter, and if possible to induce
the Secretary of State, Mr. John Hay, to
serve as chairman, which he readily
agreed to do. With him were associated as
directors my old friend Abram S. Hewitt,
Dr. Billings, William E. Dodge, Elihu Root,
Colonel Higginson, D.O. Mills, Dr. S. Weir
Mitchell, and others.

When I showed President Roosevelt the list

of the distinguished men who had agreed
to serve, he remarked: "You could not
duplicate it." He strongly favored the
foundation, which was incorporated by an
act of Congress April 28, 1904, as follows:

To encourage in the broadest and most

liberal manner investigations, research
and discovery, and the application of
knowledge to the improvement of
mankind; and, in particular, to conduct,
endow and assist investigation in any
department of science, literature or art,
and to this end to co�erate with
governments, universities, colleges,
technical schools, learned societies, and
individuals.

[Illustration: THE CARNEGIE INSTITUTE AT

PITTSBURGH]

I was indebted to Dr. Billings as my guide,

in selecting Dr. Daniel C. Gilman as the
first President. He passed away some
years later. Dr. Billings then
recommended the present highly
successful president, Dr. Robert S.
Woodward. Long may he continue to
guide the affairs of the Institution! The
history of its achievements is so well
known through its publications that details
here are unnecessary. I may, however,
refer to two of its undertakings that are
somewhat unique. It is doing a world-wide
service with the wood-and-bronze yacht,
"Carnegie," which is voyaging around the
world correcting the errors of the earlier
surveys. Many of these ocean surveys have
been found misleading, owing to
variations of the compass. Bronze being
non-magnetic, while iron and steel are
highly so, previous observations have
proved liable to error. A notable instance
is that of the stranding of a Cunard
steamship near the Azores. Captain Peters,
of the "Carnegie," thought it advisable to
test this case and found that the captain of
the ill-fated steamer was sailing on the
course laid down upon the admiralty map,
and was not to blame. The original
observation was wrong. The error caused
by variation was promptly corrected.

This is only one of numerous corrections

reported to the nations who go down to the
sea in ships. Their thanks are our ample
reward. In the deed of gift I expressed the
hope that our young Republic might some
day be able to repay, at least in some
degree, the great debt it owes to the older
lands. Nothing gives me deeper
satisfaction than the knowledge that it has
to some extent already begun to do so.

With the unique service rendered by the

wandering "Carnegie," we may rank that
of the fixed observatory upon Mount
Wilson, California, at an altitude of 5886
feet. Professor Hale is in charge of it. He
attended the gathering of leading
astronomers in Rome one year, and such
were his revelations there that these
savants resolved their next meeting should
be on top of Mount Wilson. And so it was.

There is but one Mount Wilson. From a

depth seventy-two feet down in the earth
photographs have been taken of new stars.
On the first of these plates many new
worlds--I believe sixteen--were
discovered. On the second I think it was
sixty new worlds which had come into our
ken, and on the third plate there were
estimated to be more than a
hundred--several of them said to be twenty
times the size of our sun. Some of them
were so distant as to require eight years
for their light to reach us, which inclines us
to bow our heads whispering to ourselves,
"All we know is as nothing to the
unknown." When the monster new glass,
three times larger than any existing, is in
operation, what revelations are to come! I
am assured if a race inhabits the moon
they will be clearly seen.

The third delightful task was founding the

Hero Fund, in which my whole heart was
concerned. I had heard of a serious
accident in a coal pit near Pittsburgh, and
how the former superintendent, Mr.
Taylor, although then engaged in other
pursuits, had instantly driven to the scene,
hoping to be of use in the crisis. Rallying
volunteers, who responded eagerly, he
led them down the pit to rescue those
below. Alas, alas, he the heroic leader lost
his own life.

I could not get the thought of this out of my

mind. My dear, dear friend, Mr. Richard
Watson Gilder, had sent me the following
true and beautiful poem, and I re-read it
the morning after the accident, and
resolved then to establish the Hero Fund.

IN THE TIME OF PEACE

'Twas said: "When roll of drum and

battle's roar Shall cease upon the earth,
O, then no more

The deed--the race--of heroes in the

land." But scarce that word was breathed
when one small hand

Lifted victorious o'er a giant wrong

That had its victims crushed through ages
long;

Some woman set her pale and quivering

face Firm as a rock against a man's
disgrace;

A little child suffered in silence lest

His savage pain should wound a mother's
breast;

Some quiet scholar flung his gauntlet

down And risked, in Truth's great name,
the synod's frown;

A civic hero, in the calm realm of laws,

Did that which suddenly drew a world's
applause;
 And one to the pest his lithe young body
gave That he a thousand thousand lives
might save.

Hence arose the five-million-dollar fund to

reward heroes, or to support the families
of heroes, who perish in the effort to serve
or save their fellows, and to supplement
what employers or others do in
contributing to the support of the families
of those left destitute through accidents.
This fund, established April 15, 1904, has
proved from every point of view a decided
success. I cherish a fatherly regard for it
since no one suggested it to me. As far as I
know, it never had been thought of; hence
it is emphatically "my ain bairn." Later I
extended it to my native land, Great
Britain, with headquarters at
Dunfermline--the Trustees of the Carnegie
Dunfermline Trust undertaking its
administration, and splendidly have they
succeeded. In due time it was extended to
France, Germany, Italy, Belgium, Holland,
Norway, Sweden, Switzerland, and
Denmark.

Regarding its workings in Germany, I

received a letter from David Jayne Hill, our
American Ambassador at Berlin, from
which I quote:

My main object in writing now is to tell

you how pleased His Majesty is with the
working of the German Hero Fund. He is
enthusiastic about it and spoke in most
complimentary terms of your
discernment, as well as your generosity in
founding it. He did not believe it would
fill so important a place as it is doing.
He told me of several cases that are really
touching, and which would otherwise
have been wholly unprovided for. One
was that of a young man who saved a boy
 from drowning and just as they were
about to lift him out of the water, after
passing up the child into a boat, his heart
failed, and he sank. He left a lovely young
wife and a little boy. She has already
been helped by the Hero Fund to
establish a little business from which she
can make a living, and the education of
the boy, who is very bright, will be
looked after. This is but one example.

Valentini (Chief of the Civil Cabinet),

who was somewhat skeptical at first
regarding the need of such a fund, is now
glowing with enthusiasm about it, and he
tells me the whole Commission, which is
composed of carefully chosen men, is
earnestly devoted to the work of making
the very best and wisest use of their
means and has devoted much time to their
decisions.
 They have corresponded with the
English and French Commission,
arranged to exchange reports, and made
plans to keep in touch with one another
in their work. They were deeply
interested in the American report and
have learned much from it.

King Edward of Britain was deeply

impressed by the provisions of the fund,
and wrote me an autograph letter of
appreciation of this and other gifts to my
native land, which I deeply value, and
hence insert.

_Windsor Castle, November 21, 1908_

DEAR MR. CARNEGIE:

I have for some time past been anxious

to express to you my sense of your
generosity for the great public objects
which you have presented to this
country, the land of your birth.

Scarcely less admirable than the gifts

themselves is the great care and
thought you have taken in guarding
against their misuse.

I am anxious to tell you how warmly I

recognize your most generous
benefactions and the great services they
are likely to confer upon the country.

As a mark of recognition, I hope you will

accept the portrait of myself which I am
sending to you.

Believe me, dear Mr. Carnegie,

Sincerely yours

EDWARD R. & I.
Some of the newspapers in America were
doubtful of the merits of the Hero Fund and
the first annual report was criticized, but
all this has passed away and the action of
the fund is now warmly extolled. It has
conquered, and long will it be before the
trust is allowed to perish! The heroes of the
barbarian past wounded or killed their
fellows; the heroes of our civilized day
serve or save theirs. Such the difference
between physical and moral courage,
between barbarism and civilization. Those
who belong to the first class are soon to
pass away, for we are finally to regard men
who slay each other as we now do
cannibals who eat each other; but those in
the latter class will not die as long as man
exists upon the earth, for such heroism as
they display is god-like.

The Hero Fund will prove chiefly a pension

fund. Already it has many pensioners,
heroes or the widows or children of
heroes. A strange misconception arose at
first about it. Many thought that its purpose
was to stimulate heroic action, that heroes
were to be induced to play their parts for
the sake of reward. This never entered my
mind. It is absurd. True heroes think not of
reward. They are inspired and think only
of their fellows endangered; never of
themselves. The fund is intended to
pension or provide in the most suitable
manner for the hero should he be
disabled, or for those dependent upon him
should he perish in his attempt to save
others. It has made a fine start and will
grow in popularity year after year as its
aims and services are better understood.
To-day we have in America 1430 hero
pensioners or their families on our list.

I found the president for the Hero Fund in a

Carnegie veteran, one of the original boys,
Charlie Taylor. No salary for Charlie--not a
cent would he ever take. He loves the work
so much that I believe he would pay highly
for permission to live with it. He is the right
man in the right place. He has charge also,
with Mr. Wilmot's able assistance, of the
pensions for Carnegie workmen (Carnegie
Relief Fund[47]); also the pensions for
railway employees of my old division.
Three relief funds and all of them
benefiting others.

[Footnote 47: This fund is now managed

separately.]

I got my revenge one day upon Charlie,

who was always urging me to do for
others. He is a graduate of Lehigh
University and one of her most loyal sons.
Lehigh wished a building and Charlie was
her chief advocate. I said nothing, but
wrote President Drinker offering the funds
for the building conditioned upon my
naming it. He agreed, and I called it
"Taylor Hall." When Charlie discovered
this, he came and protested that it would
make him ridiculous, that he had only
been a modest graduate, and was not
entitled to have his name publicly
honored, and so on. I enjoyed his plight
immensely, waiting until he had finished,
and then said that it would probably make
him somewhat ridiculous if I insisted upon
"Taylor Hall," but he ought to be willing to
sacrifice himself somewhat for Lehigh. If
he wasn't consumed with vanity he would
not care much how his name was used if it
helped his Alma Mater. Taylor was not
much of a name anyhow. It was his
insufferable vanity that made such a fuss.
He should conquer it. He could make his
decision. He could sacrifice the name of
Taylor or sacrifice Lehigh, just as he liked,
but: "No Taylor, no Hall." I had him!
Visitors who may look upon that structure
in after days and wonder who Taylor was
may rest assured that he was a loyal son of
Lehigh, a working, not merely a
preaching, apostle of the gospel of service
to his fellow-men, and one of the best men
that ever lived. Such is our Lord High
Commissioner of Pensions.
CHAPTER XX

EDUCATIONAL AND PENSION FUNDS

The fifteen-million-dollar pension fund for

aged university professors (The Carnegie
Endowment for the Advancement of
Learning), the fourth important gift, given
in June, 1905, required the selection of
twenty-five trustees from among the
presidents of educational institutions in the
United States. When twenty-four of
these--President Harper, of Chicago
University, being absent through
illness--honored me by meeting at our
house for organization, I obtained an
important accession of those who were to
become more intimate friends. Mr. Frank
A. Vanderlip proved of great service at the
start--his Washington experience being
most valuable--and in our president, Dr.
Henry S. Pritchett, we found the
indispensable man.

This fund is very near and dear to

me--knowing, as I do, many who are soon
to become beneficiaries, and convinced as
I am of their worth and the value of the
service already rendered by them. Of all
professions, that of teaching is probably
the most unfairly, yes, most meanly paid,
though it should rank with the highest.
Educated men, devoting their lives to
teaching the young, receive mere
pittances. When I first took my seat as a
trustee of Cornell University, I was
shocked to find how small were the
salaries of the professors, as a rule ranking
below the salaries of some of our clerks.
To save for old age with these men is
impossible. Hence the universities without
pension funds are compelled to retain men
who are no longer able, should no longer
be required, to perform their duties. Of the
usefulness of the fund no doubt can be
entertained.[48] The first list of
beneficiaries published was conclusive
upon this point, containing as it did several
names of world-wide reputation, so great
had been their contributions to the stock of
human knowledge. Many of these
beneficiaries and their widows have
written me most affecting letters. These I
can never destroy, for if I ever have a fit of
melancholy, I know the cure lies in
re-reading these letters.

[Footnote 48: The total amount of this fund

in 1919 was $29,250,000.]

My friend, Mr. Thomas Shaw (now Lord

Shaw), of Dunfermline had written an
article for one of the English reviews
showing that many poor people in
Scotland were unable to pay the fees
required to give their children a university
education, although some had deprived
themselves of comforts in order to do so.
After reading Mr. Shaw's article the idea
came to me to give ten millions in five per
cent bonds, one half of the �104,000 yearly
revenue from it to be used to pay the fees
of the deserving poor students and the
other half to improve the universities.

The first meeting of the trustees of this fund

(The Carnegie Trust for the Universities of
Scotland) was held in the Edinburgh office
of the Secretary of State for Scotland in
1902, Lord Balfour of Burleigh presiding. It
was a notable body of men--Prime Minister
Balfour, Sir Henry Campbell-Bannerman
(afterwards Prime Minister), John Morley
(now Viscount Morley), James Bryce (now
Viscount Bryce), the Earl of Elgin, Lord
Rosebery, Lord Reay, Mr. Shaw (now Lord
Shaw), Dr. John Ross of Dunfermline, "the
man-of-all-work" that makes for the
happiness or instruction of his fellow-man,
and others. I explained that I had asked
them to act because I could not entrust
funds to the faculties of the Scottish
universities after reading the report of a
recent commission. Mr. Balfour promptly
exclaimed: "Not a penny, not a penny!"
The Earl of Elgin, who had been a member
of the commission, fully concurred.

[Illustration: ANDREW CARNEGIE AND

VISCOUNT BRYCE]

The details of the proposed fund being

read, the Earl of Elgin was not sure about
accepting a trust which was not strict and
specific. He wished to know just what his
duties were. I had given a majority of the
trustees the right to change the objects of
beneficence and modes of applying funds,
should they in after days decide that the
purposes and modes prescribed for
education in Scotland had become
unsuitable or unnecessary for the
advanced times. Balfour of Burleigh
agreed with the Earl and so did Prime
Minister Balfour, who said he had never
heard of a testator before who was willing
to give such powers. He questioned the
propriety of doing so.

"Well," I said, "Mr. Balfour, I have never

known of a body of men capable of
legislating for the generation ahead, and
in some cases those who attempt to
legislate even for their own generation are
not thought to be eminently successful."

There was a ripple of laughter in which the

Prime Minister himself heartily joined, and
he then said:

"You are right, quite right; but you are, I

think, the first great giver who has been
wise enough to take this view."

I had proposed that a majority should have

the power, but Lord Balfour suggested not
less than two thirds. This was accepted by
the Earl of Elgin and approved by all. I am
very sure it is a wise provision, as after
days will prove. It is incorporated in all my
large gifts, and I rest assured that this
feature will in future times prove valuable.
The Earl of Elgin, of Dunfermline, did not
hesitate to become Chairman of this trust.
When I told Premier Balfour that I hoped
Elgin could be induced to assume this
duty, he said promptly, "You could not get
a better man in Great Britain."

We are all entirely satisfied now upon that

point. The query is: where could we get his
equal?
It is an odd coincidence that there are only
four living men who have been made
Burgesses and received the Freedom of
Dunfermline, and all are connected with
the trust for the Universities of Scotland, Sir
Henry Campbell-Bannerman, the Earl of
Elgin, Dr. John Ross, and myself. But there
is a lady in the circle to-day, the only one
ever so greatly honored with the Freedom
of Dunfermline, Mrs. Carnegie, whose
devotion to the town, like my own, is
intense.

My election to the Lord Rectorship of St.

Andrews in 1902 proved a very important
event in my life. It admitted me to the
university world, to which I had been a
stranger. Few incidents in my life have so
deeply impressed me as the first meeting
of the faculty, when I took my seat in the
old chair occupied successively by so
many distinguished Lord Rectors during
the nearly five hundred years which have
elapsed since St. Andrews was founded. I
read the collection of rectorial speeches as
a preparation for the one I was soon to
make. The most remarkable paragraph I
met with in any of them was Dean Stanley's
advice to the students to "go to Burns for
your theology." That a high dignitary of the
Church and a favorite of Queen Victoria
should venture to say this to the students of
John Knox's University is most suggestive
as showing how even theology improves
with the years. The best rules of conduct
are in Burns. First there is: "Thine own
reproach alone do fear." I took it as a motto
early in life. And secondly:

"The fear o' hell's a hangman's whip To

haud the wretch in order; But where ye
feel your honor grip, Let that aye be
your border."
John Stuart Mill's rectorial address to the
St. Andrews students is remarkable. He
evidently wished to give them of his best.
The prominence he assigns to music as an
aid to high living and pure refined
enjoyment is notable. Such is my own
experience.

An invitation given to the principals of the

four Scotch universities and their wives or
daughters to spend a week at Skibo
resulted in much joy to Mrs. Carnegie and
myself. The first meeting was attended by
the Earl of Elgin, chairman of the Trust for
the Universities of Scotland, and Lord
Balfour of Burleigh, Secretary for Scotland,
and Lady Balfour. After that "Principals'
Week" each year became an established
custom. They as well as we became
friends, and thereby, they all agree, great
good results to the universities. A spirit of
co�eration is stimulated. Taking my hand
upon leaving after the first yearly visit,
Principal Lang said:

"It has taken the principals of the Scotch

universities five hundred years to learn
how to begin our sessions. Spending a
week together is the solution."

One of the memorable results of the

gathering at Skibo in 1906 was that Miss
Agnes Irwin, Dean of Radcliffe College,
and great-granddaughter of Benjamin
Franklin, spent the principals' week with
us and all were charmed with her. Franklin
received his first doctor's degree from St.
Andrews University, nearly one hundred
and fifty years ago. The second centenary
of his birth was finely celebrated in
Philadelphia, and St. Andrews, with
numerous other universities throughout
the world, sent addresses. St. Andrews
also sent a degree to the
great-granddaughter. As Lord Rector, I
was deputed to confer it and place the
mantle upon her. This was done the first
evening before a large audience, when
more than two hundred addresses were
presented.

The audience was deeply impressed, as

well it might be. St. Andrews University,
the first to confer the degree upon the
great-grandfather, conferred the same
degree upon the great-grandchild one
hundred and forty-seven years later (and
this upon her own merits as Dean of
Radcliffe College); sent it across the
Atlantic to be bestowed by the hands of its
Lord Rector, the first who was not a British
subject, but who was born one as Franklin
was, and who became an American citizen
as Franklin did; the ceremony performed
in Philadelphia where Franklin rests, in the
presence of a brilliant assembly met to
honor his memory. It was all very
beautiful, and I esteemed myself favored,
indeed, to be the medium of such a
graceful and appropriate ceremony.
Principal Donaldson of St. Andrews was
surely inspired when he thought of it!

My unanimous re�ection by the students of

St. Andrews, without a contest for a second
term, was deeply appreciated. And I liked
the Rector's nights, when the students
claim him for themselves, no member of
the faculty being invited. We always had a
good time. After the first one, Principal
Donaldson gave me the verdict of the
Secretary as rendered to him: "Rector
So-and-So talked _to_ us, Rector
Thus-and-So talked _at_ us, both from the
platform; Mr. Carnegie sat down in our
circle and talked _with_ us."

The question of aid to our own higher

educational institutions often intruded
itself upon me, but my belief was that our
chief universities, such as Harvard and
Columbia, with five to ten thousand
students,[49] were large enough; that
further growth was undesirable; that the
smaller institutions (the colleges
especially) were in greater need of help
and that it would be a better use of surplus
wealth to aid them. Accordingly, I
afterwards confined myself to these and
am satisfied that this was wise. At a later
date we found Mr. Rockefeller's splendid
educational fund, The General Education
Board, and ourselves were working in this
fruitful field without consultation, with
sometimes undesirable results. Mr.
Rockefeller wished me to join his board
and this I did. Co�eration was soon found
to be much to our mutual advantage, and
we now work in unison.
[Footnote 49: Columbia University in 1920
numbered all told some 25,000 students in
the various departments.]

In giving to colleges quite a number of my

friends have been honored as was my
partner Charlie Taylor. Conway Hall at
Dickinson College, was named for
Moncure D. Conway, whose
Autobiography, recently published, is
pronounced "literature" by the "Athen�m."
It says: "These two volumes lie on the table
glistening like gems 'midst the piles of
autobiographical rubbish by which they
are surrounded." That is rather suggestive
for one who is adding to the pile.

The last chapter in Mr. Conway's

Autobiography ends with the following
paragraph:

Implore Peace, O my reader, from

whom I now part. Implore peace not of
deified thunder clouds but of every man,
woman, child thou shalt meet. Do not
merely offer the prayer, "Give peace in
our time," but do thy part to answer it!
Then, at least, though the world be at
strife, there shall be peace in thee.

My friend has put his finger upon our

deepest disgrace. It surely must soon be
abolished between civilized nations.

The Stanton Chair of Economics at Kenyon

College, Ohio, was founded in memory of
Edwin M. Stanton, who kindly greeted me
as a boy in Pittsburgh when I delivered
telegrams to him, and was ever cordial to
me in Washington, when I was an assistant
to Secretary Scott. The Hanna Chair in
Western Reserve University, Cleveland;
the John Hay Library at Brown University;
the second Elihu Root Fund for Hamilton,
the Mrs. Cleveland Library for Wellesley,
gave me pleasure to christen after these
friends. I hope more are to follow,
commemorating those I have known,
liked, and honored. I also wished a
General Dodge Library and a Gayley
Library to be erected from my gifts, but
these friends had already obtained such
honor from their respective Alma Maters.

My first gift to Hamilton College was to be

named the Elihu Root Foundation, but that
ablest of all our Secretaries of State, and in
the opinion of President Roosevelt, "the
wisest man he ever knew," took care, it
seems, not to mention the fact to the
college authorities. When I reproached
him with this dereliction, he laughingly
replied:

"Well, I promise not to cheat you the next

gift you give us."
And by a second gift this lapse was
repaired after all, but I took care not to
entrust the matter directly to him. The Root
Fund of Hamilton[50] is now established
beyond his power to destroy. Root is a
great man, and, as the greatest only are he
is, in his simplicity, sublime. President
Roosevelt declared he would crawl on his
hands and knees from the White House to
the Capitol if this would insure Root's
nomination to the presidency with a
prospect of success. He was considered
vulnerable because he had been counsel
for corporations and was too little of the
spouter and the demagogue, too much of
the modest, retiring statesman to split the
ears of the groundlings.[51] The party
foolishly decided not to risk Root.

[Footnote 50: It amounts to $250,000.]

[Footnote 51: At the Meeting in Memory of
the Life and Work of Andrew Carnegie
held on April 25, 1920, in the Engineering
Societies Building in New York, Mr. Root
made an address in the course of which,
speaking of Mr. Carnegie, he said:

"He belonged to that great race of

nation-builders who have made the
development of America the wonder of the
world.... He was the kindliest man I ever
knew. Wealth had brought to him no
hardening of the heart, nor made him
forget the dreams of his youth. Kindly,
affectionate, charitable in his judgments,
unrestrained in his sympathies, noble in
his impulses, I wish that all the people who
think of him as a rich man giving away
money he did not need could know of the
hundreds of kindly things he did unknown
to the world."]
My connection with Hampton and
Tuskegee Institutes, which promote the
elevation of the colored race we formerly
kept in slavery, has been a source of
satisfaction and pleasure, and to know
Booker Washington is a rare privilege. We
should all take our hats off to the man who
not only raised himself from slavery, but
helped raise millions of his race to a
higher stage of civilization. Mr.
Washington called upon me a few days
after my gift of six hundred thousand
dollars was made to Tuskegee and asked if
he might be allowed to make one
suggestion. I said: "Certainly."

"You have kindly specified that a sum from

that fund be set aside for the future support
of myself and wife during our lives, and we
are very grateful, but, Mr. Carnegie, the
sum is far beyond our needs and will seem
to my race a fortune. Some might feel that I
was no longer a poor man giving my
services without thought of saving money.
Would you have any objection to changing
that clause, striking out the sum, and
substituting 'only suitable provision'? I'll
trust the trustees. Mrs. Washington and
myself need very little."

I did so, and the deed now stands, but

when Mr. Baldwin asked for the original
letter to exchange it for the substitute, he
told me that the noble soul objected. That
document addressed to him was to be
preserved forever, and handed down; but
he would put it aside and let the substitute
go on file.

This is an indication of the character of the

leader of his race. No truer, more
self-sacrificing hero ever lived: a man
compounded of all the virtues. It makes
one better just to know such pure and
noble souls--human nature in its highest
types is already divine here on earth. If it
be asked which man of our age, or even of
the past ages, has risen from the lowest to
the highest, the answer must be Booker
Washington. He rose from slavery to the
leadership of his people--a modern Moses
and Joshua combined, leading his people
both onward and upward.

In connection with these institutions I came

in contact with their officers and
trustees--men like Principal Hollis B.
Frissell of Hampton, Robert C. Ogden,
George Foster Peabody, V. Everit Macy,
George McAneny and William H.
Baldwin--recently lost to us, alas!--men
who labor for others. It was a blessing to
know them intimately. The Cooper Union,
the Mechanics and Tradesmen's Society,
indeed every institution[52] in which I
became interested, revealed many men
and women devoting their time and
thought, not to "miserable aims that end
with self," but to high ideals which mean
the relief and uplift of their less fortunate
brethren.

[Footnote 52: The universities, colleges,

and educational institutions to which Mr.
Carnegie gave either endowment funds or
buildings number five hundred. All told
his gifts to them amounted to $27,000,000.]

My giving of organs to churches came

very early in my career, I having
presented to less than a hundred members
of the Swedenborgian Church in
Allegheny which my father favored, an
organ, after declining to contribute to the
building of a new church for so few.
Applications from other churches soon
began to pour in, from the grand Catholic
Cathedral of Pittsburgh down to the small
church in the country village, and I was
kept busy. Every church seemed to need a
better organ than it had, and as the full
price for the new instrument was paid,
what the old one brought was clear profit.
Some ordered organs for very small
churches which would almost split the
rafters, as was the case with the first organ
given the Swedenborgians; others had
bought organs before applying but our
check to cover the amount was welcome.
Finally, however, a rigid system of giving
was developed. A printed schedule
requiring answers to many questions has
now to be filled and returned before action
is taken. The department is now perfectly
systematized and works admirably
because we graduate the gift according to
the size of the church.

Charges were made in the rigid Scottish

Highlands that I was demoralizing
Christian worship by giving organs to
churches. The very strict Presbyterians
there still denounce as wicked an attempt
"to worship God with a kist fu' o' whistles,"
instead of using the human God-given
voice. After that I decided that I should
require a partner in my sin, and therefore
asked each congregation to pay one half of
the desired new organ. Upon this basis the
organ department still operates and
continues to do a thriving business, the
demand for improved organs still being
great. Besides, many new churches are
required for increasing populations and
for these organs are essential.

I see no end to it. In requiring the

congregation to pay one half the cost of
better instruments, there is assurance of
needed and reasonable expenditure.
Believing from my own experience that it
is salutary for the congregation to hear
sacred music at intervals in the service and
then slowly to disperse to the strains of the
reverence-compelling organ after such
sermons as often show us little of a
Heavenly Father, I feel the money spent for
organs is well spent. So we continue the
organ department.[53]

[Footnote 53: The "organ department" up

to 1919 had given 7689 organs to as many
different churches at a cost of over six
million dollars.]

Of all my work of a philanthropic

character, my private pension fund gives
me the highest and noblest return. No
satisfaction equals that of feeling you have
been permitted to place in comfortable
circumstances, in their old age, people
whom you have long known to be kind and
good and in every way deserving, but who
from no fault of their own, have not
sufficient means to live respectably, free
from solicitude as to their mere
maintenance. Modest sums insure this
freedom. It surprised me to find how
numerous were those who needed some
aid to make the difference between an old
age of happiness and one of misery. Some
such cases had arisen before my
retirement from business, and I had sweet
satisfaction from this source. Not one
person have I ever placed upon the
pension list[54] that did not fully deserve
assistance. It is a real roll of honor and
mutual affection. All are worthy. There is
no publicity about it. No one knows who is
embraced. Not a word is ever breathed to
others.

[Footnote 54: This amounted to over

$250,000 a year.]

This is my favorite and best answer to the

question which will never down in my
thoughts: "What good am I doing in the
world to deserve all my mercies?" Well,
the dear friends of the pension list give me
a satisfactory reply, and this always comes
to me in need. I have had far beyond my
just share of life's blessings; therefore I
never ask the Unknown for anything. We
are in the presence of universal law and
should bow our heads in silence and obey
the Judge within, asking nothing, fearing
nothing, just doing our duty right along,
seeking no reward here or hereafter.

It is, indeed, more blessed to give than to

receive. These dear good friends would
do for me and mine as I do for them were
positions reversed. I am sure of this. Many
precious acknowledgments have I
received. Some venture to tell me they
remember me every night in their prayers
and ask for me every blessing. Often I
cannot refrain from giving expression to
my real feelings in return.

"Pray, don't," I say. "Don't ask anything

more for me. I've got far beyond my just
share already. Any fair committee sitting
upon my case would take away more than
half the blessings already bestowed."
These are not mere words, I feel their
truth.

The Railroad Pension Fund is of a similar

nature. Many of the old boys of the
Pittsburgh Division (or their widows) are
taken care of by it. It began years ago and
grew to its present proportions. It now
benefits the worthy railroad men who
served under me when I was
superintendent on the Pennsylvania, or
their widows, who need help. I was only a
boy when I first went among these
trainmen and got to know them by name.
They were very kind to me. Most of the
men beneficiaries of the fund I have known
personally. They are dear friends.

Although the four-million-dollar fund I

gave for workmen in the mills (Steel
Workers' Pensions) embraces hundreds
that I never saw, there are still a sufficient
number upon it that I do remember to give
that fund also a strong hold upon me.
CHAPTER XXI

THE PEACE PALACE AND PITTENCRIEFF

Peace, at least as between

English-speaking peoples,[55] must have
been early in my thoughts. In 1869, when
Britain launched the monster Monarch,
then the largest warship known, there was,
for some now-forgotten reason, talk of how
she could easily compel tribute from our
American cities one after the other.
Nothing could resist her. I cabled John
Bright, then in the British Cabinet (the
cable had recently been opened):

"First and best service possible for

Monarch, bringing home body
Peabody."[56]

[Footnote 55: "Let men say what they will, I

say that as surely as the sun in the heavens
once shone upon Britain and America
united, so surely it is one morning to rise,
shine upon, and greet again the Reunited
States--the British-American Union."
(Quoted in Alderson's _Andrew Carnegie,
The Man and His Work_, p. 108. New York,
1909.)]

[Footnote 56: George Peabody, the

American merchant and philanthropist,
who died in London in 1869.]

No signature was given. Strange to say,

this was done, and thus the Monarch
became the messenger of peace, not of
destruction. Many years afterwards I met
Mr. Bright at a small dinner party in
Birmingham and told him I was his young
anonymous correspondent. He was
surprised that no signature was attached
and said his heart was in the act. I am sure
it was. He is entitled to all credit.

He was the friend of the Republic when she

needed friends during the Civil War. He
had always been my favorite living hero in
public life as he had been my father's.
Denounced as a wild radical at first, he
kept steadily on until the nation came to
his point of view. Always for peace he
would have avoided the Crimean War, in
which Britain backed the wrong horse, as
Lord Salisbury afterwards acknowledged.
It was a great privilege that the Bright
family accorded me, as a friend, to place a
replica of the Manchester Bright statue in
Parliament, in the stead of a poor one
removed.

I became interested in the Peace Society of

Great Britain upon one of my early visits
and attended many of its meetings, and in
later days I was especially drawn to the
Parliamentary Union established by Mr.
Cremer, the famous working-man's
representative in Parliament. Few men
living can be compared to Mr. Cremer.
When he received the Nobel Prize of
�8000 as the one who had done the most
that year for peace, he promptly gave all
but �1000, needed for pressing wants, to
the Arbitration Committee. It was a noble
sacrifice. What is money but dross to the
true hero! Mr. Cremer is paid a few dollars
a week by his trade to enable him to exist
in London as their member of Parliament,
and here was fortune thrown in his lap only
to be devoted by him to the cause of
peace. This is the heroic in its finest form.

I had the great pleasure of presenting the

Committee to President Cleveland at
Washington in 1887, who received the
members cordially and assured them of
his hearty co�eration. From that day the
abolition of war grew in importance with
me until it finally overshadowed all other
issues. The surprising action of the first
Hague Conference gave me intense joy.
Called primarily to consider disarmament
(which proved a dream), it created the
commanding reality of a permanent
tribunal to settle international disputes. I
saw in this the greatest step toward peace
that humanity had ever taken, and taken as
if by inspiration, without much previous
discussion. No wonder the sublime idea
captivated the conference.

If Mr. Holls, whose death I so deeply

deplored, were alive to-day and a
delegate to the forthcoming second
Conference with his chief, Andrew D.
White, I feel that these two might possibly
bring about the creation of the needed
International Court for the abolition of war.
He it was who started from The Hague at
night for Germany, upon request of his
chief, and saw the German Minister of
Foreign Affairs, and the Emperor and
finally prevailed upon them to approve of
the High Court, and not to withdraw their
delegates as threatened--a service for
which Mr. Holls deserves to be enrolled
among the greatest servants of mankind.
Alas, death came to him while still in his
prime.

The day that International Court is

established will become one of the most
memorable days in the world's history.[57]
It will ring the knell of man killing man--the
deepest and blackest of crimes. It should
be celebrated in every land as I believe it
will be some day, and that time,
perchance, not so remote as expected. In
that era not a few of those hitherto extolled
as heroes will have found oblivion because
they failed to promote peace and
good-will instead of war.

[Footnote 57: "I submit that the only

measure required to-day for the
maintenance of world peace is an
agreement between three or four of the
leading Civilized Powers (and as many
more as desire to join--the more the
better) pledged to co�erate against
disturbers of world peace, should such
arise." (Andrew Carnegie, in address at
unveiling of a bust of William Randall
Cremer at the Peace Palace of The Hague,
August 29, 1913.)]

When Andrew D. White and Mr. Holls,

upon their return from The Hague,
suggested that I offer the funds needed for
a Temple of Peace at The Hague, I
informed them that I never could be so
presumptuous; that if the Government of
the Netherlands informed me of its desire
to have such a temple and hoped I would
furnish the means, the request would be
favorably considered. They demurred,
saying this could hardly be expected from
any Government. Then I said I could never
act in the matter.

Finally the Dutch Government did make

application, through its Minister, Baron
Gevers in Washington, and I rejoiced. Still,
in writing him, I was careful to say that the
drafts of his Government would be duly
honored. I did not send the money. The
Government drew upon me for it, and the
draft for a million and a half is kept as a
memento. It seems to me almost too much
that any individual should be permitted to
perform so noble a duty as that of
providing means for this Temple of
Peace--the most holy building in the world
because it has the holiest end in view. I do
not even except St. Peter's, or any building
erected to the glory of God, whom, as
Luther says, "we cannot serve or aid; He
needs no help from us." This temple is to
bring peace, which is so greatly needed
among His erring creatures. "The highest
worship of God is service to man." At least,
I feel so with Luther and Franklin.

When in 1907 friends came and asked me

to accept the presidency of the Peace
Society of New York, which they had
determined to organize, I declined,
alleging that I was kept very busy with
many affairs, which was true; but my
conscience troubled me afterwards for
declining. If I were not willing to sacrifice
myself for the cause of peace what should I
sacrifice for? What was I good for?
Fortunately, in a few days, the Reverend
Lyman Abbott, the Reverend Mr. Lynch,
and some other notable laborers for good
causes called to urge my reconsideration. I
divined their errand and frankly told them
they need not speak. My conscience had
been tormenting me for declining and I
would accept the presidency and do my
duty. After that came the great national
gathering (the following April) when for
the first time in the history of Peace Society
meetings, there attended delegates from
thirty-five of the states of the Union,
besides many foreigners of distinction.[58]

[Footnote 58: Mr. Carnegie does not

mention the fact that in December, 1910,
he gave to a board of trustees $10,000,000,
the revenue of which was to be
administered for "the abolition of
international war, the foulest blot upon our
civilization." This is known as the Carnegie
Endowment for International Peace. The
Honorable Elihu Root is president of the
board of trustees.]
My first decoration then came
unexpectedly. The French Government
had made me Knight Commander of the
Legion of Honor, and at the Peace Banquet
in New York, over which I presided, Baron
d'Estournelles de Constant appeared upon
the stage and in a compelling speech
invested me with the regalia amid the
cheers of the company. It was a great
honor, indeed, and appreciated by me
because given for my services to the cause
of International Peace. Such honors
humble, they do not exalt; so let them
come.[59] They serve also to remind me
that I must strive harder than ever, and
watch every act and word more closely,
that I may reach just a little nearer the
standard the givers--deluded
souls--mistakenly assume in their
speeches, that I have already attained.

[Footnote 59: Mr. Carnegie received also

the Grand Cross Order of Orange-Nassau
from Holland, the Grand Cross Order of
Danebrog from Denmark, a gold medal
from twenty-one American Republics and
had doctors' degrees from innumerable
universities and colleges. He was also a
member of many institutes, learned
societies and clubs--over 190 in number.]

* * * * *

No gift I have made or can ever make can

possibly approach that of Pittencrieff Glen,
Dunfermline. It is saturated with childish
sentiment--all of the purest and sweetest. I
must tell that story:

Among my earliest recollections are the

struggles of Dunfermline to obtain the
rights of the town to part of the Abbey
grounds and the Palace ruins. My
Grandfather Morrison began the
campaign, or, at least, was one of those
who did. The struggle was continued by
my Uncles Lauder and Morrison, the latter
honored by being charged with having
incited and led a band of men to tear down
a certain wall. The citizens won a victory in
the highest court and the then Laird
ordered that thereafter "no Morrison be
admitted to the Glen." I, being a Morrison
like my brother-cousin, Dod, was
debarred. The Lairds of Pittencrieff for
generations had been at variance with the
inhabitants.

The Glen is unique, as far as I know. It

adjoins the Abbey and Palace grounds,
and on the west and north it lies along two
of the main streets of the town. Its area
(between sixty and seventy acres) is finely
sheltered, its high hills grandly wooded. It
always meant paradise to the child of
Dunfermline. It certainly did to me. When I
heard of paradise, I translated the word
into Pittencrieff Glen, believing it to be as
near to paradise as anything I could think
of. Happy were we if through an open
lodge gate, or over the wall or under the
iron grill over the burn, now and then we
caught a glimpse inside.

Almost every Sunday Uncle Lauder took

"Dod" and "Naig" for a walk around the
Abbey to a part that overlooked the
Glen--the busy crows fluttering around in
the big trees below. Its Laird was to us
children the embodiment of rank and
wealth. The Queen, we knew, lived in
Windsor Castle, but she didn't own
Pittencrieff, not she! Hunt of Pittencrieff
wouldn't exchange with her or with any
one. Of this we were sure, because
certainly neither of us would. In all my
childhood's--yes and in my early
manhood's--air-castle building (which was
not small), nothing comparable in
grandeur approached Pittencrieff. My
Uncle Lauder predicted many things for
me when I became a man, but had he
foretold that some day I should be rich
enough, and so supremely fortunate as to
become Laird of Pittencrieff, he might have
turned my head. And then to be able to
hand it over to Dunfermline as a public
park--my paradise of childhood! Not for a
crown would I barter that privilege.

When Dr. Ross whispered to me that

Colonel Hunt might be induced to sell, my
ears cocked themselves instantly. He
wished an extortionate price, the doctor
thought, and I heard nothing further for
some time. When indisposed in London in
the autumn of 1902, my mind ran upon the
subject, and I intended to wire Dr. Ross to
come up and see me. One morning, Mrs.
Carnegie came into my room and asked
me to guess who had arrived and I
guessed Dr. Ross. Sure enough, there he
was. We talked over Pittencrieff. I
suggested that if our mutual friend and
fellow-townsman, Mr. Shaw in Edinburgh
(Lord Shaw of Dunfermline) ever met
Colonel Hunt's agents he could intimate
that their client might some day regret not
closing with me as another purchaser
equally anxious to buy might not be met
with, and I might change my mind or pass
away. Mr. Shaw told the doctor when he
mentioned this that he had an appointment
to meet with Hunt's lawyer on other
business the next morning and would
certainly say so.

I sailed shortly after for New York and

received there one day a cable from Mr.
Shaw stating that the Laird would accept
forty-five thousand pounds. Should he
close? I wired: "Yes, provided it is under
Ross's conditions"; and on Christmas Eve, I
received Shaw's reply: "Hail, Laird of
Pittencrieff!" So I was the happy possessor
of the grandest title on earth in my
estimation. The King--well, he was only the
King. He didn't own King Malcolm's tower
nor St. Margaret's shrine, nor Pittencrieff
Glen. Not he, poor man. I did, and I shall
be glad to condescendingly show the King
those treasures should he ever visit
Dunfermline.

As the possessor of the Park and the Glen I

had a chance to find out what, if anything,
money could do for the good of the masses
of a community, if placed in the hands of a
body of public-spirited citizens. Dr. Ross
was taken into my confidence so far as
Pittencrieff Park was concerned, and with
his advice certain men intended for a body
of trustees were agreed upon and invited
to Skibo to organize. They imagined it was
in regard to transferring the Park to the
town; not even to Dr. Ross was any other
subject mentioned. When they heard that
half a million sterling in bonds, bearing
five per cent interest, was also to go to
them for the benefit of Dunfermline, they
were surprised.[60]

[Footnote 60: Additional gifts, made later,

brought this gift up to $3,750,000.]

It is twelve years since the Glen was

handed over to the trustees and certainly
no public park was ever dearer to a
people. The children's yearly gala day, the
flower shows and the daily use of the Park
by the people are surprising. The Glen
now attracts people from neighboring
towns. In numerous ways the trustees have
succeeded finely in the direction indicated
in the trust deed, namely:
 To bring into the monotonous lives of
the toiling masses of Dunfermline, more
"of sweetness and light," to give to
them--especially the young--some charm,
some happiness, some elevating
conditions of life which residence
elsewhere would have denied, that the
child of my native town, looking back in
after years, however far from home it may
have roamed, will feel that simply by
virtue of being such, life has been made
happier and better. If this be the fruit of
your labors, you will have succeeded; if
not, you will have failed.

To this paragraph I owe the friendship of

Earl Grey, formerly Governor-General of
Canada. He wrote Dr. Ross:

"I must know the man who wrote that

document in the 'Times' this morning."
We met in London and became instantly
sympathetic. He is a great soul who passes
instantly into the heart and stays there.
Lord Grey is also to-day a member
(trustee) of the ten-million-dollar fund for
the United Kingdom.[61]

[Footnote 61: Mr. Carnegie refers to the

gift of ten million dollars to the Carnegie
United Kingdom Trust merely in
connection with Earl Grey. His references
to his gifts are casual, in that he refers only
to the ones in which he happens for the
moment to be interested. Those he
mentions are merely a part of the whole.
He gave to the Church Peace Union over
$2,000,000, to the United Engineering
Society $1,500,000, to the International
Bureau of American Republics $850,000,
and to a score or more of research,
hospital, and educational boards sums
ranging from $100,000 to $500,000. He
gave to various towns and cities over
twenty-eight hundred library buildings at
a cost of over $60,000,000. The largest of
his gifts he does not mention at all. This
was made in 1911 to the Carnegie
Corporation of New York and was
$125,000,000. The Corporation is the
residuary legatee under Mr. Carnegie's
will and it is not yet known what further
sum may come to it through that
instrument. The object of the Corporation,
as defined by Mr. Carnegie himself in a
letter to the trustees, is:

"To promote the advancement and

diffusion of knowledge and understanding
among the people of the United States by
aiding technical schools, institutions of
higher learning, libraries, scientific
research, hero funds, useful publications
and by such other agencies and means as
shall from time to time be found
appropriate therefor."

The Carnegie benefactions, all told,

amount to something over
$350,000,000--surely a huge sum to have
been brought together and then
distributed by one man.]

Thus, Pittencrieff Glen is the most

soul-satisfying public gift I ever made, or
ever can make. It is poetic justice that the
grandson of Thomas Morrison, radical
leader in his day, nephew of Bailie
Morrison, his son and successor, and
above all son of my sainted father and my
most heroic mother, should arise and
dispossess the lairds, should become the
agent for conveying the Glen and Park to
the people of Dunfermline forever. It is a
true romance, which no air-castle can quite
equal or fiction conceive. The hand of
destiny seems to hover over it, and I hear
something whispering: "Not altogether in
vain have you lived--not altogether in
vain." This is the crowning mercy of my
career! I set it apart from all my other
public gifts. Truly the whirligig of time
brings in some strange revenges.

It is now thirteen years since I ceased to

accumulate wealth and began to distribute
it. I could never have succeeded in either
had I stopped with having enough to retire
upon, but nothing to retire to. But there
was the habit and the love of reading,
writing and speaking upon occasion, and
also the acquaintance and friendship of
educated men which I had made before I
gave up business. For some years after
retiring I could not force myself to visit the
works. This, alas, would recall so many
who had gone before. Scarcely one of my
early friends would remain to give me the
hand-clasp of the days of old. Only one or
two of these old men would call me
"Andy."

Do not let it be thought, however, that my

younger partners were forgotten, or that
they have not played a very important part
in sustaining me in the effort of reconciling
myself to the new conditions. Far
otherwise! The most soothing influence of
all was their prompt organization of the
Carnegie Veteran Association, to expire
only when the last member dies. Our
yearly dinner together, in our own home in
New York, is a source of the greatest
pleasure,--so great that it lasts from one
year to the other. Some of the Veterans
travel far to be present, and what occurs
between us constitutes one of the dearest
joys of my life. I carry with me the affection
of "my boys." I am certain I do. There is no
possible mistake about that because my
heart goes out to them. This I number
among my many blessings and in many a
brooding hour this fact comes to me, and I
say to myself: "Rather this, minus fortune,
than multi-millionairedom without it--yes, a
thousand times, yes."

Many friends, great and good men and

women, Mrs. Carnegie and I are favored to
know, but not one whit shall these ever
change our joint love for the "boys." For to
my infinite delight her heart goes out to
them as does mine. She it was who
christened our new New York home with
the first Veteran dinner. "The partners
first" was her word. It was no mere idle
form when they elected Mrs. Carnegie the
first honorary member, and our daughter
the second. Their place in our hearts is
secure. Although I was the senior, still we
were "boys together." Perfect trust and
common aims, not for self only, but for
each other, and deep affection, moulded
us into a brotherhood. We were friends
first and partners afterwards. Forty-three
out of forty-five partners are thus bound
together for life.

Another yearly event that brings forth

many choice spirits is our Literary Dinner,
at home, our dear friend Mr. Richard
Watson Gilder, editor of the "Century,"
being the manager.[62] His devices and
quotations from the writings of the guest of
the year, placed upon the cards of the
guests, are so appropriate, as to cause
much hilarity. Then the speeches of the
novitiates give zest to the occasion. John
Morley was the guest of honor when with
us in 1895 and a quotation from his works
was upon the card at each plate.

[Footnote 62: "Yesterday we had a busy

day in Toronto. The grand event was a
dinner at six o'clock where we all spoke,
A.C. making a remarkable address.... I
can't tell you how I am enjoying this. Not
only seeing new places, but the talks with
our own party. It is, indeed, a liberal
education. A.C. is truly a 'great' man; that
is, a man of enormous faculty and a great
imagination. I don't remember any friend
who has such a range of poetical quotation,
unless it is Stedman. (Not so much _range_
as numerous quotations from Shakespeare,
Burns, Byron, etc.) His views are truly
large and prophetic. And, unless I am
mistaken, he has a genuine ethical
character. He is not perfect, but he is most
interesting and remarkable; a true
democrat; his benevolent actions having a
root in principle and character. He is not
accidentally the intimate friend of such
high natures as Arnold and Morley."
(_Letters of Richard Watson Gilder_,
edited by his daughter Rosamond Gilder,
p. 374. New York, 1916.)]
One year Gilder appeared early in the
evening of the dinner as he wished to seat
the guests. This had been done, but he
came to me saying it was well he had
looked them over. He had found John
Burroughs and Ernest Thompson Seton
were side by side, and as they were then
engaged in a heated controversy upon the
habits of beasts and birds, in which both
had gone too far in their criticisms, they
were at dagger's points. Gilder said it
would never do to seat them together. He
had separated them. I said nothing, but
slipped into the dining-room unobserved
and replaced the cards as before. Gilder's
surprise was great when he saw the men
next each other, but the result was just as I
had expected. A reconciliation took place
and they parted good friends. Moral: If you
wish to play peace-maker, seat
adversaries next each other where they
must begin by being civil.

Burroughs and Seton both enjoyed the trap

I set for them. True it is, we only hate those
whom we do not know. It certainly is often
the way to peace to invite your adversary
to dinner and even beseech him to come,
taking no refusal. Most quarrels become
acute from the parties not seeing and
communicating with each other and
hearing too much of their disagreement
from others. They do not fully understand
the other's point of view and all that can be
said for it. Wise is he who offers the hand
of reconciliation should a difference with a
friend arise. Unhappy he to the end of his
days who refuses it. No possible gain
atones for the loss of one who has been a
friend even if that friend has become
somewhat less dear to you than before. He
is still one with whom you have been
intimate, and as age comes on friends pass
rapidly away and leave you.

He is the happy man who feels there is not

a human being to whom he does not wish
happiness, long life, and deserved
success, not one in whose path he would
cast an obstacle nor to whom he would not
do a service if in his power. All this he can
feel without being called upon to retain as
a friend one who has proved unworthy
beyond question by dishonorable conduct.
For such there should be nothing felt but
pity, infinite pity. And pity for your own
loss also, for true friendship can only feed
and grow upon the virtues.

"When love begins to sicken and decay

It useth an enforced ceremony."

The former geniality may be gone forever,

but each can wish the other nothing but
happiness.
None of my friends hailed my retirement
from business more warmly than Mark
Twain. I received from him the following
note, at a time when the newspapers were
talking much about my wealth.

DEAR SIR AND FRIEND:

You seem to be prosperous these days.

Could you lend an admirer a dollar and
a half to buy a hymn-book with? God
will bless you if you do; I feel it, I know it.
So will I. If there should be other
applications this one not to count.

Yours

MARK

P.S. Don't send the hymn-book, send the

money. I want to make the selection
myself.

M.

When he was lying ill in New York I went

to see him frequently, and we had great
times together, for even lying in bed he
was as bright as ever. One call was to say
good-bye, before my sailing for Scotland.
The Pension Fund for University Professors
was announced in New York soon after I
sailed. A letter about it from Mark,
addressed to "Saint Andrew," reached me
in Scotland, from which I quote the
following:

You can take my halo. If you had told

me what you had done when at my
bedside you would have got it there and
then. It is pure tin and paid "the duty"
when it came down.
Those intimate with Mr. Clemens (Mark
Twain) will certify that he was one of the
charmers. Joe Jefferson is the only man
who can be conceded his twin brother in
manner and speech, their charm being of
the same kind. "Uncle Remus" (Joel
Chandler Harris) is another who has
charm, and so has George W. Cable; yes,
and Josh Billings also had it. Such people
brighten the lives of their friends,
regardless of themselves. They make
sunshine wherever they go. In Rip Van
Winkle's words: "All pretty much alike,
dem fellers." Every one of them is
unselfish and warm of heart.

The public only knows one side of Mr.

Clemens--the amusing part. Little does it
suspect that he was a man of strong
convictions upon political and social
questions and a moralist of no mean order.
For instance, upon the capture of
Aguinaldo by deception, his pen was the
most trenchant of all. Junius was weak in
comparison.

The gathering to celebrate his seventieth

birthday was unique. The literary element
was there in force, but Mark had not
forgotten to ask to have placed near him
the multi-millionaire, Mr. H.H. Rogers, one
who had been his friend in need. Just like
Mark. Without exception, the leading
literary men dwelt in their speeches
exclusively upon the guest's literary work.
When my turn came, I referred to this and
asked them to note that what our friend
had done as a man would live as long as
what he had written. Sir Walter Scott and
he were linked indissolubly together. Our
friend, like Scott, was ruined by the
mistakes of partners, who had become
hopelessly bankrupt. Two courses lay
before him. One the smooth, easy, and
short way--the legal path. Surrender all
your property, go through bankruptcy,
and start afresh. This was all he owed to
creditors. The other path, long, thorny,
and dreary, a life struggle, with everything
sacrificed. There lay the two paths and this
was his decision:

"Not what I owe to my creditors, but what I

owe to myself is the issue."

There are times in most men's lives that

test whether they be dross or pure gold. It
is the decision made in the crisis which
proves the man. Our friend entered the
fiery furnace a man and emerged a hero.
He paid his debts to the utmost farthing by
lecturing around the world. "An amusing
cuss, Mark Twain," is all very well as a
popular verdict, but what of Mr. Clemens
the man and the hero, for he is both and in
the front rank, too, with Sir Walter.
He had a heroine in his wife. She it was
who sustained him and traveled the world
round with him as his guardian angel, and
enabled him to conquer as Sir Walter did.
This he never failed to tell to his intimates.
Never in my life did three words leave so
keen a pang as those uttered upon my first
call after Mrs. Clemens passed away. I
fortunately found him alone and while my
hand was still in his, and before one word
had been spoken by either, there came
from him, with a stronger pressure of my
hand, these words: "A ruined home, a
ruined home." The silence was unbroken. I
write this years after, but still I hear the
words again and my heart responds.

One mercy, denied to our forefathers,

comes to us of to-day. If the Judge within
give us a verdict of acquittal as having
lived this life well, we have no other Judge
to fear.

"To thine own self be true, And it

must follow, as the night the day, Thou
canst not then be false to any man."

Eternal punishment, because of a few

years' shortcomings here on earth, would
be the reverse of Godlike. Satan himself
would recoil from it.
CHAPTER XXII

MATHEW ARNOLD AND OTHERS

The most charming man, John Morley and I

agree, that we ever knew was Matthew
Arnold. He had, indeed, "a charm"--that is
the only word which expresses the effect
of his presence and his conversation. Even
his look and grave silences charmed.

[Illustration: _Photograph from Underwood

& Underwood, N.Y._

MATTHEW ARNOLD]

He coached with us in 1880, I think,

through Southern England--William Black
and Edwin A. Abbey being of the party.
Approaching a pretty village he asked me
if the coach might stop there a few
minutes. He explained that this was the
resting-place of his godfather, Bishop
Keble, and he should like to visit his grave.
He continued:

"Ah, dear, dear Keble! I caused him much

sorrow by my views upon theological
subjects, which caused me sorrow also,
but notwithstanding he was deeply
grieved, dear friend as he was, he traveled
to Oxford and voted for me for Professor of
English Poetry."

We walked to the quiet churchyard

together. Matthew Arnold in silent thought
at the grave of Keble made upon me a
lasting impression. Later the subject of his
theological views was referred to. He said
they had caused sorrow to his best friends.

"Mr. Gladstone once gave expression to

his deep disappointment, or to something
like displeasure, saying I ought to have
been a bishop. No doubt my writings
prevented my promotion, as well as
grieved my friends, but I could not help it.
I had to express my views."

I remember well the sadness of tone with

which these last words were spoken, and
how very slowly. They came as from the
deep. He had his message to deliver.
Steadily has the age advanced to receive
it. His teachings pass almost uncensured
to-day. If ever there was a seriously
religious man it was Matthew Arnold. No
irreverent word ever escaped his lips. In
this he and Gladstone were equally above
reproach, and yet he had in one short
sentence slain the supernatural. "The case
against miracles is closed. They do not
happen."

He and his daughter, now Mrs. Whitridge,

were our guests when in New York in 1883,
and also at our mountain home in the
Alleghanies, so that I saw a great deal, but
not enough, of him. My mother and myself
drove him to the hall upon his first public
appearance in New York. Never was there
a finer audience gathered. The lecture was
not a success, owing solely to his inability
to speak well in public. He was not heard.
When we returned home his first words
were:

"Well, what have you all to say? Tell me!

Will I do as a lecturer?"

I was so keenly interested in his success

that I did not hesitate to tell him it would
never do for him to go on unless he fitted
himself for public speaking. He must get
an elocutionist to give him lessons upon
two or three points. I urged this so strongly
that he consented to do so. After we all had
our say, he turned to my mother, saying:

"Now, dear Mrs. Carnegie, they have all

given me their opinions, but I wish to know
what you have to say about my first night
as a lecturer in America."

"Too ministerial, Mr. Arnold, too

ministerial," was the reply slowly and
softly delivered. And to the last Mr. Arnold
would occasionally refer to that, saying he
felt it hit the nail on the head. When he
returned to New York from his Western
tour, he had so much improved that his
voice completely filled the Brooklyn
Academy of Music. He had taken a few
lessons from a professor of elocution in
Boston, as advised, and all went well
thereafter.

He expressed a desire to hear the noted

preacher, Mr. Beecher; and we started for
Brooklyn one Sunday morning. Mr.
Beecher had been apprized of our coming
so that after the services he might remain
to meet Mr. Arnold. When I presented Mr.
Arnold he was greeted warmly. Mr.
Beecher expressed his delight at meeting
one in the flesh whom he had long known
so well in the spirit, and, grasping his
hand, he said:

"There is nothing you have written, Mr.

Arnold, which I have not carefully read at
least once and a great deal many times,
and always with profit, always with profit!"

"Ah, then, I fear, Mr. Beecher," replied

Arnold, "you may have found some
references to yourself which would better
have been omitted."

"Oh, no, no, those did me the most good of

all," said the smiling Beecher, and they
both laughed.

Mr. Beecher was never at a loss. After

presenting Matthew Arnold to him, I had
the pleasure of presenting the daughter of
Colonel Ingersoll, saying, as I did so:

"Mr. Beecher, this is the first time Miss

Ingersoll has ever been in a Christian
church."

He held out both hands and grasped hers,

and looking straight at her and speaking
slowly, said:

"Well, well, you are the most beautiful

heathen I ever saw." Those who remember
Miss Ingersoll in her youth will not differ
greatly with Mr. Beecher. Then: "How's
your father, Miss Ingersoll? I hope he's
well. Many a time he and I have stood
together on the platform, and wasn't it
lucky for me we were on the same side!"

Beecher was, indeed, a great, broad,

generous man, who absorbed what was
good wherever found. Spencer's
philosophy, Arnold's insight tempered
with sound sense, Ingersoll's staunch
support of high political ends were powers
for good in the Republic. Mr. Beecher was
great enough to appreciate and hail as
helpful friends all of these men.

Arnold visited us in Scotland in 1887, and

talking one day of sport he said he did not
shoot, he could not kill anything that had
wings and could soar in the clear blue sky;
but, he added, he could not give up
fishing--"the accessories are so delightful."
He told of his happiness when a certain
duke gave him a day's fishing twice or
three times a year. I forget who the kind
duke was, but there was something
unsavory about him and mention was
made of this. He was asked how he came
to be upon intimate terms with such a man.

"Ah!" he said, "a duke is always a

personage with us, always a personage,
independent of brains or conduct. We are
all snobs. Hundreds of years have made us
so, all snobs. We can't help it. It is in the
blood."

This was smilingly said, and I take it he

made some mental reservations. He was
no snob himself, but one who naturally
"smiled at the claims of long descent," for
generally the "descent" cannot be
questioned.

He was interested, however, in men of

rank and wealth, and I remember when in
New York he wished particularly to meet
Mr. Vanderbilt. I ventured to say he would
not find him different from other men.

"No, but it is something to know the richest

man in the world," he replied. "Certainly
the man who makes his own wealth
eclipses those who inherit rank from
others."

I asked him one day why he had never

written critically upon Shakespeare and
assigned him his place upon the throne
among the poets. He said that thoughts of
doing so had arisen, but reflection always
satisfied him that he was incompetent to
write upon, much less to criticize,
Shakespeare. He believed it could not be
successfully done. Shakespeare was above
all, could be measured by no rules of
criticism; and much as he should have
liked to dwell upon his transcendent
genius, he had always recoiled from
touching the subject. I said that I was
prepared for this, after his tribute which
stands to-day unequaled, and I recalled his
own lines from his sonnet:

SHAKESPEARE

Others abide our question. Thou art free.

We ask and ask--Thou smilest and art
still, Out-topping knowledge. For the
loftiest hill Who to the stars uncrowns his
majesty,

Planting his steadfast footsteps in the

sea, Making the heaven of heavens his
dwelling-place, Spares but the cloudy
border of his base To the foil'd searching
of mortality;

And thou, who didst the stars and

sunbeams know, Self-school'd,
self-scann'd, self-honour'd, self-secure,
Didst stand on earth unguess'd at--Better
so!

All pains the immortal spirit must

endure, All weakness which impairs, all
griefs which bow, Find their sole voice
in that victorious brow.

I knew Mr. Shaw (Josh Billings) and wished

Mr. Arnold, the apostle of sweetness and
light, to meet that rough diamond--rough,
but still a diamond. Fortunately one
morning Josh came to see me in the
Windsor Hotel, where we were then living,
and referred to our guest, expressing his
admiration for him. I replied:

"You are going to dine with him to-night.

The ladies are going out and Arnold and
myself are to dine alone; you complete the
trinity."

To this he demurred, being a modest man,

but I was inexorable. No excuse would be
taken; he must come to oblige me. He did.
I sat between them at dinner and enjoyed
this meeting of extremes. Mr. Arnold
became deeply interested in Mr. Shaw's
way of putting things and liked his
Western anecdotes, laughing more
heartily than I had ever seen him do
before. One incident after another was told
from the experience of the lecturer, for Mr.
Shaw had lectured for fifteen years in
every place of ten thousand inhabitants or
more in the United States.

Mr. Arnold was desirous of hearing how

the lecturer held his audiences.

"Well," he said, "you mustn't keep them

laughing too long, or they will think you
are laughing at them. After giving the
audience amusement you must become
earnest and play the serious r�e. For
instance, 'There are two things in this life
for which no man is ever prepared. Who
will tell me what these are?' Finally some
one cries out 'Death.' 'Well, who gives me
the other?' Many respond--wealth,
happiness, strength, marriage, taxes. At
last Josh begins, solemnly: 'None of you
has given the second. There are two things
on earth for which no man is ever
prepared, and them's twins,' and the house
shakes." Mr. Arnold did also.

"Do you keep on inventing new stories?"

was asked.

"Yes, always. You can't lecture year after

year unless you find new stories, and
sometimes these fail to crack. I had one nut
which I felt sure would crack and bring
down the house, but try as I would it never
did itself justice, all because I could not
find the indispensable word, just one
word. I was sitting before a roaring wood
fire one night up in Michigan when the
word came to me which I knew would
crack like a whip. I tried it on the boys and
it did. It lasted longer than any one word I
used. I began: 'This is a highly critical age.
People won't believe until they fully
understand. Now there's Jonah and the
whale. They want to know all about it, and
it's my opinion that neither Jonah nor the
whale fully understood it. And then they
ask what Jonah was doing in the
whale's--the whale's society.'"

Mr. Shaw was walking down Broadway one

day when accosted by a real Westerner,
who said:

"I think you are Josh Billings."

"Well, sometimes I am called that."

"I have five thousand dollars for you right
here in my pocket-book."

"Here's Delmonico's, come in and tell me

all about it."

After seating themselves, the stranger said

he was part owner in a gold mine in
California, and explained that there had
been a dispute about its ownership and
that the conference of partners broke up in
quarreling. The stranger said he had left,
threatening he would take the bull by the
horns and begin legal proceedings. "The
next morning I went to the meeting and
told them I had turned over Josh Billings's
almanac that morning and the lesson for
the day was: 'When you take the bull by
the horns, take him by the tail; you can get
a better hold and let go when you're a
mind to.' We laughed and laughed and felt
that was good sense. We took your advice,
settled, and parted good friends. Some
one moved that five thousand dollars be
given Josh, and as I was coming East they
appointed me treasurer and I promised to
hand it over. There it is."

The evening ended by Mr. Arnold saying:

"Well, Mr. Shaw, if ever you come to

lecture in England, I shall be glad to
welcome and introduce you to your first
audience. Any foolish man called a lord
could do you more good than I by
introducing you, but I should so much like
to do it."

Imagine Matthew Arnold, the apostle of

sweetness and light, introducing Josh
Billings, the foremost of jesters, to a select
London audience.

In after years he never failed to ask after

"our leonine friend, Mr. Shaw."

Meeting Josh at the Windsor one morning

after the notable dinner I sat down with
him in the rotunda and he pulled out a
small memorandum book, saying as he did
so:

"Where's Arnold? I wonder what he would

say to this. The 'Century' gives me $100 a
week, I agreeing to send them any trifle
that occurs to me. I try to give it
something. Here's this from Uncle Zekiel,
my weekly budget: 'Of course the critic is
a greater man than the author. Any fellow
who can point out the mistakes another
fellow has made is a darned sight smarter
fellow than the fellow who made them.'"

I told Mr. Arnold a Chicago story, or rather

a story about Chicago. A society lady of
Boston visiting her schoolmate friend in
Chicago, who was about to be married,
was overwhelmed with attention. Asked by
a noted citizen one evening what had
charmed her most in Chicago, she
graciously replied:

"What surprises me most isn't the bustle of

business, or your remarkable
development materially, or your grand
residences; it is the degree of culture and
refinement I find here." The response
promptly came:

"Oh, we are just dizzy on cult out here, you

bet."

Mr. Arnold was not prepared to enjoy

Chicago, which had impressed him as the
headquarters of Philistinism. He was,
however, surprised and gratified at
meeting with so much "culture and
refinement." Before he started he was
curious to know what he should find most
interesting. I laughingly said that he would
probably first be taken to see the most
wonderful sight there, which was said to
be the slaughter houses, with new
machines so perfected that the hog driven
in at one end came out hams at the other
before its squeal was out of one's ears.
Then after a pause he asked reflectively:

"But why should one go to slaughter

houses, why should one hear hogs
squeal?" I could give no reason, so the
matter rested.

Mr. Arnold's Old Testament favorite was

certainly Isaiah: at least his frequent
quotations from that great poet, as he
called him, led one to this conclusion. I
found in my tour around the world that the
sacred books of other religions had been
stripped of the dross that had necessarily
accumulated around their legends. I
remembered Mr. Arnold saying that the
Scriptures should be so dealt with. The
gems from Confucius and others which
delight the world have been selected with
much care and appear as "collects." The
disciple has not the objectionable
accretions of the ignorant past presented
to him.

The more one thinks over the matter, the

stronger one's opinion becomes that the
Christian will have to follow the Eastern
example and winnow the wheat from the
chaff--worse than chaff, sometimes the
positively pernicious and even poisonous
refuse. Burns, in the "Cotter's Saturday
Night," pictures the good man taking down
the big Bible for the evening service:

"He wales a portion with judicious care."

We should have those portions selected
and use the selections only. In this, and
much besides, the man whom I am so
thankful for having known and am so
favored as to call friend, has proved the
true teacher in advance of his age, the
greatest poetic teacher in the domain of
"the future and its viewless things."

I took Arnold down from our summer

home at Cresson in the Alleghanies to see
black, smoky Pittsburgh. In the path from
the Edgar Thomson Steel Works to the
railway station there are two flights of
steps to the bridge across the railway, the
second rather steep. When we had
ascended about three quarters of it he
suddenly stopped to gain breath. Leaning
upon the rail and putting his hand upon his
heart, he said to me:

"Ah, this will some day do for me, as it did

for my father."

I did not know then of the weakness of his

heart, but I never forgot this incident, and
when not long after the sad news came of
his sudden death, after exertion in England
endeavoring to evade an obstacle, it came
back to me with a great pang that our
friend had foretold his fate. Our loss was
great. To no man I have known could
Burns's epitaph upon Tam Samson be more
appropriately applied:

"Tam Samson's weel-worn clay here lies:

Ye canting zealots, spare him! If
honest worth in heaven rise, Ye'll mend
or ye win near him."

The name of a dear man comes to me just

here, Dr. Oliver Wendell Holmes, of
Boston, everybody's doctor, whose only
ailment toward the end was being eighty
years of age. He was a boy to the last.
When Matthew Arnold died a few friends
could not resist taking steps toward a
suitable memorial to his memory. These
friends quietly provided the necessary
sum, as no public appeal could be thought
of. No one could be permitted to
contribute to such a fund except such as
had a right to the privilege, for privilege it
was felt to be. Double, triple the sum could
readily have been obtained. I had the
great satisfaction of being permitted to
join the select few and to give the matter a
little attention upon our side of the Atlantic.
Of course I never thought of mentioning
the matter to dear Dr. Holmes--not that he
was not one of the elect, but that no author
or professional man should be asked to
contribute money to funds which, with rare
exceptions, are best employed when used
for themselves. One morning, however, I
received a note from the doctor, saying
that it had been whispered to him that
there was such a movement on foot, and
that I had been mentioned in connection
with it, and if he were judged worthy to
have his name upon the roll of honor, he
would be gratified. Since he had heard of
it he could not rest without writing to me,
and he should like to hear in reply. That he
was thought worthy goes without saying.

This is the kind of memorial any man might

wish. I venture to say that there was not
one who contributed to it who was not
grateful to the kind fates for giving him the
opportunity.
CHAPTER XXIII

BRITISH POLITICAL LEADERS

In London, Lord Rosebery, then in

Gladstone's Cabinet and a rising
statesman, was good enough to invite me
to dine with him to meet Mr. Gladstone,
and I am indebted to him for meeting the
world's first citizen. This was, I think, in
1885, for my "Triumphant Democracy"[63]
appeared in 1886, and I remember giving
Mr. Gladstone, upon that occasion, some
startling figures which I had prepared for
it.

[Footnote 63: _Triumphant Democracy, or

Fifty Years' March of the Republic._
London and New York, 1886.]

I never did what I thought right in a social

matter with greater self-denial, than when
later the first invitation came from Mr.
Gladstone to dine with him. I was engaged
to dine elsewhere and sorely tempted to
plead that an invitation from the real ruler
of Great Britain should be considered as
much of a command as that of the
ornamental dignitary. But I kept my
engagement and missed the man I most
wished to meet. The privilege came later,
fortunately, when subsequent visits to him
at Hawarden were made.

Lord Rosebery opened the first library I

ever gave, that of Dunfermline, and he has
recently (1905) opened the latest given by
me--one away over in Stornoway. When he
last visited New York I drove him along the
Riverside Drive, and he declared that no
city in the world possessed such an
attraction. He was a man of brilliant parts,
but his resolutions were
 "Sicklied o'er with the pale cast of
thought."

Had he been born to labor and entered the

House of Commons in youth, instead of
being dropped without effort into the
gilded upper chamber, he might have
acquired in the rough-and-tumble of life
the tougher skin, for he was highly
sensitive and lacked tenacity of purpose
essential to command in political life. He
was a charming speaker--a eulogist with
the lightest touch and the most graceful
style upon certain themes of any speaker
of his day. [Since these lines were written
he has become, perhaps, the foremost
eulogist of our race. He has achieved a
high place. All honor to him!]

One morning I called by appointment

upon him. After greetings he took up an
envelope which I saw as I entered had
been carefully laid on his desk, and
handed it to me, saying:

"I wish you to dismiss your secretary."

"That is a big order, Your Lordship. He is

indispensable, and a Scotsman," I replied.
"What is the matter with him?"

"This isn't your handwriting; it is his. What

do you think of a man who spells Rosebery
with two _r's_?"

I said if I were sensitive on that point life

would not be endurable for me. "I receive
many letters daily when at home and I am
sure that twenty to thirty per cent of them
mis-spell my name, ranging from
'Karnaghie' to 'Carnagay.'"

But he was in earnest. Just such little

matters gave him great annoyance. Men of
action should learn to laugh at and enjoy
these small things, or they themselves may
become "small." A charming personality
withal, but shy, sensitive, capricious, and
reserved, qualities which a few years in
the Commons would probably have
modified.

When he was, as a Liberal, surprising the

House of Lords and creating some stir, I
ventured to let off a little of my own
democracy upon him.

"Stand for Parliament boldly. Throw off

your hereditary rank, declaring you scorn
to accept a privilege which is not the right
of every citizen. Thus make yourself the
real leader of the people, which you never
can be while a peer. You are young,
brilliant, captivating, with the gift of
charming speech. No question of your
being Prime Minister if you take the
plunge."

To my surprise, although apparently

interested, he said very quietly:

"But the House of Commons couldn't admit

me as a peer."

"That's what I should hope. If I were in your

place, and rejected, I would stand again
for the next vacancy and force the issue.
Insist that one having renounced his
hereditary privileges becomes elevated to
citizenship and is eligible for any position
to which he is elected. Victory is certain.
That's playing the part of a Cromwell.
Democracy worships a precedent-breaker
or a precedent-maker."

We dropped the subject. Telling Morley of

this afterward, I shall never forget his
comment:

"My friend, Cromwell doesn't reside at

Number 38 Berkeley Square." Slowly,
solemnly spoken, but conclusive.

Fine fellow, Rosebery, only he was

handicapped by being born a peer. On the
other hand, Morley, rising from the ranks,
his father a surgeon hard-pressed to keep
his son at college, is still "Honest John,"
unaffected in the slightest degree by the
so-called elevation to the peerage and the
Legion of Honor, both given for merit. The
same with "Bob" Reid, M.P., who became
Earl Loreburn and Lord High Chancellor,
Lord Haldane, his successor as Chancellor;
Asquith, Prime Minister, Lloyd George,
and others. Not even the rulers of our
Republic to-day are more democratic or
more thorough men of the people.
When the world's foremost citizen passed
away, the question was, Who is to succeed
Gladstone; who can succeed him? The
younger members of the Cabinet agreed
to leave the decision to Morley. Harcourt
or Campbell-Bannerman? There was only
one impediment in the path of the former,
but that was fatal--inability to control his
temper. The issue had unfortunately
aroused him to such outbursts as really
unfitted him for leadership, and so the man
of calm, sober, unclouded judgment was
considered indispensable.

I was warmly attached to Harcourt, who in

turn was a devoted admirer of our
Republic, as became the husband of
Motley's daughter. Our census and our
printed reports, which I took care that he
should receive, interested him deeply. Of
course, the elevation of the representative
of my native town of Dunfermline
(Campbell-Bannerman)[64] gave me
unalloyed pleasure, the more so since in
returning thanks from the Town House to
the people assembled he used these
words:

"I owe my election to my Chairman, Bailie

Morrison."

[Footnote 64: Campbell-Bannerman was

chosen leader of the Liberal Party in
December, 1898.]

The Bailie, Dunfermline's leading radical,

was my uncle. We were radical families in
those days and are so still, both Carnegies
and Morrisons, and intense admirers of the
Great Republic, like that one who extolled
Washington and his colleagues as "men
who knew and dared proclaim the royalty
of man"--a proclamation worth while.
There is nothing more certain than that the
English-speaking race in orderly, lawful
development will soon establish the
golden rule of citizenship through
evolution, never revolution:

"The rank is but the guinea's stamp,

The man's the gowd for a' that."

This feeling already prevails in all the

British colonies. The dear old Motherland
hen has ducks for chickens which give her
much anxiety breasting the waves, while
she, alarmed, screams wildly from the
shore; but she will learn to swim also by
and by.

In the autumn of 1905 Mrs. Carnegie and I

attended the ceremony of giving the
Freedom of Dunfermline to our friend, Dr.
John Ross, chairman of the Carnegie
Dunfermline Trust, foremost and most
zealous worker for the good of the town.
Provost Macbeth in his speech informed
the audience that the honor was seldom
conferred, that there were only three
living burgesses--one their member of
Parliament, H. Campbell-Bannerman, then
Prime Minister; the Earl of Elgin of
Dunfermline, ex-Viceroy of India, then
Colonial Secretary; and the third myself.
This seemed great company for me, so
entirely out of the running was I as regards
official station.

The Earl of Elgin is the descendant of The

Bruce. Their family vault is in Dunfermline
Abbey, where his great ancestor lies
under the Abbey bell. It has been noted
how Secretary Stanton selected General
Grant as the one man in the party who
could not possibly be the commander.
One would be very apt to make a similar
mistake about the Earl. When the Scottish
Universities were to be reformed the Earl
was second on the committee. When the
Conservative Government formed its
Committee upon the Boer War, the Earl, a
Liberal, was appointed chairman. When
the decision of the House of Lords brought
dire confusion upon the United Free
Church of Scotland, Lord Elgin was called
upon as the Chairman of Committee to
settle the matter. Parliament embodied his
report in a bill, and again he was placed at
the head to apply it. When trustees for the
Universities of Scotland Fund were to be
selected, I told Prime Minister Balfour I
thought the Earl of Elgin as a Dunfermline
magnate could be induced to take the
chairmanship. He said I could not get a
better man in Great Britain. So it has
proved. John Morley said to me one day
afterwards, but before he had, as a
member of the Dunfermline Trust,
experience of the chairman:
"I used to think Elgin about the most
problematical public man in high position I
had ever met, but I now know him one of
the ablest. Deeds, not words; judgment,
not talk."

Such the descendant of The Bruce to-day,

the embodiment of modest worth and
wisdom combined.

Once started upon a Freedom-getting

career, there seemed no end to these
honors.[65] With headquarters in London
in 1906, I received six Freedoms in six
consecutive days, and two the week
following, going out by morning train and
returning in the evening. It might be
thought that the ceremony would become
monotonous, but this was not so, the
conditions being different in each case. I
met remarkable men in the mayors and
provosts and the leading citizens
connected with municipal affairs, and each
community had its own individual stamp
and its problems, successes, and failures.
There was generally one greatly desired
improvement overshadowing all other
questions engrossing the attention of the
people. Each was a little world in itself.
The City Council is a Cabinet in miniature
and the Mayor the Prime Minister.
Domestic politics keep the people agog.
Foreign relations are not wanting. There
are inter-city questions with neighboring
communities, joint water or gas or
electrical undertakings of mighty import,
conferences deciding for or against
alliances or separations.

[Footnote 65: Mr. Carnegie had received

no less than fifty-four Freedoms of cities in
Great Britain and Ireland. This was a
record--Mr. Gladstone coming second
with seventeen.]
In no department is the contrast greater
between the old world and the new than in
municipal government. In the former the
families reside for generations in the place
of birth with increasing devotion to the
town and all its surroundings. A father
achieving the mayorship stimulates the son
to aspire to it. That invaluable asset, city
pride, is created, culminating in romantic
attachment to native places.
Councilorships are sought that each in his
day and generation may be of some
service to the town. To the best citizens
this is a creditable object of ambition. Few,
indeed, look beyond it--membership in
Parliament being practically reserved for
men of fortune, involving as it does
residence in London without
compensation. This latter, however, is
soon to be changed and Britain follow the
universal practice of paying legislators for
service rendered. [In 1908; since realized;
four hundred pounds is now paid.]

After this she will probably follow the rest

of the world by having Parliament meet in
the daytime, its members fresh and ready
for the day's work, instead of giving all day
to professional work and then with
exhausted brains undertaking the work of
governing the country after dinner.
Cavendish, the authority on whist, being
asked if a man could possibly finesse a
knave, second round, third player,
replied, after reflecting, "Yes, he might
_after dinner_."

The best people are on the councils of

British towns, incorruptible,
public-spirited men, proud of and devoted
to their homes. In the United States
progress is being made in this direction,
but we are here still far behind Britain.
Nevertheless, people tend to settle
permanently in places as the country
becomes thickly populated. We shall
develop the local patriot who is anxious to
leave the place of his birth a little better
than he found it. It is only one generation
since the provostship of Scotch towns was
generally reserved for one of the local
landlords belonging to the upper classes.
That "the Briton dearly loves a lord" is still
true, but the love is rapidly disappearing.

In Eastbourne, Kings-Lynn, Salisbury,

Ilkeston, and many other ancient towns, I
found the mayor had risen from the ranks,
and had generally worked with his hands.
The majority of the council were also of
this type. All gave their time gratuitously.
It was a source of much pleasure to me to
know the provosts and leaders in council
of so many towns in Scotland and England,
not forgetting Ireland where my Freedom
tour was equally attractive. Nothing could
excel the reception accorded me in Cork,
Waterford, and Limerick. It was surprising
to see the welcome on flags expressed in
the same Gaelic words, _Cead mille
failthe_ (meaning "a hundred thousand
welcomes") as used by the tenants of
Skibo.

Nothing could have given me such insight

into local public life and patriotism in
Britain as Freedom-taking, which
otherwise might have become irksome. I
felt myself so much at home among the city
chiefs that the embarrassment of flags and
crowds and people at the windows along
our route was easily met as part of the duty
of the day, and even the address of the
chief magistrate usually furnished new
phases of life upon which I could dwell.
The lady mayoresses were delightful in all
their pride and glory.
My conclusion is that the United Kingdom
is better served by the leading citizens of
her municipalities, elected by popular
vote, than any other country far and away
can possibly be; and that all is sound to the
core in that important branch of
government. Parliament itself could
readily be constituted of a delegation of
members from the town councils without
impairing its efficiency. Perhaps when the
sufficient payment of members is
established, many of these will be found at
Westminster and that to the advantage of
the Kingdom.
CHAPTER XXIV

GLADSTONE AND MORLEY

Mr. Gladstone paid my "American

Four-in-Hand in Britain" quite a
compliment when Mrs. Carnegie and I
were his guests at Hawarden in April,
1892. He suggested one day that I should
spend the morning with him in his new
library, while he arranged his books
(which no one except himself was ever
allowed to touch), and we could converse.
In prowling about the shelves I found a
unique volume and called out to my host,
then on top of a library ladder far from me
handling heavy volumes:

"Mr. Gladstone, I find here a book

'Dunfermline Worthies,' by a friend of my
father's. I knew some of the worthies when
a child."

"Yes," he replied, "and if you will pass

your hand three or four books to the left I
think you will find another book by a
Dunfermline man."

I did so and saw my book "An American

Four-in-Hand in Britain." Ere I had done so,
however, I heard that organ voice orating
in full swing from the top of the ladder:

"What Mecca is to the Mohammedan,

Benares to the Hindoo, Jerusalem to the
Christian, all that Dunfermline is to me."

My ears heard the voice some moments

before my brain realized that these were
my own words called forth by the first
glimpse caught of Dunfermline as we
approached it from the south.[66]
[Footnote 66: The whole paragraph is as
follows: "How beautiful is Dunfermline
seen from the Ferry Hills, its grand old
Abbey towering over all, seeming to
hallow the city, and to lend a charm and
dignity to the lowliest tenement! Nor is
there in all broad Scotland, nor in many
places elsewhere that I know of, a more
varied and delightful view than that
obtained from the Park upon a fine day.
What Benares is to the Hindoo, Mecca to
the Mohammedan, Jerusalem to the
Christian, all that Dunfermline is to me."
(_An American Four-in-Hand in Britain_, p.
282.)]

"How on earth did you come to get this

book?" I asked. "I had not the honor of
knowing you when it was written and could
not have sent you a copy."

"No!" he replied, "I had not then the

pleasure of your acquaintance, but some
one, I think Rosebery, told me of the book
and I sent for it and read it with delight.
That tribute to Dunfermline struck me as so
extraordinary it lingered with me. I could
never forget it."

This incident occurred eight years after

the "American Four-in-Hand" was written,
and adds another to the many proofs of Mr.
Gladstone's wonderful memory. Perhaps
as a vain author I may be pardoned for
confessing my grateful appreciation of his
no less wonderful judgment.

[Illustration: _Photograph from Underwood

& Underwood, N.Y._

WILLIAM E. GLADSTONE]

The politician who figures publicly as

"reader of the lesson" on Sundays, is apt to
be regarded suspiciously. I confess that
until I had known Mr. Gladstone well, I had
found the thought arising now and then
that the wary old gentleman might feel at
least that these appearances cost him no
votes. But all this vanished as I learned his
true character. He was devout and sincere
if ever man was. Yes, even when he
records in his diary (referred to by Morley
in his "Life of Gladstone") that, while
addressing the House of Commons on the
budget for several hours with great
acceptance, he was "conscious of being
sustained by the Divine Power above." Try
as one may, who can deny that to one of
such abounding faith this belief in the
support of the Unknown Power must really
have proved a sustaining influence,
although it may shock others to think that
any mortal being could be so bold as to
imagine that the Creator of the Universe
would concern himself about Mr.
Gladstone's budget, prepared for a little
speck of this little speck of earth? It seems
almost sacrilegious, yet to Mr. Gladstone
we know it was the reverse--a religious
belief such as has no doubt often enabled
men to accomplish wonders as direct
agents of God and doing His work.

On the night of the Queen's Jubilee in June,

1887, Mr. Blaine and I were to dine at Lord
Wolverton's in Piccadilly, to meet Mr. and
Mrs. Gladstone--Mr. Blaine's first
introduction to him. We started in a cab
from the Metropole Hotel in good time, but
the crowds were so dense that the cab had
to be abandoned in the middle of St.
James's Street. Reaching the pavement, Mr.
Blaine following, I found a policeman and
explained to him who my companion was,
where we were going, and asked him if he
could not undertake to get us there. He did
so, pushing his way through the masses
with all the authority of his office and we
followed. But it was nine o'clock before we
reached Lord Wolverton's. We separated
after eleven.

Mr. Gladstone explained that he and Mrs.

Gladstone had been able to reach the
house by coming through Hyde Park and
around the back way. They expected to
get back to their residence, then in Carlton
Terrace, in the same way. Mr. Blaine and I
thought we should enjoy the streets and
take our chances of getting back to the
hotel by pushing through the crowds. We
were doing this successfully and were
moving slowly with the current past the
Reform Club when I heard a word or two
spoken by a voice close to the building on
my right. I said to Mr. Blaine:

"That is Mr. Gladstone's voice."

He said: "It is impossible. We have just left
him returning to his residence."

"I don't care; I recognize voices better than

faces, and I am sure that is Gladstone's."

Finally I prevailed upon him to return a

few steps. We got close to the side of the
house and moved back. I came to a
muffled figure and whispered:

"What does 'Gravity' out of its bed at

midnight?"

Mr. Gladstone was discovered. I told him I

recognized his voice whispering to his
companion.

"And so," I said, "the real ruler comes out

to see the illuminations prepared for the
nominal ruler!"
He replied: "Young man, I think it is time
you were in bed."

We remained a few minutes with him, he

being careful not to remove from his head
and face the cloak that covered them. It
was then past midnight and he was eighty,
but, boylike, after he got Mrs. Gladstone
safely home he had determined to see the
show.

The conversation at the dinner between

Mr. Gladstone and Mr. Blaine turned upon
the differences in Parliamentary
procedure between Britain and America.
During the evening Mr. Gladstone
cross-examined Mr. Blaine very
thoroughly upon the mode of procedure of
the House of Representatives of which Mr.
Blaine had been the Speaker. I saw the
"previous question," and summary rules
with us for restricting needless debate
made a deep impression upon Mr.
Gladstone. At intervals the conversation
took a wider range.

Mr. Gladstone was interested in more

subjects than perhaps any other man in
Britain. When I was last with him in
Scotland, at Mr. Armistead's, his mind was
as clear and vigorous as ever, his interest
in affairs equally strong. The topic which
then interested him most, and about which
he plied me with questions, was the tall
steel buildings in our country, of which he
had been reading. What puzzled him was
how it could be that the masonry of a fifth
floor or sixth story was often finished
before the third or fourth. This I explained,
much to his satisfaction. In getting to the
bottom of things he was indefatigable.

Mr. Morley (although a lord he still

remains as an author plain John Morley)
became one of our British friends quite
early as editor of the "Fortnightly Review,"
which published my first contribution to a
British periodical.[67] The friendship has
widened and deepened in our old age
until we mutually confess we are very
close friends to each other.[68] We usually
exchange short notes (sometimes long
ones) on Sunday afternoons as the spirit
moves us. We are not alike; far from it. We
are drawn together because opposites are
mutually beneficial to each other. I am
optimistic; all my ducks being swans. He is
pessimistic, looking out soberly, even
darkly, upon the real dangers ahead, and
sometimes imagining vain things. He is
inclined to see "an officer in every bush."
The world seems bright to me, and earth is
often a real heaven--so happy I am and so
thankful to the kind fates. Morley is seldom
if ever wild about anything; his judgment
is always deliberate and his eyes are ever
seeing the spots on the sun.

[Footnote 67: _An American Four-in-Hand

in Britain._]

[Footnote 68: "Mr. Carnegie had proved

his originality, fullness of mind, and bold
strength of character, as much or more in
the distribution of wealth as he had shown
skill and foresight in its acquisition. We
had become known to one another more
than twenty years before through Matthew
Arnold. His extraordinary freshness of
spirit easily carried Arnold, Herbert
Spencer, myself, and afterwards many
others, high over an occasional crudity or
haste in judgment such as befalls the best
of us in ardent hours. People with a genius
for picking up pins made as much as they
liked of this: it was wiser to do justice to his
spacious feel for the great objects of the
world--for knowledge and its spread,
invention, light, improvement of social
relations, equal chances to the talents, the
passion for peace. These are glorious
things; a touch of exaggeration in
expression is easy to set right.... A man of
high and wide and well-earned mark in his
generation." (John, Viscount Morley, in
_Recollections_, vol. II, pp. 110, 112. New
York, 1919.)]

[Illustration: _Photograph from Underwood

& Underwood, N.Y._

VISCOUNT MORLEY OF BLACKBURN]

I told him the story of the pessimist whom

nothing ever pleased, and the optimist
whom nothing ever displeased, being
congratulated by the angels upon their
having obtained entrance to heaven. The
pessimist replied:
"Yes, very good place, but somehow or
other this halo don't fit my head exactly."

The optimist retorted by telling the story of

a man being carried down to purgatory
and the Devil laying his victim up against a
bank while he got a drink at a
spring--temperature very high. An old
friend accosted him:

"Well, Jim, how's this? No remedy

possible; you're a gone coon sure."

The reply came: "Hush, it might be worse."

"How's that, when you are being carried

down to the bottomless pit?"

"Hush"--pointing to his Satanic

Majesty--"he might take a notion to make
me carry him."
Morley, like myself, was very fond of
music and reveled in the morning hour
during which the organ was being played
at Skibo. He was attracted by the oratorios
as also Arthur Balfour. I remember they
got tickets together for an oratorio at the
Crystal Palace. Both are sane but
philosophic, and not very far apart as
philosophers, I understand; but some
recent productions of Balfour send him far
afield speculatively--a field which Morley
never attempts. He keeps his foot on the
firm ground and only treads where the
way is cleared. No danger of his being
"lost in the woods" while searching for the
path.

Morley's most astonishing announcement

of recent days was in his address to the
editors of the world, assembled in London.
He informed them in effect that a few lines
from Burns had done more to form and
maintain the present improved political
and social conditions of the people than all
the millions of editorials ever written. This
followed a remark that there were now and
then a few written or spoken words which
were in themselves events; they
accomplished what they described. Tom
Paine's "Rights of Man" was mentioned as
such.

Upon his arrival at Skibo after this address

we talked it over. I referred to his tribute
to Burns and his six lines, and he replied
that he didn't need to tell me what lines
these were.

"No," I said, "I know them by heart."

In a subsequent address, unveiling a statue

of Burns in the park at Montrose, I
repeated the lines I supposed he referred
to, and he approved them. He and I,
strange to say, had received the Freedom
of Montrose together years before, so we
are fellow-freemen.

At last I induced Morley to visit us in

America, and he made a tour through a
great part of our country in 1904. We tried
to have him meet distinguished men like
himself. One day Senator Elihu Root called
at my request and Morley had a long
interview with him. After the Senator left
Morley remarked to me that he had
enjoyed his companion greatly, as being
the most satisfactory American statesman
he had yet met. He was not mistaken. For
sound judgment and wide knowledge of
our public affairs Elihu Root has no
superior.

Morley left us to pay a visit to President

Roosevelt at the White House, and spent
several fruitful days in company with that
extraordinary man. Later, Morley's remark
was:

"Well, I've seen two wonders in America,

Roosevelt and Niagara."

That was clever and true to life--a great

pair of roaring, tumbling, dashing and
splashing wonders, knowing no rest, but
both doing their appointed work, such as it
is.

Morley was the best person to have the

Acton library and my gift of it to him came
about in this way. When Mr. Gladstone
told me the position Lord Acton was in, I
agreed, at his suggestion, to buy Acton's
library and allow it to remain for his use
during life. Unfortunately, he did not live
long to enjoy it--only a few years--and then
I had the library upon my hands. I decided
that Morley could make the best use of it
for himself and would certainly leave it
eventually to the proper institution. I
began to tell him that I owned it when he
interrupted me, saying:

"Well, I must tell you I have known this

from the day you bought it. Mr. Gladstone
couldn't keep the secret, being so
overjoyed that Lord Acton had it secure for
life."

Here were he and I in close intimacy, and

yet never had one mentioned the situation
to the other; but it was a surprise to me that
Morley was not surprised. This incident
proved the closeness of the bond between
Gladstone and Morley--the only man he
could not resist sharing his happiness with
regarding earthly affairs. Yet on
theological subjects they were far apart
where Acton and Gladstone were akin.
The year after I gave the fund for the
Scottish universities Morley went to
Balmoral as minister in attendance upon
His Majesty, and wired that he must see
me before we sailed. We met and he
informed me His Majesty was deeply
impressed with the gift to the universities
and the others I had made to my native
land, and wished him to ascertain whether
there was anything in his power to bestow
which I would appreciate.

I asked: "What did you say?"

Morley replied: "I do not think so."

I said: "You are quite right, except that if

His Majesty would write me a note
expressing his satisfaction with what I had
done, as he has to you, this would be
deeply appreciated and handed down to
my descendants as something they would
all be proud of."

This was done. The King's autograph note I

have already transcribed elsewhere in
these pages.

That Skibo has proved the best of all health

resorts for Morley is indeed fortunate, for
he comes to us several times each summer
and is one of the family, Lady Morley
accompanying him. He is as fond of the
yacht as I am myself, and, fortunately
again, it is the best medicine for both of us.
Morley is, and must always remain,
"Honest John." No prevarication with him,
no nonsense, firm as a rock upon all
questions and in all emergencies; yet
always looking around, fore and aft, right
and left, with a big heart not often revealed
in all its tenderness, but at rare intervals
and upon fit occasion leaving no doubt of
its presence and power. And after that
silence.

[Illustration: MR. CARNEGIE WITH

VISCOUNT MORLEY]

[Illustration: THE CARNEGIE FAMILY AT

SKIBO]

Chamberlain and Morley were fast friends

as advanced radicals, and I often met and
conferred with them when in Britain. When
the Home Rule issue was raised, much
interest was aroused in Britain over our
American Federal system. I was appealed
to freely and delivered public addresses
in several cities, explaining and extolling
our union, many in one, the freest
government of the parts producing the
strongest government of the whole. I sent
Mr. Chamberlain Miss Anna L. Dawes's
"How We Are Governed," at his request for
information, and had conversations with
Morley, Gladstone, and many others upon
the subject.

I had to write Mr. Morley that I did not

approve of the first Home Rule Bill for
reasons which I gave. When I met Mr.
Gladstone he expressed his regret at this
and a full talk ensued. I objected to the
exclusion of the Irish members from
Parliament as being a practical separation.
I said we should never have allowed the
Southern States to cease sending
representatives to Washington.

"What would you have done if they

refused?" he asked.

"Employed all the resources of

civilization--first, stopped the mails," I
replied.

He paused and repeated:

"Stop the mails." He felt the paralysis this
involved and was silent, and changed the
subject.

In answer to questions as to what I should

do, I always pointed out that America had
many legislatures, but only one Congress.
Britain should follow her example, one
Parliament and local legislatures (not
parliaments) for Ireland, Scotland, and
Wales. These should be made states like
New York and Virginia. But as Britain has
no Supreme Court, as we have, to decide
upon laws passed, not only by state
legislatures but by Congress, the judicial
being the final authority and not the
political, Britain should have Parliament as
the one national final authority over Irish
measures. Therefore, the acts of the local
legislature of Ireland should lie for three
months' continuous session upon the table
of the House of Commons, subject to
adverse action of the House, but becoming
operative unless disapproved. The
provision would be a dead letter unless
improper legislation were enacted, but if
there were improper legislation, then it
would be salutary. The clause, I said, was
needed to assure timid people that no
secession could arise.

Urging this view upon Mr. Morley

afterwards, he told me this had been
proposed to Parnell, but rejected. Mr.
Gladstone might then have said: "Very
well, this provision is not needed for
myself and others who think with me, but it
is needed to enable us to carry Britain with
us. I am now unable to take up the
question. The responsibility is yours."

One morning at Hawarden Mrs. Gladstone

said:
"William tells me he has such
extraordinary conversations with you."

These he had, no doubt. He had not often,

if ever, heard the breezy talk of a genuine
republican and did not understand my
inability to conceive of different hereditary
ranks. It seemed strange to me that men
should deliberately abandon the name
given them by their parents, and that name
the parents' name. Especially amusing
were the new titles which required the old
hereditary nobles much effort to refrain
from smiling at as they greeted the newly
made peer who had perhaps bought his
title for ten thousand pounds, more or less,
given to the party fund.

Mr. Blaine was with us in London and I told

Mr. Gladstone he had expressed to me his
wonder and pain at seeing him in his old
age hat in hand, cold day as it was, at a
garden party doing homage to titled
nobodies. Union of Church and State was
touched upon, and also my "Look Ahead,"
which foretells the reunion of our race
owing to the inability of the British Islands
to expand. I had held that the
disestablishment of the English Church
was inevitable, because among other
reasons it was an anomaly. No other part of
the race had it. All religions were fostered,
none favored, in every other
English-speaking state. Mr. Gladstone
asked:

"How long do you give our Established

Church to live?"

My reply was I could not fix a date; he had

had more experience than I in
disestablishing churches. He nodded and
smiled.
When I had enlarged upon a certain
relative decrease of population in Britain
that must come as compared with other
countries of larger area, he asked:

"What future do you forecast for her?"

I referred to Greece among ancient

nations and said that it was, perhaps, not
accident that Chaucer, Shakespeare,
Spenser, Milton, Burns, Scott, Stevenson,
Bacon, Cromwell, Wallace, Bruce, Hume,
Watt, Spencer, Darwin, and other
celebrities had arisen here. Genius did not
depend upon material resources. Long
after Britain could not figure prominently
as an industrial nation, not by her decline,
but through the greater growth of others,
she might in my opinion become the
modern Greece and achieve among
nations moral ascendancy.
He caught at the words, repeating them
musingly:

"Moral ascendancy, moral ascendancy, I

like that, I like that."

I had never before so thoroughly enjoyed

a conference with a man. I visited him
again at Hawarden, but my last visit to him
was at Lord Randall's at Cannes the winter
of 1897 when he was suffering keenly. He
had still the old charm and was especially
attentive to my sister-in-law, Lucy, who
saw him then for the first time and was
deeply impressed. As we drove off, she
murmured, "A sick eagle! A sick eagle!"
Nothing could better describe this wan
and worn leader of men as he appeared to
me that day. He was not only a great, but a
truly good man, stirred by the purest
impulses, a high, imperious soul always
looking upward. He had, indeed, earned
the title: "Foremost Citizen of the World."

In Britain, in 1881, I had entered into

business relations with Samuel Storey,
M.P., a very able man, a stern radical, and
a genuine republican. We purchased
several British newspapers and began a
campaign of political progress upon
radical lines. Passmore Edwards and some
others joined us, but the result was not
encouraging. Harmony did not prevail
among my British friends and finally I
decided to withdraw, which I was
fortunately able to do without loss.[69]

[Footnote 69: Mr. Carnegie acquired no

less than eighteen British newspapers with
the idea of promoting radical views. The
political results were disappointing, but
with his genius for making money the
pecuniary results were more than
satisfactory.]

My third literary venture, "Triumphant

Democracy,"[70] had its origin in realizing
how little the best-informed foreigner, or
even Briton, knew of America, and how
distorted that little was. It was prodigious
what these eminent Englishmen did not
then know about the Republic. My first talk
with Mr. Gladstone in 1882 can never be
forgotten. When I had occasion to say that
the majority of the English-speaking race
was now republican and it was a minority
of monarchists who were upon the
defensive, he said:

"Why, how is that?"

"Well, Mr. Gladstone," I said, "the

Republic holds sway over a larger number
of English-speaking people than the
population of Great Britain and all her
colonies even if the English-speaking
colonies were numbered twice over."

"Ah! how is that? What is your population?"

"Sixty-six millions, and yours is not much

more than half."

"Ah, yes, surprising!"

[Footnote 70: _Triumphant Democracy, or

Fifty Years' March of the Republic._
London, 1886; New York, 1888.]

With regard to the wealth of the nations, it

was equally surprising for him to learn that
the census of 1880 proved the
hundred-year-old Republic could
purchase Great Britain and Ireland and all
their realized capital and investments and
then pay off Britain's debt, and yet not
exhaust her fortune. But the most startling
statement of all was that which I was able
to make when the question of Free Trade
was touched upon. I pointed out that
America was now the greatest
manufacturing nation in the world. [At a
later date I remember Lord Chancellor
Haldane fell into the same error, calling
Britain the greatest manufacturing country
in the world, and thanked me for putting
him right.] I quoted Mulhall's figures:
British manufactures in 1880, eight
hundred and sixteen millions sterling;
American manufactures eleven hundred
and twenty-six millions sterling.[71] His
one word was:

"Incredible!"

[Footnote 71: The estimated value of

manufactures in Great Britain in 1900 was
five billions of dollars as compared to
thirteen billions for the United States. In
1914 the United States had gone to over
twenty-four billions.]

Other startling statements followed and he

asked:

"Why does not some writer take up this

subject and present the facts in a simple
and direct form to the world?"

I was then, as a matter of fact, gathering

material for "Triumphant Democracy," in
which I intended to perform the very
service which he indicated, as I informed
him.

"Round the World" and the "American

Four-in-Hand" gave me not the slightest
effort but the preparation of "Triumphant
Democracy," which I began in 1882, was
altogether another matter. It required
steady, laborious work. Figures had to be
examined and arranged, but as I went
forward the study became fascinating. For
some months I seemed to have my head
filled with statistics. The hours passed
away unheeded. It was evening when I
supposed it was midday. The second
serious illness of my life dates from the
strain brought upon me by this work, for I
had to attend to business as well. I shall
think twice before I trust myself again with
anything so fascinating as figures.
CHAPTER XXV

HERBERT SPENCER AND HIS DISCIPLE

Herbert Spencer, with his friend Mr. Lott

and myself, were fellow travelers on the
Servia from Liverpool to New York in 1882.
I bore a note of introduction to him from
Mr. Morley, but I had met the philosopher
in London before that. I was one of his
disciples. As an older traveler, I took Mr.
Lott and him in charge. We sat at the same
table during the voyage.

One day the conversation fell upon the

impression made upon us by great men at
first meeting. Did they, or did they not,
prove to be as we had imagined them?
Each gave his experience. Mine was that
nothing could be more different than the
being imagined and that being beheld in
the flesh.

"Oh!" said Mr. Spencer, "in my case, for

instance, was this so?"

"Yes," I replied, "you more than any. I had

imagined my teacher, the great calm
philosopher brooding, Buddha-like, over
all things, unmoved; never did I dream of
seeing him excited over the question of
Cheshire or Cheddar cheese." The day
before he had peevishly pushed away the
former when presented by the steward,
exclaiming "Cheddar, Cheddar, not
Cheshire; I said _Cheddar_." There was a
roar in which none joined more heartily
than the sage himself. He refers to this
incident of the voyage in his
Autobiography.[72]

[Footnote 72: _An Autobiography_, by

Herbert Spencer, vol. I, p. 424. New York,
1904.]

Spencer liked stories and was a good

laugher. American stories seemed to
please him more than others, and of those I
was able to tell him not a few, which were
usually followed by explosive laughter. He
was anxious to learn about our Western
Territories, which were then attracting
attention in Europe, and a story I told him
about Texas struck him as amusing. When
a returning disappointed emigrant from
that State was asked about the then barren
country, he said:

"Stranger, all that I have to say about Texas

is that if I owned Texas and h--l, I would
sell Texas."

What a change from those early days!

Texas has now over four millions of
population and is said to have the soil to
produce more cotton than the whole world
did in 1882.

The walk up to the house, when I had the

philosopher out at Pittsburgh, reminded
me of another American story of the visitor
who started to come up the garden walk.
When he opened the gate a big dog from
the house rushed down upon him. He
retreated and closed the garden gate just
in time, the host calling out:

"He won't touch you, you know barking

dogs never bite."

"Yes," exclaimed the visitor, tremblingly,

"I know that and you know it, but does the
dog know it?"

One day my eldest nephew was seen to

open the door quietly and peep in where
we were seated. His mother afterwards
asked him why he had done so and the
boy of eleven replied:

"Mamma, I wanted to see the man who

wrote in a book that there was no use
studying grammar."

Spencer was greatly pleased when he

heard the story and often referred to it. He
had faith in that nephew.

[Illustration: HERBERT SPENCER AT

SEVENTY-EIGHT]

Speaking to him one day about his having

signed a remonstrance against a tunnel
between Calais and Dover as having
surprised me, he explained that for himself
he was as anxious to have the tunnel as any
one and that he did not believe in any of
the objections raised against it, but signed
the remonstrance because he knew his
countrymen were such fools that the
military and naval element in Britain could
stampede the masses, frighten them, and
stimulate militarism. An increased army
and navy would then be demanded. He
referred to a scare which had once arisen
and involved the outlay of many millions in
fortifications which had proved useless.

One day we were sitting in our rooms in

the Grand Hotel looking out over Trafalgar
Square. The Life Guards passed and the
following took place:

"Mr. Spencer, I never see men dressed up

like Merry Andrews without being
saddened and indignant that in the
nineteenth century the most civilized race,
as we consider ourselves, still finds men
willing to adopt as a profession--until lately
the only profession for gentlemen--the
study of the surest means of killing other
men."

Mr. Spencer said: "I feel just so myself, but

I will tell you how I curb my indignation.
Whenever I feel it rising I am calmed by
this story of Emerson's: He had been
hooted and hustled from the platform in
Faneuil Hall for daring to speak against
slavery. He describes himself walking
home in violent anger, until opening his
garden gate and looking up through the
branches of the tall elms that grew
between the gate and his modest home, he
saw the stars shining through. They said to
him: 'What, so hot, my little sir?'" I laughed
and he laughed, and I thanked him for that
story. Not seldom I have to repeat to
myself, "What, so hot, my little sir?" and it
suffices.

Mr. Spencer's visit to America had its

climax in the banquet given for him at
Delmonico's. I drove him to it and saw the
great man there in a funk. He could think
of nothing but the address he was to
deliver.[73] I believe he had rarely before
spoken in public. His great fear was that he
should be unable to say anything that
would be of advantage to the American
people, who had been the first to
appreciate his works. He may have
attended many banquets, but never one
comprised of more distinguished people
than this one. It was a remarkable
gathering. The tributes paid Spencer by
the ablest men were unique. The climax
was reached when Henry Ward Beecher,
concluding his address, turned round and
addressed Mr. Spencer in these words:

"To my father and my mother I owe my

physical being; to you, sir, I owe my
intellectual being. At a critical moment you
provided the safe paths through the bogs
and morasses; you were my teacher."

[Footnote 73: "An occasion, on which

more, perhaps, than any other in my life, I
ought to have been in good condition,
bodily and mentally, came when I was in a
condition worse than I had been for six and
twenty years. 'Wretched night; no sleep at
all; kept in my room all day' says my diary,
and I entertained 'great fear I should
collapse.' When the hour came for making
my appearance at Delmonico's, where the
dinner was given, I got my friends to
secrete me in an anteroom until the last
moment, so that I might avoid all
excitements of introductions and
congratulations; and as Mr. Evarts, who
presided, handed me on the dais, I
begged him to limit his conversation with
me as much as possible, and to expect
very meagre responses. The event proved
that, trying though the tax was, there did
not result the disaster I feared; and when
Mr. Evarts had duly uttered the
compliments of the occasion, I was able to
get through my prepared speech without
difficulty, though not with much effect."
(Spencer's _Autobiography_, vol. II, p.
478.)]

These words were spoken in slow, solemn

tones. I do not remember ever having
noticed more depth of feeling; evidently
they came from a grateful debtor. Mr.
Spencer was touched by the words. They
gave rise to considerable remark, and
shortly afterwards Mr. Beecher preached a
course of sermons, giving his views upon
Evolution. The conclusion of the series was
anxiously looked for, because his
acknowledgment of debt to Spencer as his
teacher had created alarm in church
circles. In the concluding article, as in his
speech, if I remember rightly, Mr. Beecher
said that, although he believed in
evolution (Darwinism) up to a certain
point, yet when man had reached his
highest human level his Creator then
invested him (and man alone of all living
things) with the Holy Spirit, thereby
bringing him into the circle of the godlike.
Thus he answered his critics.

Mr. Spencer took intense interest in

mechanical devices. When he visited our
works with me the new appliances
impressed him, and in after years he
sometimes referred to these and said his
estimate of American invention and push
had been fully realized. He was naturally
pleased with the deference and attention
paid him in America.

I seldom if ever visited England without

going to see him, even after he had
removed to Brighton that he might live
looking out upon the sea, which appealed
to and soothed him. I never met a man who
seemed to weigh so carefully every action,
every word--even the pettiest--and so
completely to find guidance through his
own conscience. He was no scoffer in
religious matters. In the domain of
theology, however, he had little regard for
decorum. It was to him a very faulty system
hindering true growth, and the idea of
rewards and punishments struck him as an
appeal to very low natures indeed. Still he
never went to such lengths as Tennyson
did upon an occasion when some of the old
ideas were under discussion. Knowles[74]
told me that Tennyson lost control of
himself. Knowles said he was greatly
disappointed with the son's life of the poet
as giving no true picture of his father in his
revolt against stern theology.

[Footnote 74: James Knowles, founder of

_Nineteenth Century_.]

Spencer was always the calm philosopher.

I believe that from childhood to old
age--when the race was run--he never was
guilty of an immoral act or did an injustice
to any human being. He was certainly one
of the most conscientious men in all his
doings that ever was born. Few men have
wished to know another man more
strongly than I to know Herbert Spencer,
for seldom has one been more deeply
indebted than I to him and to Darwin.

Reaction against the theology of past days

comes to many who have been surrounded
in youth by church people entirely
satisfied that the truth and faith
indispensable to future happiness were
derived only through strictest Calvinistic
creeds. The thoughtful youth is naturally
carried along and disposed to concur in
this. He cannot but think, up to a certain
period of development, that what is
believed by the best and the highest
educated around him--those to whom he
looks for example and instruction--must be
true. He resists doubt as inspired by the
Evil One seeking his soul, and sure to get
it unless faith comes to the rescue.
Unfortunately he soon finds that faith is not
exactly at his beck and call. Original sin he
thinks must be at the root of this inability to
see as he wishes to see, to believe as he
wishes to believe. It seems clear to him
that already he is little better than one of
the lost. Of the elect he surely cannot be,
for these must be ministers, elders, and
strictly orthodox men.

The young man is soon in chronic

rebellion, trying to assume godliness with
the others, acquiescing outwardly in the
creed and all its teachings, and yet at heart
totally unable to reconcile his outward
accordance with his inward doubt. If there
be intellect and virtue in the man but one
result is possible; that is, Carlyle's position
after his terrible struggle when after
weeks of torment he came forth: "If it be
incredible, in God's name, then, let it be
discredited." With that the load of doubt
and fear fell from him forever.

When I, along with three or four of my

boon companions, was in this stage of
doubt about theology, including the
supernatural element, and indeed the
whole scheme of salvation through
vicarious atonement and all the fabric built
upon it, I came fortunately upon Darwin's
and Spencer's works "The Data of Ethics,"
"First Principles," "Social Statics," "The
Descent of Man." Reaching the pages
which explain how man has absorbed such
mental foods as were favorable to him,
retaining what was salutary, rejecting what
was deleterious, I remember that light
came as in a flood and all was clear. Not
only had I got rid of theology and the
supernatural, but I had found the truth of
evolution. "All is well since all grows
better" became my motto, my true source
of comfort. Man was not created with an
instinct for his own degradation, but from
the lower he had risen to the higher forms.
Nor is there any conceivable end to his
march to perfection. His face is turned to
the light; he stands in the sun and looks
upward.

Humanity is an organism, inherently

rejecting all that is deleterious, that is,
wrong, and absorbing after trial what is
beneficial, that is, right. If so disposed, the
Architect of the Universe, we must assume,
might have made the world and man
perfect, free from evil and from pain, as
angels in heaven are thought to be; but
although this was not done, man has been
given the power of advancement rather
than of retrogression. The Old and New
Testaments remain, like other sacred
writings of other lands, of value as records
of the past and for such good lessons as
they inculcate. Like the ancient writers of
the Bible our thoughts should rest upon
this life and our duties here. "To perform
the duties of this world well, troubling not
about another, is the prime wisdom," says
Confucius, great sage and teacher. The
next world and its duties we shall consider
when we are placed in it.

I am as a speck of dust in the sun, and not

even so much, in this solemn, mysterious,
unknowable universe. I shrink back. One
truth I see. Franklin was right. "The highest
worship of God is service to Man." All this,
however, does not prevent everlasting
hope of immortality. It would be no greater
miracle to be born to a future life than to
have been born to live in this present life.
The one has been created, why not the
other? Therefore there is reason to hope
for immortality. Let us hope.[75]

[Footnote 75: "A.C. is really a tremendous

personality--dramatic, wilful, generous,
whimsical, at times almost cruel in
pressing his own conviction upon others,
and then again tender, affectionate,
emotional, always imaginative, unusual
and wide-visioned in his views. He is well
worth Boswellizing, but I am urging him to
be 'his own Boswell.'... He is inconsistent in
many ways, but with a passion for lofty
views; the brotherhood of man, peace
among nations, religious purity--I mean
the purification of religion from gross
superstition--the substitution for a
Westminster-Catechism God, of a
Righteous, a Just God." (_Letters of Richard
Watson Gilder_, p. 375.)]
CHAPTER XXVI

BLAINE AND HARRISON

While one is known by the company he

keeps, it is equally true that one is known
by the stories he tells. Mr. Blaine was one
of the best story-tellers I ever met. His was
a bright sunny nature with a witty, pointed
story for every occasion.

Mr. Blaine's address at Yorktown (I had

accompanied him there) was greatly
admired. It directed special attention to
the cordial friendship which had grown up
between the two branches of the
English-speaking race, and ended with the
hope that the prevailing peace and
good-will between the two nations would
exist for many centuries to come. When he
read this to me, I remember that the word
"many" jarred, and I said:

"Mr. Secretary, might I suggest the change

of one word? I don't like 'many'; why not
'all' the centuries to come?"

"Good, that is perfect!"

And so it was given in the address: "for

_all_ the centuries to come."

We had a beautiful night returning from

Yorktown, and, sitting in the stern of the
ship in the moonlight, the military band
playing forward, we spoke of the effect of
music. Mr. Blaine said that his favorite just
then was the "Sweet By and By," which he
had heard played last by the same band at
President Garfield's funeral, and he
thought upon that occasion he was more
deeply moved by sweet sounds than he
had ever been in his life. He requested that
it should be the last piece played that
night. Both he and Gladstone were fond of
simple music. They could enjoy Beethoven
and the classic masters, but Wagner was
as yet a sealed book to them.

In answer to my inquiry as to the most

successful speech he ever heard in
Congress, he replied it was that of the
German, ex-Governor Ritter of
Pennsylvania. The first bill appropriating
money for inland _fresh_ waters was under
consideration. The house was divided.
Strict constructionists held this to be
unconstitutional; only harbors upon the salt
sea were under the Federal Government.
The contest was keen and the result
doubtful, when to the astonishment of the
House, Governor Ritter slowly arose for
the first time. Silence at once reigned.
What was the old German ex-Governor
going to say--he who had never said
anything at all? Only this:

"Mr. Speaker, I don't know much

particulars about de constitution, but I
know dis; I wouldn't gif a d----d cent for a
constitution dat didn't wash in fresh water
as well as in salt." The House burst into an
uproar of uncontrollable laughter, and the
bill passed.

So came about this new departure and one

of the most beneficent ways of spending
government money, and of employing
army and navy engineers. Little of the
money spent by the Government yields so
great a return. So expands our flexible
constitution to meet the new wants of an
expanding population. Let who will make
the constitution if we of to-day are
permitted to interpret it.

[Illustration: _Photograph from Underwood

& Underwood, N.Y._

JAMES G. BLAINE]

Mr. Blaine's best story, if one can be

selected from so many that were excellent,
I think was the following:

In the days of slavery and the underground

railroads, there lived on the banks of the
Ohio River near Gallipolis, a noted
Democrat named Judge French, who said
to some anti-slavery friends that he should
like them to bring to his office the first
runaway negro that crossed the river,
bound northward by the underground. He
couldn't understand why they wished to
run away. This was done, and the following
conversation took place:

_Judge:_ "So you have run away from

Kentucky. Bad master, I suppose?"
_Slave:_ "Oh, no, Judge; very good, kind
massa."

_Judge:_ "He worked you too hard?"

_Slave:_ "No, sah, never overworked

myself all my life."

_Judge, hesitatingly:_ "He did not give you

enough to eat?"

_Slave:_ "Not enough to eat down in

Kaintuck? Oh, Lor', plenty to eat."

_Judge:_ "He did not clothe you well?"

_Slave:_ "Good enough clothes for me,

Judge."

_Judge:_ "You hadn't a comfortable home?"

_Slave:_ "Oh, Lor', makes me cry to think of
my pretty little cabin down dar in old
Kaintuck."

_Judge, after a pause:_ "You had a good,

kind master, you were not overworked,
plenty to eat, good clothes, fine home. I
don't see why the devil you wished to run
away."

_Slave:_ "Well, Judge, I lef de situation

down dar open. You kin go rite down and
git it."

The Judge had seen a great light.

"Freedom has a thousand charms to

show, That slaves, howe'er contented,
never know."

That the colored people in such numbers

risked all for liberty is the best possible
proof that they will steadily approach and
finally reach the full stature of citizenship
in the Republic.

I never saw Mr. Blaine so happy as while

with us at Cluny. He was a boy again and
we were a rollicking party together. He
had never fished with a fly. I took him out
on Loch Laggan and he began awkwardly,
as all do, but he soon caught the swing. I
shall never forget his first capture:

"My friend, you have taught me a new

pleasure in life. There are a hundred
fishing lochs in Maine, and I'll spend my
holidays in future upon them trout-fishing."

At Cluny there is no night in June and we

danced on the lawn in the bright twilight
until late. Mrs. Blaine, Miss Dodge, Mr.
Blaine, and other guests were trying to do
the Scotch reel, and "whooping" like
Highlanders. We were gay revelers during
those two weeks. One night afterwards, at
a dinner in our home in New York, chiefly
made up of our Cluny visitors, Mr. Blaine
told the company that he had discovered
at Cluny what a real holiday was. "It is
when the merest trifles become the most
serious events of life."

President Harrison's nomination for the

presidency in 1888 came to Mr. Blaine
while on a coaching trip with us. Mr. and
Mrs. Blaine, Miss Margaret Blaine, Senator
and Mrs. Hale, Miss Dodge, and Walter
Damrosch were on the coach with us from
London to Cluny Castle. In approaching
Linlithgow from Edinburgh, we found the
provost and magistrates in their gorgeous
robes at the hotel to receive us. I was with
them when Mr. Blaine came into the room
with a cablegram in his hand which he
showed to me, asking what it meant. It
read: "Use cipher." It was from Senator
Elkins at the Chicago Convention. Mr.
Blaine had cabled the previous day,
declining to accept the nomination for the
presidency unless Secretary Sherman of
Ohio agreed, and Senator Elkins no doubt
wished to be certain that he was in
correspondence with Mr. Blaine and not
with some interloper.

I said to Mr. Blaine that the Senator had

called to see me before sailing, and
suggested we should have cipher words
for the prominent candidates. I gave him a
few and kept a copy upon a slip, which I
put in my pocket-book. I looked and
fortunately found it. Blaine was "Victor";
Harrison, "Trump"; Phelps of New Jersey,
"Star"; and so on. I wired "Trump" and
"Star."[76] This was in the evening.

[Footnote 76: "A code had been agreed

upon between his friends in the United
States and himself, and when a deadlock
or a long contest seemed inevitable, the
following dispatch was sent from Mr.
Carnegie's estate in Scotland, where
Blaine was staying, to a prominent
Republican leader:

"'June 25. Too late victor immovable take

trump and star.' WHIP. Interpreted, it
reads: 'Too late. Blaine immovable. Take
Harrison and Phelps. CARNEGIE.'" (_James
G. Blaine_, by Edward Stanwood, p. 308.
Boston, 1905.)]

We retired for the night, and next day the

whole party was paraded by the city
authorities in their robes up the main
street to the palace grounds which were
finely decorated with flags. Speeches of
welcome were made and replied to. Mr.
Blaine was called upon by the people, and
responded in a short address. Just then a
cablegram was handed to him: "Harrison
and Morton nominated." Phelps had
declined. So passed forever Mr. Blaine's
chance of holding the highest of all
political offices--the elected of the majority
of the English-speaking race. But he was
once fairly elected to the presidency and
done out of New York State, as was at last
clearly proven, the perpetrators having
been punished for an attempted repetition
of the same fraud at a subsequent election.

Mr. Blaine, as Secretary of State in

Harrison's Cabinet, was a decided success
and the Pan-American Congress his most
brilliant triumph. My only political
appointment came at this time and was that
of a United States delegate to the
Congress. It gave me a most interesting
view of the South American Republics and
their various problems. We sat down
together, representatives of all the
republics but Brazil. One morning the
announcement was made that a new
constitution had been ratified. Brazil had
become a member of the sisterhood,
making seventeen republics in all--now
twenty-one. There was great applause and
cordial greeting of the representatives of
Brazil thus suddenly elevated. I found the
South American representatives rather
suspicious of their big brother's intentions.
A sensitive spirit of independence was
manifest, which it became our duty to
recognize. In this I think we succeeded,
but it will behoove subsequent
governments to scrupulously respect the
national feeling of our Southern neighbors.
It is not control, but friendly co�eration
upon terms of perfect equality we should
seek.

I sat next to Manuel Quintana who

afterwards became President of Argentina.
He took a deep interest in the
proceedings, and one day became rather
critical upon a trifling issue, which led to
an excited colloquy between him and
Chairman Blaine. I believe it had its origin
in a false translation from one language to
another. I rose, slipped behind the
chairman on the platform, whispering to
him as I passed that if an adjournment was
moved I was certain the differences could
be adjusted. He nodded assent. I returned
to my seat and moved adjournment, and
during the interval all was satisfactorily
arranged. Passing the delegates, as we
were about to leave the hall, an incident
occurred which comes back to me as I
write. A delegate threw one arm around
me and with the other hand patting me on
the breast, exclaimed: "Mr. Carnegie, you
have more here than here"--pointing to his
pocket. Our Southern brethren are so
lovingly demonstrative. Warm climes and
warm hearts.

In 1891 President Harrison went with me

from Washington to Pittsburgh, as I have
already stated, to open the Carnegie Hall
and Library, which I had presented to
Allegheny City. We traveled over the
Baltimore and Ohio Railroad by daylight,
and enjoyed the trip, the president being
especially pleased with the scenery.
Reaching Pittsburgh at dark, the flaming
coke ovens and dense pillars of smoke and
fire amazed him. The well-known
description of Pittsburgh, seen from the
hilltops, as "H--l with the lid off," seemed to
him most appropriate. He was the first
President who ever visited Pittsburgh.
President Harrison, his grandfather, had,
however, passed from steamboat to
canal-boat there, on his way to Washington
after election.
The opening ceremony was largely
attended owing to the presence of the
President and all passed off well. Next
morning the President wished to see our
steel works, and he was escorted there,
receiving a cordial welcome from the
workmen. I called up each successive
manager of department as we passed and
presented him. Finally, when Mr. Schwab
was presented, the President turned to me
and said,

"How is this, Mr. Carnegie? You present

only boys to me."

"Yes, Mr. President, but do you notice what

kind of boys they are?"

"Yes, hustlers, every one of them," was his

comment.
He was right. No such young men could
have been found for such work elsewhere
in this world. They had been promoted to
partnership without cost or risk. If the
profits did not pay for their shares, no
responsibility remained upon the young
men. A giving thus to "partners" is very
different from paying wages to
"employees" in corporations.

The President's visit, not to Pittsburgh, but

to Allegheny over the river, had one
beneficial result. Members of the City
Council of Pittsburgh reminded me that I
had first offered Pittsburgh money for a
library and hall, which it declined, and that
then Allegheny City had asked if I would
give them to her, which I did. The
President visiting Allegheny to open the
library and hall there, and the ignoring of
Pittsburgh, was too much. Her authorities
came to me again the morning after the
Allegheny City opening, asking if I would
renew my offer to Pittsburgh. If so, the city
would accept and agree to expend upon
maintenance a larger percentage than I
had previously asked. I was only too
happy to do this and, instead of two
hundred and fifty thousand, I offered a
million dollars. My ideas had expanded.
Thus was started the Carnegie Institute.

Pittsburgh's leading citizens are spending

freely upon artistic things. This center of
manufacturing has had its permanent
orchestra for some years--Boston and
Chicago being the only other cities in
America that can boast of one. A naturalist
club and a school of painting have sprung
up. The success of Library, Art Gallery,
Museum, and Music Hall--a noble quartet
in an immense building--is one of the chief
satisfactions of my life. This is my
monument, because here I lived my early
life and made my start, and I am to-day in
heart a devoted son of dear old smoky
Pittsburgh.

Herbert Spencer heard, while with us in

Pittsburgh, some account of the rejection
of my first offer of a library to Pittsburgh.
When the second offer was made, he wrote
me that he did not understand how I could
renew it; he never could have done so;
they did not deserve it. I wrote the
philosopher that if I had made the first
offer to Pittsburgh that I might receive her
thanks and gratitude, I deserved the
personal arrows shot at me and the
accusations made that only my own
glorification and a monument to my
memory were sought. I should then
probably have felt as he did. But, as it was
the good of the people of Pittsburgh I had
in view, among whom I had made my
fortune, the unfounded suspicions of some
natures only quickened my desire to work
their good by planting in their midst a
potent influence for higher things. This the
Institute, thank the kind fates, has done.
Pittsburgh has played her part nobly.
CHAPTER XXVII

WASHINGTON DIPLOMACY

President Harrison had been a soldier and

as President was a little disposed to fight.
His attitude gave some of his friends
concern. He was opposed to arbitrating
the Behring Sea question when Lord
Salisbury, at the dictation of Canada, had
to repudiate the Blaine agreement for its
settlement, and was disposed to proceed
to extreme measures. But calmer counsels
prevailed. He was determined also to
uphold the Force Bill against the South.

When the quarrel arose with Chili, there

was a time when it seemed almost
impossible to keep the President from
taking action which would have resulted in
war. He had great personal provocation
because the Chilian authorities had been
most indiscreet in their statements in
regard to his action. I went to Washington
to see whether I could not do something
toward reconciling the belligerents,
because, having been a member of the
first Pan-American Conference, I had
become acquainted with the
representatives from our southern
sister-republics and was on good terms
with them.

As luck would have it, I was just entering

the Shoreham Hotel when I saw Senator
Henderson of Missouri, who had been my
fellow-delegate to the Conference. He
stopped and greeted me, and looking
across the street he said:

"There's the President beckoning to you."

I crossed the street.

"Hello, Carnegie, when did you arrive?"

"Just arrived, Mr. President; I was entering

the hotel."

"What are you here for?"

"To have a talk with you."

"Well, come along and talk as we walk."

The President took my arm and we

promenaded the streets of Washington in
the dusk for more than an hour, during
which time the discussion was lively. I told
him that he had appointed me a delegate
to the Pan-American Conference, that he
had assured the South-American delegates
when they parted that he had given a
military review in their honor to show
them, not that we had an army, but rather
that we had none and needed none, that
we were the big brother in the family of
republics, and that all disputes, if any
arose, would be settled by peaceful
arbitration. I was therefore surprised and
grieved to find that he was now apparently
taking a different course, threatening to
resort to war in a paltry dispute with little
Chili.

"You're a New Yorker and think of nothing

but business and dollars. That is the way
with New Yorkers; they care nothing for
the dignity and honor of the Republic,"
said his Excellency.

"Mr. President, I am one of the men in the

United States who would profit most by
war; it might throw millions into my
pockets as the largest manufacturer of
steel."
"Well, that is probably true in your case; I
had forgotten."

"Mr. President, if I were going to fight, I

would take some one of my size."

"Well, would you let any nation insult and

dishonor you because of its size?"

"Mr. President, no man can dishonor me

except myself. Honor wounds must be
self-inflicted."

"You see our sailors were attacked on

shore and two of them killed, and you
would stand that?" he asked.

"Mr. President, I do not think the United

States dishonored every time a row among
drunken sailors takes place; besides,
these were not American sailors at all; they
were foreigners, as you see by their
names. I would be disposed to cashier the
captain of that ship for allowing the sailors
to go on shore when there was rioting in
the town and the public peace had been
already disturbed."

The discussion continued until we had

finally reached the door of the White
House in the dark. The President told me
he had an engagement to dine out that
night, but invited me to dine with him the
next evening, when, as he said, there
would be only the family and we could
talk.

"I am greatly honored and shall be with

you to-morrow evening," I said. And so we
parted.

The next morning I went over to see Mr.

Blaine, then Secretary of State. He rose
from his seat and held out both hands.
"Oh, why weren't you dining with us last
night? When the President told Mrs. Blaine
that you were in town, she said: 'Just think,
Mr. Carnegie is in town and I had a vacant
seat here he could have occupied.'"

"Well, Mr. Blaine, I think it is rather

fortunate that I have not seen you," I
replied; and I then told him what had
occurred with the President.

"Yes," he said, "it really was fortunate. The

President might have thought you and I
were in collusion."

Senator Elkins, of West Virginia, a bosom

friend of Mr. Blaine, and also a very good
friend of the President, happened to come
in, and he said he had seen the President,
who told him that he had had a talk with
me upon the Chilian affair last evening and
that I had come down hot upon the subject.

"Well, Mr. President," said Senator Elkins,

"it is not probable that Mr. Carnegie would
speak as plainly to you as he would to me.
He feels very keenly, but he would
naturally be somewhat reserved in talking
to you."

The President replied: "I didn't see the

slightest indication of reserve, I assure
you."

The matter was adjusted, thanks to the

peace policy characteristic of Mr. Blaine.
More than once he kept the United States
out of foreign trouble as I personally knew.
The reputation that he had of being an
aggressive American really enabled that
great man to make concessions which,
made by another, might not have been
readily accepted by the people.
I had a long and friendly talk with the
President that evening at dinner, but he
was not looking at all well. I ventured to
say to him he needed a rest. By all means
he should get away. He said he had
intended going off on a revenue cutter for
a few days, but Judge Bradley of the
Supreme Court had died and he must find
a worthy successor. I said there was one I
could not recommend because we had
fished together and were such intimate
friends that we could not judge each other
disinterestedly, but he might inquire about
him--Mr. Shiras, of Pittsburgh. He did so
and appointed him. Mr. Shiras received
the strong support of the best elements
everywhere. Neither my recommendation,
nor that of any one else, would have
weighed with President Harrison one
particle in making the appointment if he
had not found Mr. Shiras the very man he
wanted.

In the Behring Sea dispute the President

was incensed at Lord Salisbury's
repudiation of the stipulations for settling
the question which had been agreed to.
The President had determined to reject the
counter-proposition to submit it to
arbitration. Mr. Blaine was with the
President in this and naturally indignant
that his plan, which Salisbury had extolled
through his Ambassador, had been
discarded. I found both of them in no
compromising mood. The President was
much the more excited of the two,
however. Talking it over with Mr. Blaine
alone, I explained to him that Salisbury
was powerless. Against Canada's protest
he could not force acceptance of the
stipulations to which he had hastily
agreed. There was another element. He
had a dispute with Newfoundland on hand,
which the latter was insisting must be
settled to her advantage. No Government
in Britain could add Canadian
dissatisfaction to that of Newfoundland.
Salisbury had done the best he could.
After a while Blaine was convinced of this
and succeeded in bringing the President
into line.

The Behring Sea troubles brought about

some rather amusing situations. One day
Sir John Macdonald, Canadian Premier,
and his party reached Washington and
asked Mr. Blaine to arrange an interview
with the President upon this subject. Mr.
Blaine replied that he would see the
President and inform Sir John the next
morning.

"Of course," said Mr. Blaine, telling me the

story in Washington just after the incident
occurred, "I knew very well that the
President could not meet Sir John and his
friends officially, and when they called I
told them so." Sir John said that Canada
was independent, "as sovereign as the
State of New York was in the Union." Mr.
Blaine replied he was afraid that if he ever
obtained an interview as Premier of
Canada with the State authorities of New
York he would soon hear something on the
subject from Washington; and so would
the New York State authorities.

It was because the President and Mr.

Blaine were convinced that the British
Government at home could not fulfill the
stipulations agreed upon that they
accepted Salisbury's proposal for
arbitration, believing he had done his
best. That was a very sore disappointment
to Mr. Blaine. He had suggested that
Britain and America should each place two
small vessels on Behring Sea with equal
rights to board or arrest fishing vessels
under either flag--in fact, a joint police
force. To give Salisbury due credit, he
cabled the British Ambassador, Sir Julian
Pauncefote, to congratulate Mr. Blaine
upon this "brilliant suggestion." It would
have given equal rights to each and under
either or both flags for the first time in
history--a just and brotherly compact. Sir
Julian had shown this cable to Mr. Blaine. I
mention this here to suggest that able and
willing statesmen, anxious to co�erate, are
sometimes unable to do so.

Mr. Blaine was indeed a great statesman, a

man of wide views, sound judgment, and
always for peace. Upon war with Chili,
upon the Force Bill, and the Behring Sea
question, he was calm, wise, and
peace-pursuing. Especially was he
favorable to drawing closer and closer to
our own English-speaking race. For France
he had gratitude unbounded for the part
she had played in our Revolutionary War,
but this did not cause him to lose his head.

One night at dinner in London Mr. Blaine

was at close quarters for a moment. The
Clayton-Bulwer Treaty came up. A leading
statesman present said that the impression
they had was that Mr. Blaine had always
been inimical to the Mother country. Mr.
Blaine disclaimed this, and justly so, as far
as I knew his sentiments. His
correspondence upon the Clayton-Bulwer
Treaty was instanced. Mr. Blaine replied:

"When I became Secretary of State and

had to take up that subject I was surprised
to find that your Secretary for Foreign
Affairs was always informing us what Her
Majesty 'expected,' while our Secretary of
State was telling you what our President
'ventured to hope.' When I received a
dispatch telling us what Her Majesty
expected, I replied, telling you what our
President 'expected.'"

"Well, you admit you changed the

character of the correspondence?" was
shot at him.

Quick as a flash came the response: "Not

more than conditions had changed. The
United States had passed the stage of
'venturing to hope' with any power that
'expects.' I only followed your example,
and should ever Her Majesty 'venture to
hope,' the President will always be found
doing the same. I am afraid that as long as
you 'expect' the United States will also
'expect' in return."

One night there was a dinner, where Mr.

Joseph Chamberlain and Sir Charles
Tennant, President of the Scotland Steel
Company, were guests. During the
evening the former said that his friend
Carnegie was a good fellow and they all
delighted to see him succeeding, but he
didn't know why the United States should
give him protection worth a million
sterling per year or more, for
condescending to manufacture steel rails.

"Well," said Mr. Blaine, "we don't look at it

in that light. I am interested in railroads,
and we formerly used to pay you for steel
rails ninety dollars per ton for every ton
we got--nothing less. Now, just before I
sailed from home our people made a large
contract with our friend Carnegie at thirty
dollars per ton. I am somewhat under the
impression that if Carnegie and others had
not risked their capital in developing their
manufacture on our side of the Atlantic, we
would still be paying you ninety dollars
per ton to-day."
Here Sir Charles broke in: "You may be
sure you would. Ninety dollars was our
agreed-upon price for you foreigners."

Mr. Blaine smilingly remarked: "Mr.

Chamberlain, I don't think you have made
a very good case against our friend
Carnegie."

"No," he replied; "how could I, with Sir

Charles giving me away like that?"--and
there was general laughter.

Blaine was a rare raconteur and his talk

had this great merit: never did I hear him
tell a story or speak a word unsuitable for
any, even the most fastidious company to
hear. He was as quick as a steel trap, a
delightful companion, and he would have
made an excellent and yet safe President. I
found him truly conservative, and strong
for peace upon all international questions.

[Illustration: SKIBO CASTLE]

CHAPTER XXVIII

HAY AND McKINLEY

John Hay was our frequent guest in

England and Scotland, and was on the eve
of coming to us at Skibo in 1898 when
called home by President McKinley to
become Secretary of State. Few have made
such a record in that office. He inspired
men with absolute confidence in his
sincerity, and his aspirations were always
high. War he detested, and meant what he
said when he pronounced it "the most
ferocious and yet the most futile folly of
man."

The Philippines annexation was a burning

question when I met him and Henry White
(Secretary of Legation and later
Ambassador to France) in London, on my
way to New York. It gratified me to find our
views were similar upon that proposed
serious departure from our traditional
policy of avoiding distant and
disconnected possessions and keeping
our empire within the continent, especially
keeping it out of the vortex of militarism.
Hay, White, and I clasped hands together
in Hay's office in London, and agreed upon
this. Before that he had written me the
following note:

_London, August 22, 1898_

MY DEAR CARNEGIE:

I thank you for the Skibo grouse and

also for your kind letter. It is a solemn
and absorbing thing to hear so many
kind and unmerited words as I have heard
and read this last week. It seems to me
another man they are talking about,
while I am expected to do the work. I wish
a little of the kindness could be saved
till I leave office finally.

I have read with the keenest interest

your article in the "North
American."[77] I am not allowed to say in
my present fix how much I agree with
you. The only question on my mind is
how far it is now _possible_ for us to
withdraw from the Philippines. I am
rather thankful it is not given to me to
solve that momentous question.[78]

[Footnote 77: The reference is to an article

by Mr. Carnegie in the _North American
Review_, August, 1898, entitled: "Distant
Possessions--The Parting of the Ways."]

[Footnote 78: Published in Thayer, _Life

and Letters of John Hay_, vol. II, p. 175.
Boston and New York, 1915.]
It was a strange fate that placed upon him
the very task he had congratulated himself
was never to be his.

He stood alone at first as friendly to China

in the Boxer troubles and succeeded in
securing for her fair terms of peace. His
regard for Britain, as part of our own race,
was deep, and here the President was
thoroughly with him, and grateful beyond
measure to Britain for standing against
other European powers disposed to favor
Spain in the Cuban War.

The Hay-Pauncefote Treaty concerning the

Panama Canal seemed to many of us
unsatisfactory. Senator Elkins told me my
objections, given in the "New York
Tribune," reached him the day he was to
speak upon it, and were useful. Visiting
Washington soon after the article
appeared, I went with Senator Hanna to the
White House early in the morning and
found the President much exercised over
the Senate's amendment to the treaty. I had
no doubt of Britain's prompt acquiescence
in the Senate's requirements, and said so.
Anything in reason she would give, since it
was we who had to furnish the funds for the
work from which she would be, next to
ourselves, the greatest gainer.

Senator Hanna asked if I had seen "John,"

as he and President McKinley always
called Mr. Hay. I said I had not. Then he
asked me to go over and cheer him up, for
he was disconsolate about the
amendments. I did so. I pointed out to Mr.
Hay that the Clayton-Bulwer Treaty had
been amended by the Senate and scarcely
any one knew this now and no one cared.
The Hay-Pauncefote Treaty would be
executed as amended and no one would
care a fig whether it was in its original
form or not. He doubted this and thought
Britain would be indisposed to recede. A
short time after this, dining with him, he
said I had proved a true prophet and all
was well.

Of course it was. Britain had practically

told us she wished the canal built and
would act in any way desired. The canal is
now as it should be--that is, all American,
with no international complications
possible. It was perhaps not worth
building at that time, but it was better to
spend three or four hundred millions upon
it than in building sea monsters of
destruction to fight imaginary foes. One
may be a loss and there an end; the other
might be a source of war, for

"Oft the sight of means to do ill deeds

Make deeds ill done."
Mr. Hay's _b�e noire_ was the Senate.
Upon this, and this only, was he
disregardful of the proprieties. When it
presumed to alter one word, substituting
"treaty" for "agreement," which occurred
in one place only in the proposed
Arbitration Treaty of 1905, he became
unduly excited. I believe this was owing in
great degree to poor health, for it was
clear by that time to intimate friends that
his health was seriously impaired.

The last time I saw him was at lunch at his

house, when the Arbitration Treaty, as
amended by the Senate, was under the
consideration of President Roosevelt. The
arbitrationists, headed by ex-Secretary of
State Foster, urged the President's
acceptance of the amended treaty. We
thought he was favorable to this, but from
my subsequent talk with Secretary Hay, I
saw that the President's agreeing would be
keenly felt. I should not be surprised if
Roosevelt's rejection of the treaty was
resolved upon chiefly to soothe his dear
friend John Hay in his illness. I am sure I
felt that I could be brought to do, only with
the greatest difficulty, anything that would
annoy that noble soul. But upon this point
Hay was obdurate; no surrender to the
Senate. Leaving his house I said to Mrs.
Carnegie that I doubted if ever we should
meet our friend again. We never did.

The Carnegie Institution of Washington, of

which Hay was the chairman and a trustee
from the start, received his endorsement
and close attention, and much were we
indebted to him for wise counsel. As a
statesman he made his reputation in
shorter time and with a surer touch than
any one I know of. And it may be doubted
if any public man ever had more deeply
attached friends. One of his notes I have
long kept. It would have been the most
flattering of any to my literary vanity but
for my knowledge of his most lovable
nature and undue warmth for his friends.
The world is poorer to me to-day as I write,
since he has left it.

The Spanish War was the result of a wave

of passion started by the reports of the
horrors of the Cuban Revolution. President
McKinley tried hard to avoid it. When the
Spanish Minister left Washington, the
French Ambassador became Spain's agent,
and peaceful negotiations were continued.
Spain offered autonomy for Cuba. The
President replied that he did not know
exactly what "autonomy" meant. What he
wished for Cuba was the rights that
Canada possessed. He understood these.
A cable was shown to the President by the
French Minister stating that Spain granted
this and he, dear man, supposed all was
settled. So it was, apparently.

Speaker Reed usually came to see me

Sunday mornings when in New York, and it
was immediately after my return from
Europe that year that he called and said he
had never lost control of the House before.
For one moment he thought of leaving the
chair and going on the floor to address the
House and try to quiet it. In vain it was
explained that the President had received
from Spain the guarantee of
self-government for Cuba. Alas! it was too
late, too late!

"What is Spain doing over here, anyhow?"

was the imperious inquiry of Congress. A
sufficient number of Republicans had
agreed to vote with the Democrats in
Congress for war. A whirlwind of passion
swept over the House, intensified, no
doubt, by the unfortunate explosion of the
warship Maine in Havana Harbor,
supposed by some to be Spanish work.
The supposition gave Spain far too much
credit for skill and activity.

War was declared--the Senate being

shocked by Senator Proctor's statement of
the concentration camps he had seen in
Cuba. The country responded to the cry,
"What is Spain doing over here anyhow?"
President McKinley and his peace policy
were left high and dry, and nothing
remained for him but to go with the
country. The Government then announced
that war was not undertaken for territorial
aggrandizement, and Cuba was promised
independence--a promise faithfully kept.
We should not fail to remember this, for it
is the one cheering feature of the war.

The possession of the Philippines left a

stain. They were not only territorial
acquisition; they were dragged from
reluctant Spain and twenty million dollars
paid for them. The Filipinos had been our
allies in fighting Spain. The Cabinet, under
the lead of the President, had agreed that
only a coaling station in the Philippines
should be asked for, and it is said such
were the instructions given by cable at
first to the Peace Commissioners at Paris.
President McKinley then made a tour
through the West and, of course, was
cheered when he spoke of the flag and
Dewey's victory. He returned, impressed
with the idea that withdrawal would be
unpopular, and reversed his former
policy. I was told by one of his Cabinet that
every member was opposed to the
reversal. A senator told me Judge Day, one
of the Peace Commissioners, wrote a
remonstrance from Paris, which if ever
published, would rank next to
Washington's Farewell Address, so fine
was it.

At this stage an important member of the

Cabinet, my friend Cornelius N. Bliss,
called and asked me to visit Washington
and see the President on the subject. He
said:

"You have influence with him. None of us

have been able to move him since he
returned from the West."

I went to Washington and had an interview

with him. But he was obdurate. Withdrawal
would create a revolution at home, he said.
Finally, by persuading his secretaries that
he had to bend to the blast, and always
holding that it would be only a temporary
occupation and that a way out would be
found, the Cabinet yielded.
He sent for President Schurman, of Cornell
University, who had opposed annexation
and made him chairman of the committee
to visit the Filipinos; and later for Judge
Taft, who had been prominent against such
a violation of American policy, to go as
Governor. When the Judge stated that it
seemed strange to send for one, who had
publicly denounced annexation, the
President said that was the very reason
why he wished him for the place. This was
all very well, but to refrain from annexing
and to relinquish territory once purchased
are different propositions. This was soon
seen.

Mr. Bryan had it in his power at one time to

defeat in the Senate this feature of the
Treaty of Peace with Spain. I went to
Washington to try to effect this, and
remained there until the vote was taken. I
was told that when Mr. Bryan was in
Washington he had advised his friends that
it would be good party policy to allow the
treaty to pass. This would discredit the
Republican Party before the people; that
"paying twenty millions for a revolution"
would defeat any party. There were seven
staunch Bryan men anxious to vote against
Philippine annexation.

Mr. Bryan had called to see me in New

York upon the subject, because my
opposition to the purchase had been so
pronounced, and I now wired him at
Omaha explaining the situation and
begging him to wire me that his friends
could use their own judgment. His reply
was what I have stated--better have the
Republicans pass it and let it then go
before the people. I thought it unworthy of
him to subordinate such an issue, fraught
with deplorable consequences, to mere
party politics. It required the casting vote
of the Speaker to carry the measure. One
word from Mr. Bryan would have saved the
country from the disaster. I could not be
cordial to him for years afterwards. He had
seemed to me a man who was willing to
sacrifice his country and his personal
convictions for party advantage.

When I called upon President McKinley

immediately after the vote, I condoled with
him upon being dependent for support
upon his leading opponent. I explained
just how his victory had been won and
suggested that he should send his grateful
acknowledgments to Mr. Bryan. A Colonial
possession thousands of miles away was a
novel problem to President McKinley, and
indeed to all American statesmen. Nothing
did they know of the troubles and dangers
it would involve. Here the Republic made
its first grievous international mistake--a
mistake which dragged it into the vortex of
international militarism and a great navy.
What a change has come over statesmen
since!

At supper with President Roosevelt at the

White House a few weeks ago (1907), he
said:

"If you wish to see the two men in the

United States who are the most anxious to
get out of the Philippines, here they are,"
pointing to Secretary Taft and himself.

"Then why don't you?" I responded. "The

American people would be glad indeed."

But both the President and Judge Taft

believed our duty required us to prepare
the Islands for self-government first. This is
the policy of "Don't go into the water until
you learn to swim." But the plunge has to
be and will be taken some day.
It was urged that if we did not occupy the
Philippines, Germany would. It never
occurred to the urgers that this would
mean Britain agreeing that Germany
should establish a naval base at Macao, a
short sail from Britain's naval base in the
East. Britain would as soon permit her to
establish a base at Kingston, Ireland,
eighty miles from Liverpool. I was
surprised to hear men--men like Judge
Taft, although he was opposed at first to
the annexation--give this reason when we
were discussing the question after the fatal
step had been taken. But we know little of
foreign relations. We have hitherto been a
consolidated country. It will be a sad day if
we ever become anything otherwise.
CHAPTER XXIX

MEETING THE GERMAN EMPEROR

My first Rectorial Address to the students

of St. Andrews University attracted the
attention of the German Emperor, who sent
word to me in New York by Herr Ballin that
he had read every word of it. He also sent
me by him a copy of his address upon his
eldest son's consecration. Invitations to
meet him followed; but it was not until
June, 1907, that I could leave, owing to
other engagements. Mrs. Carnegie and I
went to Kiel. Mr. Tower, our American
Ambassador to Germany, and Mrs. Tower
met us there and were very kind in their
attentions. Through them we met many of
the distinguished public men during our
three days' stay there.
The first morning, Mr. Tower took me to
register on the Emperor's yacht. I had no
expectation of seeing the Emperor, but he
happened to come on deck, and seeing
Mr. Tower he asked what had brought him
on the yacht so early. Mr. Tower explained
he had brought me over to register, and
that Mr. Carnegie was on board. He asked:

"Why not present him now? I wish to see

him."

I was talking to the admirals who were

assembling for a conference, and did not
see Mr. Tower and the Emperor
approaching from behind. A touch on my
shoulder and I turned around.

"Mr. Carnegie, the Emperor."

It was a moment before I realized that the

Emperor was before me. I raised both
hands, and exclaimed:

"This has happened just as I could have

wished, with no ceremony, and the Man of
Destiny dropped from the clouds."

Then I continued: "Your Majesty, I have

traveled two nights to accept your
generous invitation, and never did so
before to meet a crowned head."

Then the Emperor, smiling--and such a

captivating smile:

"Oh! yes, yes, I have read your books. You

do not like kings."

"No, Your Majesty, I do not like kings, but I

do like a man behind a king when I find
him."

"Ah! there is one king you like, I know, a

Scottish king, Robert the Bruce. He was my
hero in my youth. I was brought up on
him."

"Yes, Your Majesty, so was I, and he lies

buried in Dunfermline Abbey, in my native
town. When a boy, I used to walk often
around the towering square monument on
the Abbey--one word on each block in big
stone letters 'King Robert the Bruce'--with
all the fervor of a Catholic counting his
beads. But Bruce was much more than a
king, Your Majesty, he was the leader of
his people. And not the first; Wallace the
man of the people comes first. Your
Majesty, I now own King Malcolm's tower
in Dunfermline[79]--he from whom you
derive your precious heritage of Scottish
blood. Perhaps you know the fine old
ballad, 'Sir Patrick Spens.'

[Footnote 79: In the deed of trust

conveying Pittencrieff Park and Glen to
Dunfermline an unspecified reservation of
property was made. The "with certain
exceptions" related to King Malcolm's
Tower. For reasons best known to himself
Mr. Carnegie retained the ownership of
this relic of the past.]

"'The King sits in Dunfermline tower

Drinking the bluid red wine.'

I should like to escort you some day to the

tower of your Scottish ancestor, that you
may do homage to his memory." He
exclaimed:

"That would be very fine. The Scotch are

much quicker and cleverer than the
Germans. The Germans are too slow."

"Your Majesty, where anything Scotch is

concerned, I must decline to accept you as
an impartial judge."

He laughed and waved adieu, calling out:

"You are to dine with me this

evening"--and excusing himself went to
greet the arriving admirals.

About sixty were present at the dinner and

we had a pleasant time, indeed. His
Majesty, opposite whom I sat, was good
enough to raise his glass and invite me to
drink with him. After he had done so with
Mr. Tower, our Ambassador, who sat at his
right, he asked across the table--heard by
those near--whether I had told Prince von
B�low, next whom I sat, that his (the
Emperor's) hero, Bruce, rested in my
native town of Dunfermline, and his
ancestor's tower in Pittencrieff Glen, was in
my possession.
"No," I replied; "with Your Majesty I am led
into such frivolities, but my intercourse
with your Lord High Chancellor, I assure
you, will always be of a serious import."

We dined with Mrs. Goelet upon her yacht,

one evening, and His Majesty being
present, I told him President Roosevelt had
said recently to me that he wished custom
permitted him to leave the country so he
could run over and see him (the Emperor).
He thought a substantial talk would result
in something good being accomplished. I
believed that also. The Emperor agreed
and said he wished greatly to see him and
hoped he would some day come to
Germany. I suggested that he (the
Emperor) was free from constitutional
barriers and could sail over and see the
President.

"Ah, but my country needs me here! How

can I leave?"

I replied:

"Before leaving home one year, when I

went to our mills to bid the officials
good-bye and expressed regret at leaving
them all hard at work, sweltering in the hot
sun, but that I found I had now every year
to rest and yet no matter how tired I might
be one half-hour on the bow of the
steamer, cutting the Atlantic waves, gave
me perfect relief, my clever manager,
Captain Jones, retorted: 'And, oh, Lord!
think of the relief we all get.' It might be
the same with your people, Your Majesty."

He laughed heartily over and over again. It

opened a new train of thought. He
repeated his desire to meet President
Roosevelt, and I said:
"Well, Your Majesty, when you two do get
together, I think I shall have to be with you.
You and he, I fear, might get into
mischief."

He laughed and said:

"Oh, I see! You wish to drive us together.

Well, I agree if you make Roosevelt first
horse, I shall follow."

"Ah, no, Your Majesty, I know horse-flesh

better than to attempt to drive two such
gay colts tandem. You never get proper
purchase on the first horse. I must yoke
you both in the shafts, neck and neck, so I
can hold you in."

I never met a man who enjoyed stories

more keenly than the Emperor. He is fine
company, and I believe an earnest man,
anxious for the peace and progress of the
world. Suffice it to say he insists that he is,
and always has been, for peace. [1907.] He
cherishes the fact that he has reigned for
twenty-four years and has never shed
human blood. He considers that the
German navy is too small to affect the
British and was never intended to be a
rival. Nevertheless, it is in my opinion very
unwise, because unnecessary, to enlarge
it. Prince von B�low holds these sentiments
and I believe the peace of the world has
little to fear from Germany. Her interests
are all favorable to peace, industrial
development being her aim; and in this
desirable field she is certainly making
great strides.

I sent the Emperor by his Ambassador,

Baron von Sternberg, the book, "The
Roosevelt Policy,"[80] to which I had
written an introduction that pleased the
President, and I rejoice in having received
from him a fine bronze of himself with a
valued letter. He is not only an Emperor,
but something much higher--a man
anxious to improve existing conditions,
untiring in his efforts to promote
temperance, prevent dueling, and, I
believe, to secure International Peace.

[Footnote 80: _The Roosevelt Policy:

Speeches, Letters and State Papers
relating to Corporate Wealth and closely
Allied Topics._ New York, 1908.]

I have for some time been haunted with the

feeling that the Emperor was indeed a Man
of Destiny. My interviews with him have
strengthened that feeling. I have great
hopes of him in the future doing something
really great and good. He may yet have a
part to play that will give him a place
among the immortals. He has ruled
Germany in peace for twenty-seven years,
but something beyond even this record is
due from one who has the power to
establish peace among civilized nations
through positive action. Maintaining peace
in his own land is not sufficient from one
whose invitation to other leading civilized
nations to combine and establish
arbitration of all international disputes
would be gladly responded to. Whether
he is to pass into history as only the
preserver of internal peace at home or is
to rise to his appointed mission as the
Apostle of Peace among leading civilized
nations, the future has still to reveal.

The year before last (1912) I stood before

him in the grand palace in Berlin and
presented the American address of
congratulation upon his peaceful reign of
twenty-five years, his hand unstained by
human blood. As I approached to hand to
him the casket containing the address, he
recognized me and with outstretched
arms, exclaimed:

"Carnegie, twenty-five years of peace, and

we hope for many more."

I could not help responding:

"And in this noblest of all missions you are

our chief ally."

He had hitherto sat silent and motionless,

taking the successive addresses from one
officer and handing them to another to be
placed upon the table. The chief subject
under discussion had been World Peace,
which he could have, and in my opinion,
would have secured, had he not been
surrounded by the military caste which
inevitably gathers about one born to the
throne--a caste which usually becomes as
permanent as the potentate himself, and
which has so far in Germany proved its
power of control whenever the war issue
has been presented. Until militarism is
subordinated, there can be no World
Peace.

* * * * *

As I read this to-day [1914], what a change!

The world convulsed by war as never
before! Men slaying each other like wild
beasts! I dare not relinquish all hope. In
recent days I see another ruler coming
forward upon the world stage, who may
prove himself the immortal one. The man
who vindicated his country's honor in the
Panama Canal toll dispute is now
President. He has the indomitable will of
genius, and true hope which we are told,

"Kings it makes gods, and meaner

creatures kings."
Nothing is impossible to genius! Watch
President Wilson! He has Scotch blood in
his veins.

[Here the manuscript ends abruptly.]

[Illustration: ANDREW CARNEGIE AT

SKIBO

(1914)]
BIBLIOGRAPHY AND INDEX
BIBLIOGRAPHY

MR. CARNEGIE's chief publications are as

follows:

_An American Four-in-Hand in Britain._

New York, 1884.

_Round the World._ New York, 1884.

_Triumphant Democracy, or Fifty Years'

March of the Republic._ New York, 1886.

_The Gospel of Wealth and Other Timely

Essays._ New York, 1900.

_The Empire of Business._ New York, 1903.

_James Watt._ New York, 1905.

_Problems of To-day.
Wealth--Labor--Socialism._ New York,
1908.

He was a contributor to English and

American magazines and newspapers, and
many of the articles as well as many of his
speeches have been published in
pamphlet form. Among the latter are the
addresses on Edwin M. Stanton, Ezra
Cornell, William Chambers, his pleas for
international peace, his numerous
dedicatory and founders day addresses. A
fuller list of these publications is given in
Margaret Barclay Wilson's _A Carnegie
Anthology_, privately printed in New York,
1915.

A great many articles have been written

about Mr. Carnegie, but the chief sources
of information are:

ALDERSON (BERNARD). _Andrew

Carnegie. The Man and His Work._ New
York, 1905.

BERGLUND (ABRAHAM). _The United

States Steel Corporation._ New York, 1907.

CARNEGIE (ANDREW). _How I served My

Apprenticeship as a Business Man._
Reprint from _Youth's Companion_. April
23, 1896.

COTTER (ARUNDEL). _Authentic History of

the United States Steel Corporation._ New
York, 1916.

HUBBARD (ELBERT). _Andrew Carnegie_.

New York, 1909. (Amusing, but
inaccurate.)

MACKIE (J.B.). _Andrew Carnegie. His

Dunfermline Ties and Benefactions._
Dunfermline, n.d.
_Manual of the Public Benefactions of
Andrew Carnegie._ Published by the
Carnegie Endowment for International
Peace. Washington, 1919.

_Memorial Addresses on the Life and

Work of Andrew Carnegie._ New York,
1920.

_Memorial Service in Honor of Andrew

Carnegie on his Birthday, Tuesday,
November 25, 1919._ Carnegie Music Hall,
Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania.

_Pittencrieff Glen: Its Antiquities, History

and Legends._ Dunfermline, 1903.

POYNTON (JOHN A.). _A Millionaire's Mail

Bag._ New York, 1915. (Mr. Poynton was
Mr. Carnegie's secretary.)
PRITCHETT (HENRY S.). _Andrew
Carnegie._ Anniversary Address before
Carnegie Institute, November 24, 1915.

SCHWAB (CHARLES M.). _Andrew

Carnegie. His Methods with His Men._
Address at Memorial Service, Carnegie
Music Hall, Pittsburgh, November 25,
1919.

WILSON (MARGARET BARCLAY). _A

Carnegie Anthology._ Privately printed.
New York, 1915.
INDEX

Abbey, Edwin A., 298.

Abbott, Rev. Lyman, 285.

Abbott, William L., becomes partner of Mr.

Carnegie, 201.

Accounting system, importance of, 135,

136, 204.

Acton, Lord, library bought by Mr.

Carnegie, 325.

Adams, Edwin, tragedian, 49.

Adams Express Company, investment in,

79.

Addison, Leila, friend and critic of young

Carnegie, 97.

Aitken, Aunt, 8, 22, 30, 50, 51, 77, 78.

Alderson, Barnard, _Andrew Carnegie_,

quoted, 282 _n._

Allegheny City, the Carnegies in, 30, 31,

34; public library and hall, 259.

Allegheny Valley Railway, bonds

marketed by Mr. Carnegie, 167-71.

Allison, Senator W.B., 124, 125.

Altoona, beginnings of, 66.

_American Four-in-Hand in Britain, An_,

Mr. Carnegie's first book, 6; quoted, 27,
318 _n._; published, 212, 322.

Anderson, Col. James, and his library,

45-47.

Arnold, Edwin, gives Mr. Carnegie the MS.

of _The Light of Asia_, 207.

Arnold, Matthew, quoted, 206, 207, 302;

visits Mr. Carnegie, 216, 299, 301; a
charming man, 298; seriously religious,
299; as a lecturer, 299, 300; and Henry
Ward Beecher, 300; on Shakespeare, 302;
and Josh Billings, 303-05; in Chicago,
305, 306; memorial to, 308.

Baldwin, William H., 277.

Balfour, Prime Minister, 269-71; as a

philosopher, 323, 324.

Balfour of Burleigh, Lord, and Trust for the

Universities of Scotland, 269, 270, 272.
Baltimore and Ohio Railroad, Mr.
Carnegie's relations with, 125-29.

Baring Brother, dealings with, 168, 169.

Barryman, Robert, an ideal Tom Bowling,

28, 29.

Bates, David Homer, quoted, 45, 46, 100.

Beecher, Henry Ward, and Matthew

Arnold, 300; and Robert G. Ingersoll, 300,
301; on Herbert Spencer, 336, 337.

Behring Sea question, 350, 353-55.

Bessemer steel process, revolutionized

steel manufacture, 184, 185, 229.

Billings, Dr. J.S., of the New York Public

Libraries, 259; director of the Carnegie
Institution, 260.
Billings, Josh, 295; and Matthew Arnold,
303-05; anecdotes, 304, 305.

Bismarck, Prince, disturbs the financial

world, 169.

Black, William, 298.

Blaine, James G., visits Mr. Carnegie, 216;

and Mr. Gladstone, 320, 321, 328; a good
story-teller, 341-43, 357; his Yorktown
address, 341; at Cluny Castle, 344;
misses the Presidency, 345; as Secretary
of State, 345, 352-56; at the Pan-American
Congress, 346.

Bliss, Cornelius N., 363.

Borntraeger, William, 136; put in charge

of the Union Iron Mills, 198; anecdotes of,
199-201.
Botta, Professor and Madame, 150.

Braddock's Co�erative Society, 250.

Bridge-building, of iron, 115-29; at

Steubenville, 116, 117; at Keokuk, Iowa,
154; at St. Louis, 155.

Bright, John, 11; and George Peabody,

282.

British Iron and Steel Institute, 178, 180.

Brooks, David, manager of the Pittsburgh

telegraph office, 36-38, 57-59.

Brown University, John Hay Library at, 275.

Bruce, King Robert, 18, 367.

Bryan, William J., and the treaty with Spain,

364.

Bull Run, battle of, 100.

B�low, Prince von, 368, 370.

Burns, Robert, quoted, 3, 13, 33, 307, 313;

Dean Stanley on, 271; rules of conduct,
271, 272.

Burroughs, John, and Ernest Thompson

Seton, 293.

Butler, Gen. B.F., 99.

Cable, George W., 295.

Calvinism, revolt from, 22, 23, 74, 75.

Cambria Iron Company, 186.

Cameron, Simon, in Lincoln's Cabinet, 102,
103; a man of sentiment, 104; anecdote
of, 104, 105.

Campbell-Bannerman, Sir Henry, 313;

and Trust for the Universities of Scotland,
269, 271; Prime Minister, 312, 313.

Carnegie, Andrew, grandfather of A.C., 2,

3.

Carnegie, Andrew, birth, 2; ancestry, 2-6;

fortunate in his birthplace, 6-8;
childhood in Dunfermline, 7-18; a violent
young republican, 10-12; goes to school,
13-15, 21; early usefulness to his parents,
14; learns history from his Uncle Lauder,
15, 16; intensely Scottish, 16, 18; trained
in recitation, 20; power to memorize, 21;
animal pets, 23; early evidence of
organizing power, 24, 43; leaves
Dunfermline, 25; sails for America, 28;
on the Erie Canal, 29, 30; in Allegheny
City, 30; becomes a bobbin boy, 34;
works in a bobbin factory, 35, 36;
telegraph messenger, 37-44; first real
start in life, 38, 39; first communication to
the press, 45; cultivates taste for
literature, 46, 47; love for Shakespeare
stimulated, 48, 49; Swedenborgian
influence, 50; taste for music aroused, 51;
first wage raise, 55; learns to telegraph,
57, 58, 61; becomes a telegraph operator,
59.

_Railroad experience:_ Clerk and

operator for Thomas A. Scott, division
superintendent of Pennsylvania
Railroad, 63; loses pay-rolls, 67; an
anti-slavery partisan, 68, 96; employs
women as telegraph operators, 69; takes
unauthorized responsibility, 71, 72; in
temporary charge of division, 73;
theological discussions, 74-76; first
investment, 79; transferred to Altoona, 84;
invests in building of sleeping-cars, 87;
made division superintendent on the
Pennsylvania Railroad, 91; returns to
Pittsburgh, 92; gets a house at
Homewood, 94; Civil War service,
99-109; gift to Kenyon College, 106; first
serious illness, 109; first return to
Scotland, 110-13; organizes rail-making
and locomotive works, 115; also a
company to build iron bridges, 116-18;
bridge-building, 119-29; begins making
iron, 130-34; introduces cost accounting
system, 135, 136, 204; becomes
interested in oil wells, 136-39; mistaken
for a noted exhorter, 140; leaves the
railroad company, 140, 141.

_Period of acquisition:_ Travels

extensively in Europe, 142, 143;
deepening appreciation of art and music,
143; builds coke works, 144, 145;
attitude toward protective tariff, 146-48;
opens an office in New York, 149; joins
the Nineteenth Century Club, 150;
opposed to speculation, 151-54; builds
bridge at Keokuk, 154; and another at St.
Louis, 155-57; dealings with the Morgans,
155-57, 169-73; gives public baths to
Dunfermline, 157; his ambitions at
thirty-three, 157, 158; rivalry with
Pullman, 159; proposes forming Pullman
Palace Car Company, 160; helps the
Union Pacific Railway through a crisis, 162,
163; becomes a director of that company,
164; but is forced out, 165; friction with
Mr. Scott, 165, 174; floats bonds of the
Allegheny Valley Railway, 167-71;
negotiations with Baring Brothers, 168,
169; some business rules, 172-75, 194,
224, 231; concentrates on manufacturing,
176, 177; president of the British Iron and
Steel Institute, 178; begins making pig
iron, 178, 179; proves the value of
chemistry at a blast furnace, 181-83;
making steel rails, 184-89; in the panic of
1873, 189-93; parts with Mr. Kloman,
194-97; some of his partners, 198-203;
goes around the world, 204-09; his
philosophy of life, 206, 207; Dunfermline
confers the freedom of the town, 210;
coaching in Great Britain, 211, 212;
dangerously ill, 212, 213; death of his
mother and brother, 212, 213; courtship,
213, 214; marriage, 215; presented with
the freedom of Edinburgh, 215; birth of
his daughter, 217; buys Skibo Castle, 217;
manufactures spiegel and
ferro-manganese, 220, 221; buys mines,
221-23; acquires the Frick Coke
Company, 222; buys the Homestead steel
mills, 225; progress between 1888 and
1897, 226; the Homestead strike, 228-33;
succeeds Mark Hanna on executive
committee of the National Civic
Federation, 234; incident of Burgomaster
McLuckie, 235-39; some labor disputes,
240-54; dealing with a mill committee,
241, 242; breaking a strike, 243-46; a
sliding scale of wages, 244-47; beating a
bully, 248; settling differences by
conference, 249, 250, 252; workmen's
savings, 251.

_Period of distribution:_ Carnegie Steel

Company sells out to United States Steel
Corporation, 255, 256; Andrew
Carnegie Relief Fund established for men
in the mills, 256, 257, 281; libraries
built, 259; Carnegie Institution founded,
259-61; hero funds established for several
countries, 262-67; pension fund for aged
professors, 268-71; trustee of Cornell
University, 268; Lord Rector of St.
Andrews, 271-73; aid to American
colleges, 274, 275, 277 _n._; connection
with Hampton and Tuskegee Institutes,
276, 277; gives organs to many churches,
278, 279; private pension fund, 279, 280;
Railroad Pension Fund, 280; early
interested in peace movements, 282, 283;
on a League of Nations, 284 _n._; provides
funds for Temple of Peace at The Hague,
284, 285; president of the Peace Society
of New York, 285, 286; decorated by
several governments, 286; buys
Pittencrieff Glen and gives it to
Dunfermline, 286-90; friendship with Earl
Grey, 290; other trusts established, 290
_n._; dinners of the Carnegie Veteran
Association, 291, 292; the Literary Dinner,
292, 293; relations with Mark Twain,
294-97; with Matthew Arnold, 298-308;
with Josh Billings, 302-05; first meets Mr.
Gladstone, 309, 330, 331; estimate of Lord
Rosebery, 309-11; his own name often
misspelled, 310; attachment to Harcourt
and Campbell-Bannerman, 312; and the
Earl of Elgin, 313, 314; his
Freedom-getting career, 314, 316;
opinion on British municipal government,
314-17; visits Mr. Gladstone at Hawarden,
318, 319, 328, 329; incident of the Queen's
Jubilee, 320, 321; relations with J.G.
Blaine, 320, 321, 328, 341-46; friendship
with John Morley, 322-28; estimate of
Elihu Root, 324; buys Lord Acton's library,
325; on Irish Home Rule, 327; attempts
newspaper campaign of political progress,
330; writes _Triumphant Democracy_,
330-32; a disciple of Herbert Spencer,
333-40; delegate to the Pan-American
Congress, 346, 350; entertains President
Harrison, 347, 348; founds Carnegie
Institute at Pittsburgh, 348; influence in
the Chilian quarrel, 350-52; suggests Mr.
Shiras for the Supreme Court, 353; on the
Behring Sea dispute, 354, 355; opinion of
Mr. Blaine, 355, 357; relations with John
Hay, 358-61; and with President
McKinley, 359, 363; on annexation of the
Philippines, 362-65; criticism of W.J.
Bryan, 364; impressions of the German
emperor, 366-71; hopeful of President
Wilson, 371, 372.

Carnegie, Louise Whitfield, wife of A.C.,

215-19; charmed by Scotland, 215; her
enjoyment of the pipers, 216; the
Peace-Maker, 218; honored with freedom
of Dunfermline, 271; first honorary
member of Carnegie Veteran Association,
292.

Carnegie, Margaret Morrison, mother of

A.C., 6, 12; reticent on religious subjects,
22, 50; a wonderful woman, 31, 32, 38,
88-90; gives bust of Sir Walter Scott to
Stirling, 157; lays corner stone of
Carnegie Library in Dunfermline, 211;
death of, 212, 213; advice to Matthew
Arnold, 299.

Carnegie, Margaret, daughter of A.C.,

born, 217.

Carnegie, Thomas Morrison, brother of

A.C., 25; a favorite of Col. Piper, 118, 119;
interested in iron-making, 130;
friendship with Henry Phipps, 132;
marries Lucy Coleman, 149; death of, 212,
213.

Carnegie, William, father of A.C., 2; a

damask weaver, 8, 12, 13, 25, 30; a
radical republican, 11; liberal in
theology, 22, 23; works in a cotton factory
in Allegheny City, 34; one of the founders
of a library in Dunfermline, 48; a sweet
singer, 52; shy and reserved, 62; one of
the most lovable of men, 63; death of, 63,
77.

"Carnegie," the wood-and-bronze yacht,

260, 261.
Carnegie Brothers & Co., 129, 225, 226.

Carnegie Corporation of New York, 290

_n._

Carnegie Endowment for International

Peace, 286 _n._

Carnegie Endowment for the

Advancement of Learning, 268.

Carnegie Hero Fund, 262-66.

Carnegie Institute at Pittsburgh, 259, 348.

Carnegie Institution, 259, 260.

Carnegie, Kloman & Co., 196, 197.

Carnegie, McCandless & Co., 201.

Carnegie, Phipps & Co., 226.

Carnegie Relief Fund, for Carnegie
workmen, 266.

Carnegie Steel Company, 256.

Carnegie Trust for the Universities of

Scotland, trustees of, 269; duties of, 270,
271.

Carnegie United Kingdom Trust, 290 _n._

Carnegie Veteran Association, 291, 292.

"Cavendish" (Henry Jones), anecdote of,

315.

Central Transportation Company, 159, 161.

Chamberlain, Joseph, 326, 327, 356.

Chemistry, value of, in iron manufacture,

181, 182, 223.

Chicago, "dizzy on cult," 305, 306.

Chili, quarrel with, 350-53.

Chisholm, Mr., Cleveland iron

manufacturer, 184.

Clayton-Bulwer Treaty, 355, 356, 360.

Clemens, Samuel L., _see_ Twain, Mark.

Cleveland, Frances, Library at Wellesley

College, 275.

Cleveland, President, 283; and tariff

revision, 147.

Cluny Castle, Scotland, 217; Mr. Blaine at,

344.
Coal-washing, introduced into America by
George Lauder, 144.

Cobbett, William, 4.

Coke, manufacture of, 144, 145, 221.

Coleman, Lucy, afterwards Mrs. Thomas

Carnegie, 149.

Coleman, William, interested in oil wells,

136-40; and in coke, 144; manufacturer
of steel rails, 186; anecdote of, 192; sells
out to Mr. Carnegie, 202.

Columbia University, 274 _n._

Confucius, quoted, 50, 52, 340.

Constant, Baron d'Estournelles de, 286.

Conway, Moncure D., Autobiography

quoted, 274.

Co�erative store, 250.

Corn Law agitation, the, 8.

Cornell University, salaries of professors,

268.

Cowley, William, 46.

Cremer, William Randall, receives Nobel

Prize for promotion of peace, 283, 284
_n._

Cresson Springs, Mr. Carnegie's summer

home in the Alleghanies, 213, 307.

Cromwell, Oliver, 15.

Crystal Palace, London, 143.

Curry, Henry M., 181; becomes a partner
of Mr. Carnegie, 201.

Cyclops Mills, 133, 134.

Damask trade in Scotland, 2, 8, 12, 13.

Dawes, Anna L., _How we are Governed_,

327.

Dennis, Prof. F.S., 213, 214.

Dickinson College, Conway Hall at, 274.

Disestablishment of the English Church,

329.

Dodds process, the, for carbonizing the

heads of iron rails, 186.

Dodge, William E., 260.

Donaldson, Principal, of St. Andrews
University, 273.

Douglas, Euphemia (Mrs. Sloane), 29.

Drexel, Anthony, 175, 205.

Dunfermline, birthplace of Mr. Carnegie,

2, 6; a radical town, 10; libraries in, 48;
revisited, 110-12, 157; gives Mr. Carnegie
the freedom of the town, 210; Carnegie
Library in, 211; confers freedom of the
town on Mrs. Carnegie, 271.

Dunfermline Abbey, 6, 7, 17, 18, 26, 27,

111.

Durrant, President, of the Union Pacific

Railway, 159.
Eads, Capt. James B., 119, 120.

Edgar Thomson Steel Company, 188, 189,

201, 202.

Education, compulsory, 34.

Edwards, "Billy," 249, 250.

Edwards, Passmore, 330.

Elgin, Earl of, and Trust for the Universities

of Scotland, 269-72, 313, 314.

Elkins, Sen. Stephen B., and Mr. Blaine,

344, 345, 352, 359.

Emerson, Ralph Waldo, anecdote of, 335.

Endorsing notes, 173, 174.

Erie Canal, the, 29, 30.

Escanaba Iron Company, 194-97, 220.

Evans, Captain ("Fighting Bob"), as

government inspector, 199.

Evarts, William M., 336 _n._

Fahnestock, Mr., Pittsburgh financier, 41.

Farmer, President, of Cleveland and

Pittsburgh Railroad Co., 5.

Ferguson, Ella (Mrs. Henderson), 25.

Ferro-manganese, manufacture of, 220.

Fleming, Marjory, 20.

Flower, Governor Roswell P., and the tariff,

147, 148.
Forbes, Gen. John, Laird of Pittencrieff,
188.

Franciscus, Mr., freight agent at

Pittsburgh, 72.

Franciscus, Mrs., 80.

Franklin, Benjamin, and St. Andrews

University, 272; quoted, 340.

Frick, Henry C., 222.

Frick Coke Company, 222, 226.

Fricke, Dr., chemist at the Lucy Furnace,

182.

Frissell, Hollis B., of Hampton Institute,

277.
Garrett, John W., President of the
Baltimore and Ohio Railroad, 125-29.

General Education Board, 274.

Germany, and the Philippines, 365;

Emperor William, 366-71.

Gilder, Richard Watson, poem by, 262,

263; manager of the Literary Dinner, 292,
293; on Mr. Carnegie, 293 _n._, 340 _n._

Gilman, Daniel C., first president of the

Carnegie Institution, 260.

Gladstone, W.E., letter from, 233; and

Matthew Arnold, 298; Mr. Carnegie and,
309, 327-31; his library, 318; devout and
sincere, 319; anecdote of, 320; and J.G.
Blaine, 321; and John Morley, 325.
Glass, John P., 54, 55.

God, each stage of civilization creates its

own, 75.

Gorman, Senator Arthur P., and the tariff,

147, 148.

_Gospel of Wealth, The_, published, 255.

Gould, Jay, 152.

Grant, Gen. U.S., and Secretary Stanton,

106; some characteristics of, 107;
unjustly suspected, 108.

Greeley, Horace, 68, 81.

Grey, Earl, trustee of Carnegie United

Kingdom Trust, 290 and _n._
Hague Conference, 283, 284.

Haldane, Lord Chancellor, error as to

British manufactures, 331.

Hale, Eugene, visits Mr. Carnegie, 216.

Hale, Prof. George E., of the Mount Wilson

Observatory, 261.

Halkett, Sir Arthur, killed at Braddock's

defeat, 187, 188.

Hamilton College, Elihu Root Foundation

at, 275.

Hampton Institute, 276.

Hanna, Senator Mark, 233, 234, 359; Chair

in Western Reserve University named for,
275.
Harcourt, Sir William Vernon, 312.

Harris, Joel Chandler, 295.

Harrison, President Benjamin, opens

Carnegie Hall at Allegheny City, 259, 347;
his nomination, 344, 345; dispute with
Chili, 350-53; the Behring Sea question,
350, 353-55.

Hartman Steel Works, 226.

Hawk, Mr., of the Windsor Hotel, New

York, 150.

Hay, Secretary John, comment on Lincoln,

101, 102; visits Mr. Carnegie, 216;
chairman of directors of Carnegie
Institution, 260; Library, at Brown
University, 275; as Secretary of State, 358;
the Hay-Pauncefote Treaty, 359; the
Senate his _b�e noire_, 360, 361.
Hay, John, of Allegheny City, 34-37.

Head-ication versus Hand-ication, 4.

Henderson, Ebenezer, 5.

Henderson, Ella Ferguson, 25, 55.

Hero Fund, 262-66.

Hewitt, Abram S., 260.

Higginson, Maj. F.L., 260.

Higginson, Col. Thomas Wentworth, 150.

Hill, David Jayne, on the German Hero

Fund, 263, 264.

Hogan, Maria, 70.

Hogan, Uncle, 36, 77.

Holls, G.F.W., and the Hague Conference,

284.

Holmes, Oliver Wendell, and the Matthew

Arnold memorial, 307, 308.

Homestead Steel Mills, consolidated with

Carnegie Brothers & Co., 225, 226; strike
at, 228-39; address of workmen to Mr.
Carnegie, 257.

Hughes, Courtney, 58.

Huntington, Collis P., 205.

Ignorance, the main root of industrial

trouble, 240.

_In the Time of Peace_, by Richard Watson

Gilder, 262, 263.

Ingersoll, Col. Robert G., 210, 300.

Integrity, importance of, in business, 172.

Ireland, Mr. Carnegie's freedom tour in,

314 _n._, 316.

Irish Home Rule, 327.

Irwin, Agnes, receives doctor's degree

from St. Andrews University, 272, 273.

Isle of Wight, 215.

Jackson, Andrew, and Simon Cameron,

104, 105.

Jewett, Thomas L., President of the

Panhandle Railroad, 117.
Jones, Henry ("Cavendish"), anecdote of,
315.

Jones, ---- ("The Captain"), 202, 204, 241,

242, 369; prefers large salary to
partnership, 203.

_Just by the Way_, poem on Mr. Carnegie,

238.

Kaiser Wilhelm, and Mr. Carnegie, 366-71.

Katte, Walter, 123.

Keble, Bishop, godfather of Matthew

Arnold, 298.

Kelly, Mr., chairman of blast-furnaces

committee, 241-43.
Kennedy, Julian, 220.

Kenyon College, gift to, 106; Stanton

Chair of Economics, 275.

Keokuk, Iowa, 154.

Keystone Bridge Works, 116, 122-28, 176.

Keystone Iron Works, 130.

Kilgraston, Scotland, 215, 216.

Kind action never lost, 85, 86.

King Edward VII, letter from, 264, 265, 326.

Kloman, Andrew, partner with Mr.

Carnegie, 130, 178, 179; a great
mechanic, 131, 134; in bankruptcy,
194-96.
Knowledge, sure to prove useful, 60.

Knowles, James, on Tennyson, 337, 338.

Koethen, Mr., choir leader, 51.

Labor, some problems of, 240-54.

Lang, Principal, 272.

Lauder, George, uncle of A.C., 12, 28, 113,

287; teaches him history, 15-17; and
recitation, 20.

Lauder, George, cousin of A.C., 8, 17;

develops coal-washing machinery, 144,
223.

Lauder Technical College, 9, 15.

Lehigh University, Mr. Carnegie gives

Taylor Hall, 266.

Lewis, Enoch, 91.

Libraries, founded by Mr. Carnegie, 47,

48, 259.

Library, public, usefulness of, 47.

Lincoln, Abraham, some characteristics of,

101; second nomination sought, 104, 105.

Linville, H.J., partner of Mr. Carnegie, 116,

120.

Literature, value of a taste for, 46.

Lloyd, Mr., banker at Altoona, 87.

Lombaert, Mr., general superintendent of

the Pennsylvania Railroad, 63, 66, 67, 73.
Lucy Furnace, the, erected, 178; in
charge of Henry Phipps, 181; enlarged,
183; gift from the workmen in, 257, 258.

Lynch, Rev. Frederick, 285.

Mabie, Hamilton Wright, quoted, 113.

McAneny, George, 277.

McCandless, David, 78, 186.

McCargo, David, 42, 49, 69.

McCullough, J.N., 173, 175.

MacIntosh, Mr., Scottish furniture

manufacturer, 24.

McKinley, President William, 358; and the

Panama Canal, 359; and the Spanish War,
361-65.

McLuckie, Burgomaster, and Mr.

Carnegie, 235-37.

McMillan, Rev. Mr., Presbyterian minister,

74-76.

Macdonald, Sir John, and the Behring Sea

troubles, 354, 355.

Mackie, J.B., quoted, 3, 9.

Macy, V. Everit, 277.

Martin, Robert, Mr. Carnegie's only

schoolmaster, 13-15, 21.

Mason and Slidell, 102.

Mellon, Judge, of Pittsburgh, 1.

Memorizing, benefit of, 21, 39.

Mill, John Stuart, as rector of St. Andrews,

272.

Miller, Thomas N., 45, 46, 110; on the

doctrine of predestination, 75; partner
with Mr. Carnegie, 115, 130, 133; death
of, 130; sells his interest, 133, 134.

Mills, D.O., 260.

Mitchell, Dr. S. Weir, 260.

Morgan, J. Pierpont, 171, 172, 256.

Morgan, Junius S., 155, 156, 170.

Morgan, J.S., & Co., negotiations with,

169-72.

Morland, W.C., 42.

Morley, John, and Mr. Carnegie, 21, 22,
293; address at Carnegie Institute, 188;
on Lord Rosebery, 311; on the Earl of
Elgin, 314; on Mr. Carnegie, 322 _n._;
pessimistic, 322, 323; visits America, 324,
325; and Elihu Root, 324; and Theodore
Roosevelt, 325; and Lord Acton's library,
325; and Joseph Chamberlain, 326, 327.

Morley, R.F., 100 _n._

Morris, Leander, cousin of Mr. Carnegie,

51.

Morrison, Bailie, uncle of Mr. Carnegie,

4-6, 9, 11, 210, 287, 312.

Morrison, Margaret, _see_ Carnegie,

Margaret.

Morrison, Thomas, maternal grandfather of

Mr. Carnegie, 4-6, 287.

Morrison, Thomas, second cousin of Mr.

Carnegie, 145.

Morton, Levi P., 165.

Mount Wilson Observatory, 261, 262.

Municipal government, British and

American, 314-16.

"Naig," Mr. Carnegie's nickname, 17.

National Civic Federation, 234.

National Trust Company, Pittsburgh, 224.

Naugle, J.A., 237.

New York, first impressions of, 28;

business headquarters of America, 149.

Nineteenth Century Club, New York, 150.

Ocean surveys, 261.

Ogden, Robert C., 277.

Oil wells, 136-39.

Oliver, Hon. H.W., 42, 49.

Omaha Bridge, 164, 165.

Optimism, 3, 162; optimist and pessimist,

323.

Organs, in churches, 278, 279.

_Our Coaching Trip_, quoted, 48, 110;

privately published, 212.
Palmer, Courtlandt, 150.

Panama Canal, 359, 360, 372.

Pan-American Congress, 345, 346.

Panic of 1873, the, 171, 172, 189-93.

Park, James, pioneer steel-maker of

Pittsburgh, 199, 200.

Parliament, membership and meetings,

315.

Partnership better than corporation, 221.

Patiemuir College, 2.

Pauncefote, Sir Julian, and Mr. Blaine, 355;

the Hay-Pauncefote Treaty, 359, 360.
Peabody, George, his body brought home
on the warship Monarch, 282.

Peabody, George Foster, 277.

Peace, Mr. Carnegie's work for, 282-86;

Palace, at The Hague, 284, 285.

Peace Society of New York, 285, 286.

Peacock, Alexander R., partner of Mr.

Carnegie, 203.

Pennsylvania Railroad Company, builds

first iron bridge, 115-17; aids Union
Pacific Railway, 163, 164; aids Allegheny
Valley Railway, 167-71; aids Pennsylvania
Steel Works, 185. _See also_ Carnegie,
Andrew, _Railroad experience_.

Pennsylvania Steel Works, the, 185.

Pessimist and optimist, story of, 323.

Philadelphia and Erie Railroad, 167-70.

Philippines, the, annexation of, 358,

362-65.

Phillips, Col. William, 167, 168, 169.

Phipps, Henry, 31, 130; advertises for

work, 131, 132; crony and partner of
Thomas Carnegie, 132; controversy over
opening conservatories on Sunday, 132,
133; European tour, 142; in charge of the
Lucy Furnace, 181, 182; statement about
Mr. Carnegie and his partners, 196, 197;
goes into the steel business, 201.

Phipps, John, 46; killed, 76.

Pig iron, manufacture of, 178, 179;

importance of chemistry in, 181-84.

Pilot Knob mine, 183.

Piper, Col. John L., partner of Mr.

Carnegie, 116, 117; had a craze for
horses, 118, 121; attachment to Thomas
Carnegie, 118, 119; relations with James
B. Eads, 120.

Pitcairn, Robert, division superintendent,

Pennsylvania Railroad, 42, 44, 49, 66, 189.

Pittencrieff Glen, bought and given to

Dunfermline, 286-89, 291.

Pittsburgh, in 1850, 39-41; some of its

leading men, 41; in 1860, 93; later
development, 348.

Pittsburgh, Bank of, 194.

Pittsburgh Locomotive Works, 115.

Pittsburgh Theater, 46, 48, 49.

Political corruption, 109.

Predestination, doctrine of, 75.

Principals' Week, 272.

Pritchett, Dr. Henry S., president of the

Carnegie Endowment for the
Advancement of Learning, 268.

Private pension fund, 279, 280.

_Problems of To-day_, quoted, 40, 217.

Protective tariffs, 146-48.

Prousser, Mr., chemist, 222.

Public speaking, 210.

Pullman, George M., 157, 159; forms

Pullman Palace Car Company, 160, 161;
anecdote of, 162; becomes a director of
the Union Pacific, 164.

Quality, the most important factor in

success, 115, 122, 123.

Queen's Jubilee, the (June, 1887), 320, 321.

Quintana, Manuel, President of Argentina,

346.

Railroad Pension Fund, 280.

Rawlins, Gen. John A., and General Grant,

107, 108.
Recitation, value of, in education, 20.

Reed, Speaker Thomas B., 362.

Reid, James D., and Mr. Carnegie, 59 and

_n._

Reid, General, of Keokuk, 154.

Republican Party, first national meeting,

68.

Riddle, Robert M., 81.

Ritchie, David, 139, 140.

Ritter, Governor, of Pennsylvania,

anecdote of, 342.

Robinson, General, first white child born

west of the Ohio River, 40.
Rockefeller, John D., 274.

Rogers, Henry H., 296.

Rolland School, 13.

Roosevelt, Theodore, 260; and Elihu Root,

275; John Morley on, 325; rejects the
Arbitration Treaty, 360, 361; and the
Philippines, 365.

Root, Elihu, 260, 286 _n._; fund named for,

at Hamilton College, 275; "ablest of all
our Secretaries of State," 275; on Mr.
Carnegie, 276; and John Morley, 324.

Rosebery, Lord, presents Mr. Carnegie

with the freedom of Edinburgh, 215;
relations with, 309, 310; handicapped by
being born a peer, 310, 311.

Ross, Dr. John, 269, 271; aids in buying

Pittencrieff Glen, 288, 289; receives
freedom of Dunfermline, 313.

_Round the World_, 205, 206, 208.

Sabbath observance, 52, 53, 133.

St. Andrews University, Mr. Carnegie

elected Lord Rector, 271, 273; confers
doctor's degree on Benjamin Franklin and
on his great-granddaughter, 272, 273.

St. Louis Bridge, 155-57.

Salisbury, Lord, and the Behring Sea

troubles, 353-55.

Sampson, ----, financial editor of the

London _Times_, 156.

Schiffler, Mr., a partner of Mr. Carnegie in

building iron bridges, 116, 117.

Schoenberger, Mr., president of the

Exchange Bank, Pittsburgh, 192, 193.

Schurman, President Jacob G., 363.

Schwab, Charles M., 152, 254-56.

Scott, John, 186.

Scott, Thomas A., 63, 70-74, 77; helps

Carnegie to his first investment, 79; made
general superintendent of the
Pennsylvania Railroad, 84; breaks a
strike, 84, 85; made vice-president of the
Company, 90; Assistant Secretary of War,
99, 102; colonel, 103; returns to the
railroad, 109; tries to get contract for
sleeping-cars on the Union Pacific, 158,
159; becomes president of that road, 164;
first serious difference with Carnegie, 165;
 president of the Texas Pacific Railroad,
and then of the Pennsylvania road, 172;
financially embarrassed, 173, 192; break
with Carnegie and premature death, 174.

Scott, Sir Walter, and Marjory Fleming, 20;

bust of, at Stirling, 157; made a burgess
of Dunfermline, 210.

Scott, Gen. Winfield, 102, 103.

Seneca Indians, early gatherers of oil, 138.

Sentiment, in the practical affairs of life,

253.

Seton, Ernest Thompson, and John

Burroughs, 293.

Seward, William Henry, 102.

Shakespeare, quoted, 10, 214, 219, 255,

294, 297; Mr. Carnegie's interest in, 48,
49.

Shaw, Henry W., _see_ Billings, Josh.

Shaw, Thomas (Lord Shaw), of

Dunfermline, 269, 288, 289.

Sherman, Gen. W.T., 107.

Shiras, George, Jr., appointed to the

Supreme Court, 353.

Siemens gas furnace, 136.

Singer, George, 225.

Skibo Castle, Scotland, 217, 272, 326.

Sleeping-car, invention of, 87; on the

Union Pacific Railway, 158-61.
Sliding scale of wages, solution of the
capital and labor problem, 246, 247, 252.

Sloane, Mr. and Mrs., 29.

Smith, J.B., friend of John Bright, 11, 12.

Smith, Perry, anecdote of, 124.

Snobs, English, 301.

Spanish War, the, 361-65.

Speculation, 151, 153.

Spencer, Herbert, Mr. Carnegie's relations

with, 333-37; a good laugher, 333, 334;
opposed to militarism, 335; banquet to, at
Delmonico's, 336; very conscientious,
337, 338; his philosophy, 339; on the gift
of Carnegie Institute, 348, 349.
Spens, Sir Patrick, ballad of, 7, 367.

Spiegel, manufacture of, 220.

Stanley, Dean A.P., on Burns's theology,

271.

Stanton, Edwin M., 41, 275.

Stanwood, Edward, _James G. Blaine_

quoted, 345 _n._

Steel, the age of, 181-97; King, 224, 225.

Steel Workers' Pension Fund, 281.

Steubenville, bridge at, over the Ohio

River, 116, 117.

Stewart, D.A., freight agent of the

Pennsylvania Railroad, 94, 95; joins Mr.
Carnegie in manufacture of steel rails, 186.
Stewart, Rebecca, niece of Thomas A.
Scott, 90.

Stokes, Major, chief counsel of the

Pennsylvania Railroad, 81-83, 86.

Storey, Samuel, M.P., 330.

Storey farm, oil wells on, 138, 139 _n._

Straus, Isidor, 196.

Straus, Oscar S., and the National Civic

Federation, 234, 235.

Strikes: on the Pennsylvania Railroad, 84,

85; at Homestead, 228-39; at the
steel-rail works, 240, 243.

Sturgis, Russell, 168.

Success, true road to, 176, 177.

Sun City Forge Company, 115 _n._

Superior Rail Mill and Blast Furnaces, 115.

Surplus, the law of the, 227.

Swedenborgianism, 22, 50, 51.

_Sweet By and By, The_, 341, 342.

Taft, William H., and the Philippines, 363,

365.

Tariff, protective, 146-48.

Taylor, Charles, president of the Hero

Fund, 266, 267.

Taylor, Joseph, 58.

Taylor Hall at Lehigh University, 266.

Teaching, a meanly paid profession, 268.

Temple of Peace, at The Hague, 284, 285.

Tennant, Sir Charles, President of the

Scotland Steel Company, 356, 357.

Texas, story about, 334.

Texas Pacific Railway, 172 _n._, 173.

Thaw, William, vice-president of the Fort

Wayne Railroad, 190.

Thayer, William Roscoe, _Life and Letters

of John Hay_, quoted, 216, 358, 359.

Thomas, Gen. George H., 107.

Thompson, Moses, 223.

Thomson, John Edgar, President of the

Pennsylvania Railroad, 72; an evidence of
his fairness, 117; offers Mr. Carnegie
promotion, 140; shows confidence in him,
163; steel mills named for, 188, 189;
financially embarrassed, 192.

Tower, Charlemagne, Ambassador to

Germany, 366, 368.

Trent affair, the, 102.

Trifles, importance of, 36, 124, 159, 248.

_Triumphant Democracy_, published, 309;

origin, 330-32.

Troubles, most of them imaginary, 162.

Tuskegee Institute, 276.

Twain, Mark, letter from, 294, 295; man
and hero, 296; devotion to his wife, 297.

Union Iron Mills, 133, 134, 176; very

profitable, 198.

Union Pacific Railway, sleeping-cars on,

159-61; Mr. Carnegie's connection with,
162-65.

"Unitawrian," prejudice against, 12.

Vanderlip, Frank A., 268.

Vandevort, Benjamin, 95.

Vandevort, John W., 95; Mr. Carnegie's

closest companion, 142; accompanies him
around the world, 204.
Van Dyke, Prof. John C., on the Homestead
strike, 235-37, 239.

Wagner, Mr., Carnegie's interest in, 49, 50.

Walker, Baillie, 3.

Wallace, William, 16, 17, 367.

War, breeds war, 16; must be abolished,

274, 283, 284; "ferocious and futile folly,"
358.

Washington, Booker T., declines gift to

himself, 276, 277.

Waterways, inland, improvement of, 342.

Webster Literary Society, 61.

Wellesley College, Cleveland Library at,
275.

Western Reserve University, Hanna Chair

at, 275.

White, Andrew D., 23, 150; and the Hague

Conference, 284.

White, Henry, 358.

Whitfield, Louise, 213, 214. _See also_,

Carnegie, Mrs. Andrew.

Whitwell Brothers, 179.

Wilkins, Judge William, 95, 96.

William IV, German Emperor, 366-71.

Wilmot, Mr., of the Carnegie Relief Fund,

266.
Wilson, James R., 46.

Wilson, Woodrow, 371, 372.

Wilson, Walker & Co., 226.

Women as telegraph operators, 69, 70.

Woodruff, T.T., inventor of the

sleeping-car, 87, 161.

Woodward, Dr. Robert S., president of the

Carnegie Institution, 260.

Wordsworth, William, quoted, 86.

Workmen's savings, 251.

World peace, 369-71.

Wright, John A., president of the Freedom

Iron Works, 185.
End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of
Autobiography of Andrew Carnegie, by
Andrew Carnegie
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