CHAPTER VII

THE NESBIT BROTHERS

These three men were such persons. They had personality, and they had character. All three had a keen sense of humor. They lived. Every day was a day of adventure.

"Today is King; unmask him as he passes," might well have been their motto.

They had a certain sure quality of mind which made them secure in any situation. They were not only brave but blithe. In their smiling, sunny presence half of the danger and hardship of any situation was forgotten.

They had wit and they had grit. They went out into the Western wilderness together; went to face its hardships and trials with energy and with enthusiasm. To trust each other, to love, to live, and to do their duty was to them the sum of life.

The current of human progress flows far beneath newspaper headlines, brass bands and cheering crowds. Grotesquely false values are attached to men and events. The world acclaims the picturesque. Thus the athlete, the entertainer, the martial or political hero is set upon the throne. The man who bears the brunt of the eternal struggle of the race in its upward climb which underlies all other struggles, lives unnoticed. Only the completed task rises to the surface. The men who devote themselves to the fundamental realities are of inestimable value to the race. The man who knocks a home run or knocks out an opponent in the ring gets the headlines.

These three men were earnest, true, faithful men. My father, the eldest, was a studious boy. He attended the Mercersburg Academy in Pennsylvania, where his oratorical ability early showed itself. He read law in the office of Judge Gilson, at Youngstown, Ohio. He was not so robust in Constitution as Charles, never went in for the heavy, hearty sports of the day as did Uncle Charles. As before related, the precarious condition of his health was the original cause of the treck West.

Charles seems to have been of a sturdier constitution as a boy. Grandmother said that as boys Uncle Charles, though the younger, was the one who thrashed any bullying young savage who picked on my father.

Uncle Charles excelled at athletic sports as a youth. He was a splendid baseball player when we lived in Osceola and enjoyed the game; catching behind the bat without gloves or mask was no easy assignment.

Uncle Scott was sick much of his boyhood life. These illnesses culminated in an abscess on his lungs which came near carrying him off when 10 or 11. When this illness was at its worst his mother appealed to her brother, Dr. John Coffin, who left his city practice to come and attend him. He pulled through, and grew to be the most robust, physically, of the three, though never so tall by some inches as either of the others.

So far as I know these boys all married on hope. I know my father had less than one hundred dollars when married.

The three Nesbit Brothers had each the greatest blessing in life—a good wife. They were three strong, healthy, cheerful women, who did their share and more on any and all occasions and under any and all circumstances.

Without making comparisons, their outstanding characteristics were:

More space than this book would not suffice to tell the virtues and labors of these three women. They were strong, healthy, earnest, and full of life.

"Man works from sun to sun; but woman’s work is never done," is a true description of the tasks of women on the farm.

Their quality of mind is illustrated by the fact that of twelve children born alive, eleven grew to maturity. That speaks volumes for the intelligent care given them by these three mothers.

No sacred building, no ecclesiastical shrine is so holy an altar as a devoted mother’s knee, at which shrine all of us children knelt, and the influence of those mothers will never leave us.

I know little of the schooling of these three men. Schools were not plentiful in their boyhood. But whatever lack in schooling, they were well educated men. Grandmother Nesbit saw to that. Uncle Scott learned to read and write at home. The result was a unique and distinctive hand which was almost print. Each letter made separately and with great clearness and uniformity. Yet he wrote rapidly.

When my father and Uncle Charles went to the "little Red School House," as boys, their only text book was a copy of the Bible. From this they learned to read. This was long a custom in the United States, and when, if ever, the stately English of the King James Version of the Bible and of Shakespeare are improved on, we may teach the English language better than earlier generations were taught it.

These three brothers had many characteristics in common, although their individualities were marked and distinct. First of all, they each had a high sense of public duty. They had a deep feeling of responsibility. They were unusually loyal men to their family, to their locality, to their churches, and to their country. All had a keen sense of humor, which carried them over many hard places.

All three were genial—men who made friends easily and quickly, and whose loyalty and fairness kept them the friends always.

They were not contentious. I do not know of any of them ever having brought a lawsuit against anyone else, and I do not know of any lawsuit brought against them, and there were very few in the course of a lifetime, which they did not win.

The three brothers Nesbit were men of unusually high character. When, after school at Fulton, and Washington and Theological Seminary, after seeing at close range many of the notable public men of the nation, I began with youth’s natural directness and impartiality to appraise them. I became filled with an admiration which has increased with the years. They did their part in every way.

Their modesty and consideration for others often prevented them from attaining notoriety or greater wealth. They were always considerate of other people’s rights. Such men and such people are the salt of the earth. Such individuals are the red corpuscles in the life blood of human society, the healthy cells in a nation. They, and the people like them, rather than vast resources and extent, made the United States a mighty nation.

The products of a home, they each established a home. To say that these three brothers were the three leading citizens of St. Clair County would be possibly a partisan statement, but one thing is certain, any selection by any well-informed person in St. Clair County of its twenty leading men, would have included all three of these brothers.

These three men "knew their way around", as the saying used to be. They never amassed any great money, but they did much with what they had. Never during the nearly fifty years I knew them was there ever a day when either of them could not have produced at an hour’s notice a thousand dollars in cash of his own money, that is, during banking hours, for they were all depositors and believers in banks. How many men get all tangled up financially and their money is tied up so their possessions are of little benefit when a panic or hard times come especially.

My father had a long and expensive illness of two years before his death. He had spent considerable in Walter’s education and in mine. He left an estate which paid out about Twenty Thousand Dollars in the worst period of the depression following the 1893 panic. Uncle Charles left about as much but had a larger family to raise and educate and retired from the bank several years before his death.

Uncle Scott was always a liberal spender. "Alwington," with the open house Uncle Scott maintained there, was expensive. For three successive Thanksgiving Days he was in the George Washington Hospital, just recovering from an operation, or about to undergo one. He lived at the Cairo Hotel in Washington several years after he had retired where he had very considerable expenses. Yet his estate settled up over one hundred and sixty thousand dollars actual cash.

The amount they left was a small part of what they had spent, though none of them were large money-makers. Yet they saw most of the things worth seeing, contributed liberally to churches, to education and charity, and traveled over most of the United States. Excepting Canada, none of them ever was on foreign soil.

When it is considered what they did and where and when, it must be admitted they were clear thinkers and men of energy and judgment.

"Henceforth I ask not good fortune. I myself am good fortune," was exemplified in each of them. So to the end all three of them walked beloved of their families and friends, respected by all men; feared by their enemies.

One county politician, whose lips were loose and floppy, and who usually had some superfluous tobacco juice about the corners of his mouth, was always called "Old slobber-mouth."

There was an ambitious young attorney, who thought he was a great orator. They called him always "Demosthenes". Another leading politician had a penetrating voice and always tried to sing tenor in church and was generally off the key. They always called him "The sweet singer in Israel"—and so on for hours they would go over a coming county campaign thus for a whole evening, and never mention a name. it was all in good humor, no malice, but it made conversation interesting. The way any one of the three could draw a verbal caricature or cartoon of a man was most interesting to me. This quality stood my father in good stead as a lawyer. The opposing attorneys were always very careful not to attack him or his clients too pointedly. If they did they usually rued their rashness.

All of the Nesbits were tall with the exception of Scott. In physical appearance he had a distinct Scotch look—somewhat sandy hair and beard—a very alert countenance, and he was a man who would easily have been taken for a Scotchman if he had lived in Scotland.

All three of the men carried many of the characteristics of their mother through life, but Scott, I think, had the greater tenderness of feeling and sentiment. This can well be illustrated by a little poem which I found in one of the little cornmonplace books he left, and which reads as follows:

My Uncle Scott was characterized more than by any other one trait, probably, for his absolute courage and nerve. There are two types of men: those who have physical courage and those who have nerve or moral courage. Some men are like big brutes, they do not have physical fear but are often very weak in pure nerve. The best illustration of Uncle Scott’s nerve, that I know, arose when he was in a bank at Osceola.

A client, whom my father successfully defended when indicted for murder, came in and told him the committee were coming. My father and other men offered to go and stay at Uncle Scott’s house. He would not have it. He built a barricade inside his front door and was well armed, and Aunt Nettie had two revolvers. The barricade was made by pushing bureaus up beside the front door and filling them with bags of dirt, which he thought would stop any bullet. The committee did not come for days and the matter got on the nerves of all the people who were fearing it. One night, about one o’clock, five or six men tramped up the boardwalk into Uncle Scott’s gate and up on to the porch. They knocked on the front door with the butts of their guns.

Aunt Nettle awakened first, Uncle Scott was half asleep, and awoke in a half-dazed condition. She was up and had put on her wrapper and had a six-shooter in her hand. Uncle Scott said he reached under the bed, scarcely knowing what he was doing, he was so sleepy, but that when his hand touched the cold steel of the double-barrel shotgun, he was instantly and completely awakened.

As he was getting on some clothes, Aunt Nettie, from our in the hail, called back:

He went to the front door and got behind the barricade, stuck his gun through the glass in the door and said:

"Now, you men get off this porch at once, or I am going to shoot and blow holes in every one of you!"

They got off more quickly than they had come on to it, and they went out of town where a mob of over 150 men were collected awaiting their report, and told them that if they went in there a lot of men were going to get killed. They did not go in.

When he regained consciousness, he was lying in a bed in a farm house, a quarter of a mile away. One of the children had seen the runaway, and the people of the farm house had carried him into the house. When he opened his eyes, the first thing he said was:

They told him they had it.

The team ran away and came into Osceola with shreds only of the harness, and the town feared the worst for Uncle Scott. But he was back in the bank the next day, with the $25,000 intact.

He was a man of great courtesy and kindness. In this connection I recall a story illustrating this characteristic and his ability. He underestimated, modestly his own capacity and attainments.

While in the U. S. Treasury Department during the hot summer season, a young newspaper man came to him in deep distress.

"Mr. Nesbit," said he, "my boss (the correspondent for the then powerful New York Herald) has gone away for a fishing trip. He left me some copy to send in each day. But a wire has just come asking him to wire a 2,000-word article on the Financial Situation and Outlook. I can’t reach him, and I can’t write such an article. Won’t you help me?"

"‘Well," said my uncle, "come around after 4 P. M. I’ll see what I can do."

The young fellow wrote shorthand. Uncle Scott started in with a survey of Europe and the World. The London situation, the French, the German, South America, Japan and China—a general survey of the world’s finances. Then he came to this country and covered the Agricultural situation—the Cotton and Tobacco outlook—then money, interest rates, demands immediate and probably with a forecast of what might be expected. So the young fellow wrote it up, and wired it over in the name of the correspondent, who when he returned from fishing in the Blue Ridge Mountains, beyond Harpers Ferry, found a very warm letter of congratulation and commendation from the Editor in New York on his able article.

Uncle Scott laughed about this and said to me, "Charles, I wonder if what we read so earnestly in the financial columns isn’t often about that inconsequential."

He was wrong. He knew more by far about financial matters than most correspondents who wrote about them so learnedly.

Uncle Scott had a class of boys in the Sunday School at Osceola, but felt his duty lasted over the entire week. They were indebted to him for education and success and a training they got nowhere else.

George Daniels, a prominent lawyer of St. Clair County, years later said to me: "I owe more to your Uncle Scott than to any one on earth."

My father, Uncle Scott, Harrison and Don, who were going to school, myself and Walter, who were working, went up to Washington every morning on the train. A hungry group of six young people, with the four parents and generally some guests, met about the dinner table at night.

From here I attended the Episcopal Theological Seminary back of us on Seminary Hill, where Phillips Brooks, Bishop Potter, and Bishop Kinsolving graduated, among others. Harrison attended the Episcopal High School nearby. Here he won scholastic and athletic triumphs. I recall the day he won the foot race. He was sick in the morning, and had eaten no breakfast, and his people did not want him to run, but when they were lining up he appeared, and by sheer nerve went ahead of all, to fall in a faint after winning.

Harrison Nesbit knew him very well, as they were great friends and companions, Harrison greatly admiring him as a boy.

The following letter from Harrison, transmitting a tribute to my father, was the last letter I ever received from him.

Organized 1810

National Association

Capital, $3,000,000.00

Pittsburgh, Pa.

Harrison Nesbit,

President.

Chas. F. Nesbit, Esq.,

1200 15th Street N. W.,

Dear Charlie:

Last Saturday afternoon I had a few minutes off from the regular grind, and dictated the enclosed with reference to your father. It is in the rough, I have not attempted to polish it, but am sending it on for your perusal, and if you think it at all worth while, you can send it back and I will trim it up.

There is another instance that I might have related. In November of 1890 I was trudging down Newspaper Row on 14th Street with Uncle Frank, and we met Mr. Wm. McKinley. Mr. McKinley and Uncle Frank had gone to school in the same town, although to different schools, but played together and grew up as boys. Mr. McKinley had just been defeated for Congress in his district in Ohio. Uncle Frank was very kindly and sympathetic, and told him of his great regret at his defeat. Mr. McKinley said, "Frank, I am done for politically, I have been a single-idea man in public life; have devoted my abilities to the tariff; my Bill has been submitted to the country, and overwhelmingly repudiated. I will never be a candidate for public office again." Uncle Frank was reassuring, told him that the clouds would soon roll by and that it would not be long until he would think differently about it. Seven years from that date Mr. McKinley was President of the United States, and had served two terms as Governor of Ohio in the meantime.

I heard this conversation myself, and no doubt you may think well to record it.

It is a great pity that we have so little documentary data with reference to your father. As you know, he never wrote anything that he didn’t have to. I doubt seriously whether he ever wrote out a speech that he delivered. He didn’t have to—he could make them without elaborate preparation.

I am really ashamed of this inadequate summing up of Uncle Frank’s life. Some way I feel that it doesn’t do him justice at all, but if you will peruse it, tear it to pieces, if you please, and give me any suggestions that you have to offer, I will appreciate it. As I have said, it is very crude, and I have not taken the time to polish it up at all.

(Signed) HARRISON.

"It has been my privilege to know five generations of Nesbits—the generation of which my grandfather and grandmother were a part, then their three boys, and the eleven children arising from these three Nesbit families, their offspring, and now the children of that generation’s children.

"In all of these five generations I have never known a Nesbit to be arrested, and consequently none ever convicted of a misdemeanor or a felony.

"My father, Uncle Frank and Uncle Charlie were three of the finest men I have ever come in contact with. No one of them was ever a dictator or a boss in his relations with the others, I presume largely because no one of the three were ever capable of being bossed. Their life and relations together constituted the finest example of brotherly love and cooperation that it has ever been my experience to observe. They faced the world with a calm confidence that commanded the respect of every one. There used to be a saying in St. Clair County, Missouri, that when you jumped on any one of ‘them Nesbits’, you had the whole pack of them down on you in a jiffy.

"I think that my Uncle Frank was by far the most finished member of the Nesbit family. He was a very talented and cultured gentleman. He had a carriage and a manner of tossing his head that immediately marked him for distinction. His courtesy toward women, and his profound respect for them was markedly outstanding. He was the cleverest man in a drawing room or on a stump that it has ever been my good fortune to observe.

"I do not know where my Uncle Frank studied law, but probably with some law firm in Ohio, because in those days law schools were not as numerous as they are now. I remember my father telling of Uncle Frank’s graduation at the Presbyterian Academy at Poland, Ohio. He was the valedictorian of his class, and the commencement exercises were held in the Presbyterian Church at Poland. Grandfather Nesbit wanted to see his boy graduate, but was in some way delayed and did not get there until after Uncle Frank had concluded his speech. Just as grandfather entered the church, a man came running out, shouting at the top of his voice, "The world for Frank Nesbit". He had a wonderful gift of oratory then, and retained it up until the time of his death.

"When I came along, Uncle Frank was then not only the leading lawyer of St. Clair County, but was one of the outstanding lawyers of the State. In those days there were no title companies or trust companies and actual law business was in very much greater volume than is now practiced. At that time they rode the circuit, and I can distinctly remember Uncle Frank riding through town on a big bay horse by the name of ‘Scum’, saddle bags over the saddle, on his way to the county seat of Hickory County or Polk County, or some other adjoining county to try lawsuits.

"In one year, in St. Clair County, there were 13 violent killings, commonly known as murders. Uncle Frank defended all thirteen. Eleven of them were acquitted, one went to the penitentiary for five years, and one for fourteen years. Mr. France, who went to the penitentiary for fourteen years, was pardoned within a few months after they took him to the penitentiary. In after years Uncle Frank once expressed to me his great regret that he had lent his abilities towards getting these unfortunates out of the toils, his thought being that his action in the matter was not conducive to the best interests of law and order, but he turned it away by saying, ‘But my boy, I was their lawyer, and they were my clients.’

"When I was attending the public schools at Osceola, my Father was rather strict with me. I was never allowed to come from school down town. I was always directed to go home and clean out the stable, or stack wood in the wood house, or do some other particular chore that was not entirely to my liking. It was a hard life, and I was sure of it.

"One afternoon there was a big Democratic political meeting in town, and I braved the waters by going to the meeting instead of going home. It was quite a cold afternoon and instead of having the speaking out in the court house yard, it was held in the court house. Governor Crittenden, the then Governor of Missouri, was there, and with him was United States Senator George Graham Vest. Uncle Frank was the third speaker. Ladies did not attend political meetings in those times. It was thought wisdom that they stay at home and attend to their wifely and household duties.

"Uncle Frank was sitting up on the Judge’s bench. Both Governor Crittenden and Senator Vest had great reputations as public speakers, and deservedly so, too, but neither one of them could hold a candle to Frank Nesbit.

"When Uncle Frank arose to speak, it was not five minutes until he had the entire audience on their feet yelling like Comanches. He addressed himself to those principles of Democracy that then, and as now, make it the great political party of the country. Although I was but a small boy, I will never forget that speech. Uncle Irwin Thomas (everybody called him Uncle), an old Confederate soldier from up in Roscoe Township, was in the audience. When Uncle Frank got well warmed into his speech he had the tears running down Uncle Irwin’s face, and I am quite sure that if anyone had said that anything that Uncle Frank was expounding was not true, he would have shortly had something very serious happen to him. Men wore their politics next their heart to a very much greater degree then, than is now done.

"After an afternoon of delight and pleasure I went home, but was very shortly escorted to the woodhouse, took my punishment, and didn’t mind it a whole lot, either.

"Uncle Frank took a very active interest in State politics in Missouri. He made one race for Congress from our district. There were three candidates, W. J. Stone, of Vernon County; Chas. Morgan, of Barton County, and Uncle Frank. The convention was in deadlock for three weeks, Uncle Frank being the leading candidate for the Democratic nomination. The convention adjourned for ten days and reassembled at Nevada, Mo., which was the county seat of Vernon County. It remained in deadlock for several days, and finally resulted in the nomination of Mr. Morgan, Uncle Frank having thrown his strength to him. In later years Mr. Stone, who was afterwards Governor, defeated Mr. Morgan for the nomination in that same district, and in later life Uncle Frank and W. J. Stone were very close friends and political associates.

"I well remember the day that we all gathered at Uncle Charlie’s farm to say good-bye to Uncle Frank, who was leaving to accept an important appointment in the then Bureau of Agriculture (now the Department of Agriculture) in Mr. Cleveland’s first administration. This was in the spring of 1885. At any family gathering, everybody, including the children, were taken along. Even old Aunt Mary Fewell, who raised the four children in our immediate family, was taken along as a general helper out.

"Grandmother Nesbit’s pride and affection for her boy was beautiful to witness. Uncle Frank was driving to Appleton City to take the train. Her affectionate good-bye to him was a beautiful tribute, and as matters turned out, it was the last time she ever saw him, as Uncle Frank was very much engrossed in his duties in Washington, and did not return to the county until her death.

"Uncle Frank was a great admirer and friend of Grover Cleveland. He also became the intimate friend of Mr. Cleveland’s closest personal friend, Mr. Jos. S. Miller, who was Commissioner of Internal Revenue. One night Uncle Frank and Mr. Miller had stayed down town in Washington until quite late—as I recall it until about 1:30 in the morning. They may have been attending to business, but I think that they were celebrating just a bit. They walked past the White House, and saw a light in the President's study, and went in. Mr. Cleveland was busy going over a lot of pension bills. They sat down, and it was not very long until the President turned to my Uncle and said, ‘Frank, I wrote you a letter about two weeks ago, asking for the appointment of a Mrs. Williams to a $1,600 position in the Agricultural Department, and I have heard nothing from it.’ Uncle Frank explained that there wasn’t any vacancy, and that Mrs. Williams wou1d be appointed just as soon as one occurred. Mr. Cleveland then dryly remarked, ‘Well, Frank, I just wanted to find out if I had any influence with this administration.’

"In the campaign of 1888, Uncle Frank did not come to Missouri at all. It was safely Democratic, and he was not needed out there. The National Committee assigned him for campaign duty in New York State, and he made many speeches

there in company with Mr. Smith M. Weed. The Saturday night before the election they arrived in New York City, and visited Democratic National Headquarters. The headquarters were on the sixth floor. Either they didn’t have an elevator, or else it wasn’t running, so these two gentlemen had to walk to the sixth floor. Mr. Weed was a very stout man, and when they got to the office of the committee, Mr. Weed stuck his head in the door, and inquired, ‘Is God in?’ Uncle Frank used to tell this story, and laugh about it a good deal. It seemed to strike his funny bone.

"Uncle Frank told me that the most disappointing night of his life was when they were gathered at the White House the night of the election which resulted in Mr. Cleveland’s defeat by a very narrow margin.

"At the close of the first Cleveland administration Uncle Frank naturally, very shortly went out of office. He remained in Washington and practiced law up until the time illness overcame him in 1894, which resulted in his untimely death at Newport News. He was buried from father’s house in Washington. The entire Missouri delegation in Congress, together with the two United States Senators were his pall bearers. I am wrong about this; there was one Republican Congressman from Missouri at that time, but we didn’t know him, so he wasn’t at the funeral.

"When Uncle Frank was in Washington during Mr. Cleveland’s first administration, my father and my Uncle Charlie had loaned a very considerable amount of money to a man by the name of Williams, who came up from Vernon County and occupied the Kidd farm which lay about five miles north of Lowry City. Williams had a great amount of blooded shorthorns, percheron stallions and brood mares galore. The Nesbit boys had loaned him, as I recall it, $40,000.00 on this stock and took a chattel mortgage. Mr. John H. Lucas went down to Vernon County, searched the records, and found no judgments against Mr. Williams. Father and Uncle Charlie thoug₁it they were entirely safe.

"One Sunday morning just about daylight, my cousin, Clark Nesbit, rode up to our house at Osceola, with a message from Uncle Charlie to father and as Clark put it, ‘Uncle Scott, some jay-hawking thieves from Kansas drove all the Williams stock away during the night, and are on their way to Kansas, and father wants you at Lowry City as soon as you can get there.’

"I went out and hitched a horse by the name of Dixie to a buggy. When we got to the river, it was quite high, and father would not wait to wake up old Dick Perrin, who ran the local ferry. We plunged the horse right into the river, had to swim him part way across, but we got across safely, and we drove the seven miles to Lowry as fast as we could. When we got to Uncle Charlie’s the Nesbit family and the Williams family and their cohorts were gathered. All were armed with double barrel shotguns loaded with buckshot. A consultation ensued between Uncle Charlie and father, and I remember Uncle Charlie saying, ‘Scott, don’t you wish Frank was here; this is a serious thing.’

"I very well recall my grandmother’s funeral. Uncle Frank arrived from Washington in the caboose of a freight train the morning of the day of her funeral. She had lived most of her life in St. Clair County, had been one of the charter members of the Westfield Presbyterian Church. She probably knew everybody in the county, and Grandmother Nesbit was an institution in that county. It seemed that the whole countryside turned out to the funeral. She was buried from the old Presbyterian parsonage where she and grandfather had lived for some years before her death. Uncle Frank had not been in the county for several years. He was one of the most popular men that ever resided in the county. He felt that it was his duty to meet and speak to the people who were there assembled, and I will never cease to wonder at the grace and courtesy with which he met his old friends and acquaintances. Chesterfield had some reputation, but he would have had a hard time in coming up to Uncle Frank.

"I spent a great deal of time at the house of Uncle Frank and Aunt Ellen, lived with them, day in and day out, and if they ever had a disagreement or a cross word, I never heard it, nor did I ever see any evidence of it.

"As I said before, Francis Clark Nesbit was the most finished member of our family that I have ever known. He was a gentleman by birth, by instinct and by training. He was ever the leader in any company of men that he was in, and I have always felt that the great abilities he possessed were never rewarded as they should have been. He would have made a great Governor of his State, or a great President of the United States, and it is my judgment and conviction that both his state and the country missed a great deal."

My father was very fond of poetry, this fondness I think he inherited from his mother. His favorite poem was Gray’s "Elegy", written in a country churchyard, and I have heard him recite it in entirety more than once:

He made very warm and lasting friends. One of his most intimate friends in Washington, and one that he admired a great deal was ‘William A. Day, who was an auditor in the Treasury Department under Cleveland, and who came to Washington about the time my father did. Mr. Day was later made President of the Equitable Life Assurance Association of New York. I never saw him in New York or anywhere else but that he always spoke most feelingly of my father and his high character and attainments as a man.

I will give one little illustration of his kindliness.

He understood people and his courtesy simply grew out of his natural kindness of heart and his sympathy for others.

On one of his trips for cattle my father told of a few days spent at the log home of a man who had lived for many years in the Ozark Mountains. About the second night, after supper, when they were all gathered about the fire, the man turned his piercing black eyes on my father and said:

My father said they did. The man then went and got out a big picture—cut from a railway advertisement of a railway engine with a train of cars—all engines then had the big balloon type of smoke stack—and brought it into the firelight.

"‘Wall, fellow citizen," said he, "does that thair picture look like them?"

My father said it did.

My father tried to explain the idea of the flanges on the wheels, but the man, nor any of his family or neighbors, had ever seen a railroad train and they couldn’t understand him. So my father took two straight split sticks of firewood, laid them on the floor parallel, then took two pie plates from the cupboard nearby and illustrated his meaning by rolling the pie plates with the flange or rim of each on the inside of this wooden track and explaining how the axles went through the center of the wheels and supported engine and cars.

They all listened intently and asked several more questions. Then the man drew a deep breath and said, "Well, my friend, I can see it now and it shore does take a load of worry off my mind, for I couldn’t figure it out how men could guide that

engine on two such narrow tracks; and I’ve worried over it a heap."

My father could see the man’s troubled mind’ and set him right.

When my father and Uncle Charles were ready to start on, having bought all the calves they could in that neighborhood, the man refused any pay, declaring it had been a great pleasure to have them, and begging they would "come agin next year and stay longer and bring yer wimmen folks." But my father and uncle, while thanking him, said they wanted to make a present to his wife and the children and they gave them each a silver dollar, which to them was a lot of money, and was big pay for the board, as board went in those days—$5.OO for five days’ board of two men and two horses and the use of a pen for the cattle they had bought and brought in, and for fodder for the cattle.

Charles Wright Nesbit loved the country and was fond of livestock. He understood cattle and horses and all kinds of live animals. He introduced into the section in which we lived thoroughbred Durham cattle, "short horns" they were called in contradistinction to the native "Long Horns." He imported sheep from Canada, thoroughbred Cottswolds.

I recall the "Duke of Monegaw", a Durham bull for which he paid $1,500.00, an unheard of price for that part of thee country. And "Hampton", always called "Hamp", a great big splendid ram from Canada. We boys taught him to butt. We would get near a barn door, or a corner of a corn crib, and put our heads down and make a bleating noise at him, till he would come full tilt, then we would dodge (if we could). Some time afterwards Grandfather Nesbit was working on a gate laid flat, and was bending over it boring some gimlet holes for screws, and "Hamp" saw him from a distance and started full speed. Some of the family called to grandfather but too late. "Hamp" hit him in the rear and boosted the old gentleman about five feet and he got a bad fall, and the gimlet ran through his hand. We children were much chagrinned that we had taught "Hamp" the habit.

Uncle Charles was frequently called on the Grand Jury and was often foreman. He had great courage; when he thought a certain way was right, he never hesitated in his course. He was an ardent and consistent church member, superintendent of the Sunday School for years and years. He was a tetotaller, and always a strong temperance advocate. I can sum up his life’s activities by saying that no more useful citizen ever lived anywhere in this country. He was a great family man, devoted to his relatives and they to him. He stuck at farming and stockraising much longer than Frank or Scott, and he made less money for that reason. Finally, he went into the banking business in Lowry City, but bought a small farm lying right up to town. He could not get away from the pleasures of country life.

Uncle Charles was a man who inspired confidence; everyone who knew him trusted him. When a banker in Lowry City he was the confidante of many people. An incident of the panic of 1893 illustrates the confidence men had in him, not only as to his honesty but as to his judgment and his ability to take care of himself in any situation.

When the bank failures during the panic were at their worst, in Missouri at least, a string of little batiks below Osceola had failed, and the Osceola banks were in a shaky condition. Uncle Charles went up to Kansas City to see his friend, the cashier of the Bank of Commerce. In this bank he kept most of the money of his own bank. The cashier told him things were bad.

The cashier said: "Nesbit, I do not see how I can do it, but come around at 3 o’clock and I will let you have $10,000 sure and the $25,000 if possible."

‘Uncle Charles walked out into the street not looking the worry which filled his mind. About luncheon time he ran into Tom Green, a big cattle man near Lowry. Green was delighted to see him and insisted they go to lunch. When in a corner of the big hotel dining room Green said: "Nesbit, I sure am glad to see you. I just sold 10 carloads of cattle, and 12 don’t know what to do with the money."

"Cash !—by crecky, cash! I sold them to old Armour and told him it was cash or no sale. Too many banks are breaking for me to take a check."

Uncle Charles, telling me of the incident, said: "I tried to look unconcerned, but inside I was all excitement, as agitated as an old-fashioned butter churn when the girl churning was in a hurry to meet her beau."

"Now, Charlie," went on Green, "I don’t want to impose on you, but I don’t like to carry $40,000 around with me. I am going to deposit it in your bank, and I was wondering if you couldn’t take it now. I’ve got some things to buy for the Missus."

"You shall have it," said the cashier.

The cashier looked a little astonished, but said: "If it’s humanly possible, Nesbit, I’ll do it."

"Well, can you accept a $40,000 deposit in cash now

When the cashier saw the money and that it wasn’t a joke, he just threw his arms around Uncle Charles’ neck and gave him a hearty hug.

The Lowry City Bank held the line. It never failed.

Charles W. Nesbit was the moral leader of the north end of St. Clair County. In those years when he lived there, following the Civil War with its upheavals and the disintegrating effects on character, caused by the terrible financial depression of 1873-9 in a new country, it took character and brains, nerve and brawn to be a real leader.

He was the head man of the widespread organization of citizens who banded together to protect not only their rights but right. This brought him some grave responsibilities and thrilling experiences.

I recall with what pride I saw him walk directly up to a ruffianly fellow named Gibbons at a church meeting and say, "You are under arrest and must come with me to the Justice of the Peace." Gibbons was a tough character and a man proud of his fighting ability. He called several times on a very pretty girl, and at the fourth call within two weeks her brother met him at the door, told him his sister did not care to see him, that it would be better if he discontinue his calls.

Gibbons went away brooding revenge.

At a church service two weeks later, as the meeting broke up Gibbons planted himself beside the door and when the brother came out the door hit him a blow on the jaw which put him to sleep. He was carried into the church and some thought he was dead, but he revived. There was sudden and intense excitement. Uncle Charles was up in the front of the church but when told what had happened walked straight to Gibbons and arrested him. Uncle Charles was not a law officer, but the secret organization he belonged to was the law. The Vigilantes, similar organizations were called all over the west.

An instance will show their responsibility. One fall day a young farmer’s wife was assaulted by two strange men. She was a strong young woman and put up a fight and broke away from the two of them and ran for the house. One of them threw a stick of stove wood at her and hit her on the head, knocking her unconscious. Then they fled thinking they had killed her. The woman recovered and got into the house and when her husband came home, heard her story and saw her plight, he saddled a horse and headed straight for Uncle Charles. He arrived at Uncle Charles’ farm about 6 P. M. The Vigilance Committee knew its duties. By 10 P. M. twenty men were riding and by 1 A. M. 60 men were in the saddle. Parties were sent to each ferry and ford of the Osage, which makes a wide bend through the country, and Llewellyn School, near which the assault occured, is more than half surrounded in its sweeping curve. As the river was high they expected to get word of these two men from one of the ferry men if they had gone south. Uncle Charles and two other members had gone to the upper ferry at Osceola, which they reached between 4 and 5 o’clock A. M. They "hello’d" to Dick Perrin, the old ferryman, but couldn’t raise any one, so built a big fire and sat down till daybreak. When Perrin came over he swore no one at all like the men described had crossed.

They went into Osceola and took breakfast with Dan Gilson, the miller. He was one of the secret circle, but none of them could get a trace or clue.

They started back and rode north toward the Henry County line. About 3 P. M. they got some clues and about 4 P. M. found a man who told them the name of one of the fellows. The description agreed almost perfectly with the one they had from the husband: "Tall, black hair, black moustache, handsome, well built, riding a yellow or cream colored mare." The farmer giving this description said the man had been under suspicion. They learned he had gone away for the day but was expected back about 6 P. M., so they slowly rode down the road over which he would probably return.

As it was getting dusk they spied a solitary horseman coming towards them on a cream-colored horse. As he drew near they were sure it was their man. They planned the capture.

"Now, men," said Uncle Charles, "we will split the road and let him go between us. I will halt him and I will do the talking, but if any shooting is to be done you be sure that he doesn’t do it." He was soon up to them and they swung out either side and he started through. When opposite, Uncle Charles said: "Halt—throw up your hands !" The fellow looked greatly surprised, but seeing four armed men, complied at once. They took a pistol from him and told him he must come along. Before they had gone far Uncle Charles told him what he was wanted for. He protested his innocence but was cool about it. About 9:30 P. M. they got to Uncle Charles’ home. The horses were jaded, the men were tired. The women got supper. The horses were fed and the men rested a while. The fellow ate a good supper but was alert, and always looking. Two men stopped in while they were eating—conferred privately with Uncle Charles and then hurried on to Llewellyn School House, the agreed meeting place.

By 11 P.M. they were again in the saddle. Then, for Uncle Charles at least, the hard part of it all began. The man asked Uncle Charles to ride alone with him a ways. Two men went on ahead and one behind and Uncle Charles said he never heard such pleading. "Mr. Nesbit, don’t let them kill me. I am innocent. You have the wrong man. I swear I was never within five miles of this place in all my life," and so on.

Uncle Charles, believing him to be the man, made no promises, but after a time, thinking it over, he saw the danger as even the man could not know it and he said to him, "Well, my man, your life isn’t in very good case, but I give you my word as a man that I will do everything in my power to save you, unless I become convinced you are guilty." Uncle Charles then called the other men up and outlined his plan to them. "We must not let this man die unless he is the man we are after," and Burke and Wilson, his neighbors, agreed.

Uncle Charles then drew a long breath for the first time for quite a while. The men took him out and apologized, but that was unnecessary; the man was earnestly thanking them. They sent him off and went back to the crowd.

They never found the guilty men, but some six years later when one of them had died and the other was in the penitentiary for a later crime, Dick Perrin, the fcrryman, told Uncle Charles he had carried these two over the river only about two hours before they called him. One of the men was a friend of his and he purposely threw them off the track.

I wrote this incident down just thirty years ago, as I heard Uncle Charles tell it at one of our family gatherings, and I have given it as then written.

Uncle Charles was, like all the three brothers, fond of poetry. One of his favorites was "Mortality", which was also the favorite of Abraham Lincoln.

Oh, why should the spirit of mortal be proud?

Like a fast-flitting meteor, a fast-flying cloud,

A flash of the lightning, a break of the wave,

He passes from life to his rest in the grave.

The leaves of the oak and the willow shall fade,

Be scattered around and together be laid;

And the young and the old, and the low and the high,

Shall moulder to dust and together shall lie.

The saint that enjoyed the communion of Heaven,

The sinner that dared to remain unforgiven,

The wise and the foolish, the guilty and just,

Have quietly mingled their bones in the dust.

So the multitude goes, like the flower and the weed,

That wither away to let others succeed;

So the multitude comes, even those we behold,

To repeat every tale that hath often been told.

For we are the same that our fathers have been;

We see the same sights that our fathers have seen—

We drink the same stream and we feel the same sun,

And we run the same course that our fathers have run.

The thoughts we are thinking our fathers would think;

From the death we are shrinking from, they, too, would shrink;

To the life we are clinging to they, too, would cling,

But it speeds from the earth like a bird on the wing.

They died—ay! they died, and we things that are now,

Who walk on the turf that lies over their brow,

Who make in their dwelling a transient abode,

Meet the changes they met on their pilgrimage road.

‘Tis the wink of an eye, ‘tis the draught of a breath,

From the blossom of health to the paleness of death,

From the gilded salon to the bier and the shroud—

Oh, why should the spirit of mortal be proud?

Uncle Charles seemed to have a greater affection for the homestead in Pennsylvania, "Chestnut Grove", than any of the others. It must have been a very fine and beautiful farm and home. Grandfather John C. Nesbit had made it. He seldom spoke of it though, as did grandmother, but Uncle Charles seemed to often speak of it with genuine longing. One of his favorite poems was

PAST AND PRESENT

By Thomas Hood

I remember, I remember,

The little window where the sun

I used to think their slender tops

It was a childish ignorance,

To know I’m farther off from Heaven