initial step in my journey from Ocean to Ocean was taken at ten o'clock on the morning of the above date when I mounted my horse in front of the Revere House, Boston, and started for Worcester, where it had been announced I would lecture on the following evening. The Revere House was fixed upon by comrades of the G. A. R. as a rendezvous before starting. Here I found a large gathering of the Order. A rain storm setting in as I put my foot into the stirrup, hasty adieus were said to the Boys in Blue and others as I was about riding away from the "Revere."
I was escorted to Bunker Hill and thence to Brighton by many comrades and friends, among them Colonels John F. Finley and E. A. Williston, who were mounted; and Captain Charles W. Thompson, adjutant-general Department of Massachusetts; Captain Theodore L. Kelly, commander of Post 15; Grafton Fenno, adjutant, Post 7, G. A. R., and many others in carriages.
Our route from Boston was by way of Charlestown and Cambridge to Brighton. A short halt was made at Bunker Hill. After a hurried look at the Monument we rode around it and then headed for Brighton. The rain was now falling in torrents and quickening our pace we passed rapidly through Cambridge, glancing hastily at the University Buildings as we galloped down the main thoroughfare of the city.
Brighton was reached between twelve and one o'clock. Owing to the storm our short journey to this place was anything but agreeable and when we dismounted at the Cattle Fair Hotel all who were not in covered conveyances were drenched to the skin. Here the entire party had dinner, after which I took leave of my friendly escort, who one and all took me by the hand and wished me Godspeed.
Pushing on through Newton and some smaller towns and villages I pulled up in front of the South Framingham House a few minutes after five o'clock in the evening. My clothing was thoroughly soaked and my cavalry boots filled to overflowing. Having secured accommodations for the night, Paul was fed and groomed; clothing and equipments hung up to dry and the first day of my long ride from sea to sea was off the calendar.
Second Day
I slept soundly at the South Framingham House and was up and out to the hotel stable at an early hour in the morning. I found Paul Revere, my equine companion, in good spirits and fancied that the significant look he gave me was an assurance that he would be ready for the road when called for.
After a hearty breakfast and a few questions concerning the beautiful little city in which I had spent the first night of my journey, I mounted Paul and rode out towards the Boston and Albany Turnpike. Being impressed with the appearance and enterprise of the place, while passing through some of its streets especial inquiry was made concerning its population, schools and industries. I learned that South Framingham is twenty-one miles from Boston, at the junction of the Boston and Albany and Old Colony Railways. Its population at that time was about 10,000. Its graded schools are among the first in the State. It supports several banks and newspapers and is engaged in the manufacture of woollens, rubber goods, boots and shoes, harness and machinery.
The ride from South Framingham to Worcester was uneventful if I except the pelting rain which from drizzle to down-pour followed me from start to finish. Indeed, it really seemed as though the first days of my journey were to be baptismal days and I regret exceedingly that these early stages of the trip were not more propitious; for, had the weather been less disagreeable, I should have seen Eastern Massachusetts under much more favorable circumstances.
The city limits of Worcester were reached at four o'clock in the afternoon and a half hour later I was registered at the Bay State House. Many relatives called upon me here, most of whom were residents of the city and vicinity. Lectured at the Opera House in the evening, being introduced to my audience by Colonel Finley of Charlestown, to whom previous reference has been made, and with whom I had arranged to accompany me as far as Syracuse, New York, and further if my advance agents should think it advisable for him to do so.
The fact that both my father and mother were natives of Worcester County and that most of our ancestors for several generations had been residents of Worcester and vicinity made that city of unusual interest to me, and I trust the reader will be indulgent if I allot too much space or seem too partial in my description of this early landmark in my journey.
Worcester, nestling among the hills along the Blackstone River, the second city in Massachusetts, the heart of the Commonwealth, has a population of about 85,000.
Shut in by its wall of hills, it seemed, as I first came into it, something like a little miniature world in itself. It possesses some share of all the good we know. Nature, that "comely mother," has laid her caressing hand upon it. Art has made many a beautiful structure to adorn its streets. Commerce smiles upon it. While its wonderful manufactures seem to form a great living, throbbing heart for the city.
Sauntering up from the depot, through Front street, five minutes' walk brought me to the Old Common. There I found, what one so frequently finds in Massachusetts towns and cities – namely, a War Monument. Apparently that mighty five years' struggle, that brilliant victory, bringing freedom to two million fellow-creatures, bringing power, union, glory to the nation, has burned itself into the very heart of the Old Bay State; and lest posterity might forget the lessons she learned from 1861 to 1865, everywhere she has planted her war monuments, to remind her children that
"Simple duty has no place for fear."
In the shade of Worcester Common is another object of interest. A little plot of ground, wherein stands a grand old tomb. It is the resting-place of Timothy Bigelow, the early patriot of Worcester. Here in the sunshine and the twilight, in the bloom of summer, and under the soft falling snows of winter, he perpetually manifests to the world
"How sleep the brave, who sink to rest
By all their country's wishes blest."
A sturdy old New Englander was Colonel Bigelow. "When the news of the destruction of the tea in Boston Harbor reached him, he was at work in his blacksmith shop, near the spot now called Lincoln Square. He immediately laid aside his tools, proceeded directly to his house, opened the closet, and took from it a canister of tea, went to the fire-place, and poured the contents into the flames. As if feeling that everything which had come in contact with British legislative tyranny should be purified by fire, the canister followed the tea; and then he covered both with coals.
"Before noon on the nineteenth of April, 1775, an express came to town, shouting, as he passed through the street at full speed, 'To arms! to arms! – the war's begun.' His white horse, bloody with spurring, and dripping with sweat, fell exhausted by the church. Another was instantly procured, and the tidings went on. The bell rang out the alarm, cannon were fired, and messengers were sent to every part of the town to collect the soldiery. As the news spread, the implements of husbandry were thrown by in the field; and the citizens left their homes, with no longer delay than to seize their arms. In a short time, the 'minute-men' were paraded on the green, under Captain Timothy Bigelow. After fervent prayer by Rev. Mr. Maccarty, they took up their line of march to the scene of conflict." Such was Bigelow's zeal and ardor in the great cause of the times, that he appeared on the following morning, at the head of his "minute-men," in the square at Watertown, having marched them there, a distance of over thirty miles, during that one short night.
On the nineteenth of April, 1861, the Bigelow Monument was dedicated. At the very hour of the consecration exercises, the Massachusetts Sixth Regiment was engaged in its memorable struggle and triumphant passage through the blockaded streets of Baltimore at the beginning of the Civil War.
Along the west side of the Old Common runs Main street, just out of which, in Pearl street, is the Post Office. I have seen a curious computation with regard to that Post Office development, which aptly illustrates the rapid growth of Worcester. The number of letters sent out
