T CHAPTER XVIII SAGAMORE HILL HE other day I motored out to Sagamore Hill; the visit was very different from earlier ones. The house was closed, the children had gone out into life, the wife who had so much to do with the character, happiness and success of her husband had gone to France to visit the grave of Quentin. As I came up the hill a feeling of insufferable sadness came over me. As I looked at the vacant house from which the strong man had gone and the stillness of the house, once the home of about the happiest and liveliest family in America, my eyes moistened. I felt that I should never see the face of my friend again, or enjoy his sweet companionship in that house and on that porch. But suddenly the spirit of Roosevelt came to me that of courage and hope. And a light shown about me and I felt that the ground on which I stood was holy ground, because it had been sanctified by his footsteps. I did not feel so much like crying as I did like singing a psalm of thanksgiving that he had ever come into my life and that the world had been so blessed by him. I stopped at the old elm tree at the corner of the porch which the Colonel loved almost as a person, and through whose beauty and refreshment he so often communed with his Maker. He loved it so dearly, and was so afraid that the storms might hurt it, that he had the great lower branches fastened with iron stays. He called it his weeping elm. I went around to the other side of the house and looked down into the thick woods where he went so often to chop. And I seemed to hear the strokes of his axe and the crash of the tall tree as it fell. I looked down into the field in which he worked at harvest time as vigorously as any of his farmhands and thought of how he used to toss the hay with his strong arms up to the man on the top of the wagon. I saw the cows in the pasture of which he was so fond. I breathed the perfume of the flowers that were so delicious to him, and listened to the song of the birds that knew him and gave him a continuous serenade. I went down to the stable and there met a very remarkable character, the Colonel's chauffeur, Charles Lee. I knew how much Colonel Roosevelt trusted and loved him and I said to him, "I know a good many things about Mr. Roosevelt, but you were with him so much that I thought you might tell me some things about him I had never heard.” He said to me, "You need not introduce yourself to me, for I have seen you and the Colonel together so often and I will gladly tell you something about him." "Come indoors," he said, "and sit down and I will talk to you." I said to him, "This piece of board that comes out from the wall on the porch is about the right width and height for a writing table, and so if you will give me a chair I will sit down here and make notes on this writing tablet, which I desire to put into the book I am writing on the Colonel." He went into the garage and came out with a chair in his hand and set it down by this improvised writing-desk, and as he did so said, "We will begin with the chair in which you are seated. That was the Colonel's favorite study chair. In it he did much of his reading and writing; I think it was the last chair in which he sat downstairs. He said a little while before his death, 'Lee, you have been with me a long time and a true friend; I am going to give you my chair that I love so well, to remember me by.' And that is the chair. It is precious to me. There is not money enough in the Oyster Bay bank to buy it." "Lee, how long were you with the Colonel?" I asked. "Seventeen years," he replied. Then I said, "You were a lucky man and a rich man to have been so close to so great and good a man for such a length of time." He answered, "I certainly appreciate my opportunities and blessings in my relation to him. My employment with him began while he was in the White House. I was counted quite a driver of horses, and he selected me as his coachman, for they used horses more than cars at that time. I drove a carriage and two horses, except once a year when I drove four horses on Inauguration Day." I said, "Do you mean to say that you drove him in his carriage on Inauguration Day?" "I certainly did," he replied, "I had four fine black horses and I was the proudest man in Washington as I drove the President that day." "Well, then," I said, "you know something about horses." "Let's go back into the stable here and look at some of the horses. He took me out and showed me a line of empty stalls, saying with a sad voice, "The man that rode them is gone, and it made Mrs. Roosevelt so sad as she looked at the horses the Colonel loved so well that we sold them all. "Mr. Roosevelt was devoted to his horses; he was a splendid rider-sat to the saddle perfectly-had easy control of his horse and enjoyed riding, as a sport and exercise, amazingly. It was his custom to go riding about every morning at ten o'clock and the madam rode with him. He never seemed so happy as when he was with Mrs. Roosevelt, and never happier than when they went out together on these morning rides which lasted usually a couple of hours. While at Washington, the President did a large amount of cross-country riding; in fact, he went regularly in the mornings. The landowners had given him the right of way to cross their fields and woods at will, and so he started out and jumped the fences and the little streams and galloped over every obstacle. He had three fine jumpers down there, their names were Blinestine, Rusty and Ordgy. Blinestine was one of the finest jumpers in America. He had as much fun in getting over the high fences as the rider did-and that was a good deal. All the horses loved their owner, but this greatest jumper loved the very ground he walked on, and would not let him get out of his sight if he could help it. The President would get off of Blinestine and the horse would follow him everywhere. He would not even stop to nip grass if he could have a chance to be with the Colonel." "You said you sold all these horses and these stalls are empty?" I said. "How about this little pony in the stall?" "Oh," said he, "that is the pony the boys rode and loved. He seems like a member of the family. Mrs. Roosevelt will keep him as long as he lives in memory of the children and the good times he gave them. While all the boys rode him he belonged to Archie. There is this funny story about him. Archie was quite sick at the White House. His younger brother Quentin thought that a look at Algonquin, which was the name of the pony, would do him good. And so he got him on the dumbwaiter, hoisted him up to the story where Archie was, and walked the pony into the room. It is said that the visit of the pony did the sick boy as much good as a doctor or medicine. The pony is a perfect little beauty, covered with white spots. His long mane is as white as snow and soft as silk. He seemed to me to look sad, as thought he were half-acquainted with the tragedies that had befallen the boys since the days in which he had given them so much fun. It is said that after Quentin's death the Colonel was found in this stall one day with his arms around the pony's neck crying like a child at the sad, sweet memories. "Where are those dogs that I used to read about and the Colonel used to talk so much about?" I asked. "The Colonel had five of them," he replied, "and every day, when he went out on his walk or to his chopping, he would call at the door and they all would come rushing gladly to him. They got to fussing so much among themselves that the Colonel let them all go, but one black-and-tan terrier." "Is he around?" I asked. And he called, "Shady! Shady! Come here, Shady!" And the little fellow, looking every inch a thoroughbred, came close to my chair and treated me just as though he knew I were a friend of his master's. The chauffeur said, "That little fellow followed the Colonel everywhere that he went. He never went to the woods, or for a walk, or for a bath that he did not go with him and stay with him till he returned. He was his bodyguard. It may be that he was afraid. somebody would hurt him, and he would be there to defend him, but it is most likely that he just loved |