Visited by his Cousin.—Decides to go to Europe with his Cousin.—Correspondence with Travellers.—Lack of Money.—Unshaken Confidence.—Publication of Ximena. Bayard had a cousin Frank, or Franklin, whom he held in great respect, and whose subsequent life, as will be seen hereafter, justified the high esteem in which Bayard held him. This young man, a few years older than Bayard, had, by much patience and perseverance, succeeded in obtaining sufficient money to support himself in an economical manner in Germany, and had made up his mind to attend the lectures at the university in Heidelberg.
“Are you really going, Frank?”
“Yes, Bayard, I am going sure.”
“Then I am going with you.”
“But, Bayard, how are you going to get the money to pay your expenses?”
“I do not know where it is coming from, not even for my outfit, but I am going with you.”
Bayard had written to a great many people, of whom he had heard, asking them about the expense and outfit for a tour in Europe. Some of them had made the journey, and some had completed their preparations;[37] but they all placed the amount so high as to appear like a fabulous sum to the poor apprentice. None placed the fare at less than five hundred dollars, while some of the estimates were as high as eighteen hundred dollars. Of course this poor boy could not earn nor borrow either of these amounts. Yet he was confident that in some way he would be able to overcome the difficulty.
Dr. Griswold, of whom mention was made in the last chapter, had suggested that it might be wise for Bayard to publish, in small book-form, his sonnets and other poems, and sell them to friends and admirers; and when he found that Frank was going, he determined to try that method of raising a little money. He went to some of his old friends and neighbors for assistance to print his little volume; but so little was their faith in the boy they had known from his birth, that they told him they would not encourage him in a scheme so absurd and impracticable. But Bayard only became the more determined with each defeat. He renewed his application to friends more distant, and, as is usually the case, he found they had more confidence than those who looked upon him as the boy they knew on the farm. From those distant friends, living in Philadelphia and West Chester, he at last obtained such assistance as to be able to print a few copies of his poems. He christened his first volume “Ximena, and other Poems,” and finding many kindly disposed persons who would like to help[38] him to the small sum asked for the book, but who would have been ashamed to present him with so diminutive an amount, he was enabled to dispose of enough in a few days to pay his expenses and a profit of twenty dollars. Acting upon the advice of Nathaniel P. Willis, he applied to the editors of the various newspapers in Philadelphia for employment as a travelling correspondent; but letters from Europe were becoming stale, and correspondence was overdone, so that he was met with discouraging refusals on every hand. Fortunately, some one suggested to him the names of the “Saturday Evening Post,” and the “United States Gazette.” He was, however, without hope of anything from them. He has since said to his friends, that he then thought as he could not fare any worse than he had done, it would do no harm to try again. His confidence in his final success was so great, that he had made a settlement with Mr. Evans, of the “Village Record,” and had left the employment of a printer before he had found or thought of a way to secure funds for his intended trip. He had no money, no outfit, no employment; and yet he was sure he should go. In that condition, and in a state of mind bordering on wonder, because the way which was to open had so long remained shut, this thin, awkward youth walked confidently into the office of the “Saturday Evening Post.” Mr. S. D. Patterson was then its editor, and, while he was disposed to assist the young man, he did not have much faith in[39] his success as a correspondent. Mr. Patterson, however, gave Bayard some encouragement, and the youth, with lighter step, went to the office of the “United States Gazette.” Not finding Mr. J. R. Chandler at his editorial room, Bayard went to the editor’s residence. Mr. Chandler was sick in bed; but he was able to converse with Bayard, and received him very pleasantly. The young man had never met Mr. Chandler before; but he stated his cause with such frankness and clearness, and showed such confidence in his final triumph, that Mr. Chandler took out his pocket-book and gave Bayard fifty dollars, saying that if he sent any letters of sufficient interest they would be inserted in the columns of the “Gazette.” Mr. Chandler did not, at the time, care for letters from Europe, and did not expect to publish any; but, acting from the promptings of a generous heart, he freely gave the assistance desired. Of Mr. Chandler’s honorable career, more will be said in another chapter.
On returning to Mr. Patterson, Bayard found him willing to do as he had proposed, and the sum of fifty dollars was added to the gift of Mr. Chandler. Then, as if fortunes, like misfortunes, come not singly, he found a customer for some manuscript poems in a friend of Dr. Griswold,—George R. Graham. From him Bayard received twenty dollars, making the round sum of one hundred and forty dollars with which to begin his journey to the Old World. Bayard[40] now felt independent and happy. At least he could get across the Atlantic Ocean. He might have to work as a compositor, or as a common laborer, or even beg for his bread after he arrived on the other side; he did not know, and seemed to care but little. He had encountered a hard fortune here, and conquered, and he felt sure that he could do as well there. Happy, proud day was it for him when he returned with the money to his home at Kennett Square. Sad day for Mary Agnew. But as she and Bayard were only playmates and schoolmates, she must not appear to be especially grieved.
The next thing to be done was to obtain a passport from the United States Government. It could only be obtained in Washington, and as they could not afford the expense of the stages, Frank and Bayard started for Washington on foot. It would seem as if such a journey of one hundred and twenty miles,—in which they walked thirty miles to Port Deposit, thence in a rickety tow-boat to Baltimore, and from that city to Washington, they tramped all night without food or drink,—would have discouraged any one from attempting to walk through the countries of Europe. For they must have returned from this first walk footsore and lame in every joint. Yet they came back as full of hope as when they started out, having seen Mr. Calhoun, then Secretary of State, and many other celebrities then inhabiting the capital city,—June, 1844.
[41]
Oh! those farewells! To the parents who had watched over him so long, it seemed like losing him forever, so far away and mythical did Europe seem to be. Their lips consented, but their hearts kept rapping no, no, no, in rebellious throbs. The brothers and sisters wept with a grief never before so keen, and a dread never before so deep. But to the youth, before whom the great unexplored world lay in its beauty, and who could not then realize, as he did so keenly afterwards, that in all the world he would find no spot so sweet and interesting to him as would be the one he was leaving, it was a joy over which the sadness of parting for a time was but as the shadow of a cloud on the summer sea. High hopes, great aspirations, drove him along, while romantic castles and fortresses, brilliant rivers, heavenly gardens, majestic mountains, wise people, delightful music, gorgeous galleries of art, and indescribable landscapes, beckoned him to come. Giddy with anticipation, trembling with conflicting emotions, he stood in the shade of the oak and the hickory of the old home that morning, bidding his loved ones good-by. He was a hero. There was the sense of present loss, and of danger to come; but it weighed not with him as against the great ambition of his life.
Did he bid Mary Agnew farewell? Perhaps! The mature poet will tell us, in his own sweet way, by and by.