THE REMINISCENCES OF CARL SCHURZ
were in the habit of blacking their own boots. “That is true,” said Mr. Lincoln, “but would gentlemen in your country not do that?” “No; certainly not,” the Englishman replied with emphasis. “Well!” said Mr. Lincoln, quietly, “whose boots do they black?”
It is not my purpose to give in what now follows anything pretending to be a valuable contribution to the military history of the Civil War. I shall rather confine myself to the description of some personal experiences, with occasional glimpses of important historical events.
As soon as I had received my order to report for duty to General Frémont in the Shenandoah Valley, I called upon Mr. Lincoln to take leave. He was most kind, wished me “good luck,” and said at parting—as he had done when I started for Spain—that he wished me to write to him freely whenever anything occurred to me that I thought he ought to know. This I had soon occasion to do.
After a somewhat adventurous journey, I joined General Frémont's army at Harrisonburg, Virginia, on June 10th, 1862, and reported myself for duty. When Frémont was a candidate for the presidency in 1856, his personality had appeared surrounded by a romantic halo as the great “Pathfinder” who had opened a large and mysterious part of the continent to the knowledge of his countrymen, and who was thought to possess abilities of an extraordinary order. At the beginning of the Civil War, I heard him spoken of in Washington as one of the coming heroes of the conflict, in almost extravagant terms. I remember especially Mr. Montgomery Blair, the Postmaster General in Mr. Lincoln's administration, insisting that Mr. Frémont must at once be given large and important military command, and predicting that the genius and energy of this remarkable man would soon astonish
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