Autobiography of Andrew Carnegie
that Mr. Scott had not personally given the orders. I had almost made
up my mind that if the like occurred again, I would not repeat my
proceeding of that morning unless I was authorized to do so. I was
feeling rather distressed about what I had done until I heard from Mr.
Franciscus, who was then in charge of the freighting department at
Pittsburgh, that Mr. Scott, the evening after the memorable morning,
had said to him:
"Do you know what that little white-haired Scotch devil of mine did?"
"No."
"I'm blamed if he didn't run every train on the division in my name
without the slightest authority."
"And did he do it all right?" asked Franciscus.
"Oh, yes, all right."
This satisfied me. Of course I had my cue for the next occasion, and
went boldly in. From that date it was very seldom that Mr. Scott gave
a train order.
The greatest man of all on my horizon at this time was John Edgar
Thomson, president of the Pennsylvania, and for whom our steel-rail
mills were afterward named. He was the most reserved and silent of
men, next to General Grant, that I ever knew, although General
Grant was more voluble when at home with friends. He walked about as
if he saw nobody when he made his periodical visits to Pittsburgh.
This reserve I learned afterwards was purely the result of shyness. I
was surprised when in Mr. Scott's office he came to the telegraph
instrument and greeted me as "Scott's Andy." But I learned afterwards
that he had heard of my train-running exploit. The battle of life is
already half won by the young man who is brought personally in contact
with high officials; and the great aim of every boy should be to do
something beyond the sphere of his duties--something which attracts
the attention of those over him.
Some time after this Mr. Scott wished to travel for a week or two and
asked authority from Mr. Lombaert to leave me in charge of the
division. Pretty bold man he was, for I was then not very far out of
my teens. It was granted. Here was the coveted opportunity of my life.
With the exception of one accident caused by the inexcusable
negligence of a ballast-train crew, everything went well in his
absence. But that this accident should occur was gall and wormwood to
me. Determined to fulfill all the duties of the station I held a
court-martial, examined those concerned, dismissed peremptorily the
chief offender, and suspended two others for their share in the
catastrophe. Mr. Scott after his return of course was advised of the
accident, and proposed to investigate and deal with the matter. I felt
I had gone too far, but having taken the step, I informed him that all
that had been settled. I had investigated the matter and punished the
guilty. Some of these appealed to Mr. Scott for a reopening of the
case, but this I never could have agreed to, had it been pressed. More
by look I think than by word Mr. Scott understood my feelings upon
this delicate point, and acquiesced.
It is probable he was afraid I had been too severe and very likely he
was correct. Some years after this, when I, myself, was superintendent
of the division I always had a soft spot in my heart for the men then
suspended for a time. I had felt qualms of conscience about my action
in this, my first court. A new judge is very apt to stand so straight
as really to lean a little backward. Only experience teaches the
supreme force of gentleness. Light but certain punishment, when
necessary, is most effective. Severe punishments are not needed and a
judicious pardon, for the first offense at least, is often best of
all.
As the half-dozen young men who constituted our inner circle grew in
knowledge, it was inevitable that the mysteries of life and death, the
here and the hereafter, should cross our path and have to be grappled
with. We had all been reared by good, honest, self-respecting parents,
members of one or another of the religious sects. Through the
influence of Mrs. McMillan, wife of one of the leading Presbyterian
ministers of Pittsburgh, we were drawn into the social circle of her
husband's church. [As I read this on the moors, July 16, 1912, I have
before me a note from Mrs. McMillan from London in her eightieth year.
Two of her daughters were married in London last week to university
professors, one remains in Britain, the other has accepted an
appointment in Boston. Eminent men both. So draws our English-speaking
race together.] Mr. McMillan was a good strict Calvinist of the old
school, his charming wife a born leader of the young. We were all more
at home with her and enjoyed ourselves more at her home gatherings
than elsewhere. This led to some of us occasionally attending her
church.
A sermon of the strongest kind upon predestination which Miller heard
there brought the subject of theology upon us and it would not down.
Mr. Miller's people were strong Methodists, and Tom had known little
of dogmas. This doctrine of predestination, including infant
damnation--some born to glory and others to the opposite--appalled
him. To my astonishment I learned that, going to Mr. McMillan after
the sermon to talk over the matter, Tom had blurted out at the finish,
"Mr. McMillan, if your idea were correct, your God would be a perfect
devil," and left the astonished minister to himself.
This formed the subject of our Sunday afternoon conferences for many a
week. Was that true or not, and what was to be the consequence of
Tom's declaration? Should we no longer be welcome guests of Mrs.
McMillan? We could have spared the minister, perhaps, but none of us
relished the idea of banishment from his wife's delightful reunions.
There was one point clear. Carlyle's struggles over these matters had
impressed us and we could follow him in his resolve: "If it be
incredible, in God's name let it be discredited." It was only the
truth that could make us free, and the truth, the whole truth, we
should pursue.
Once introduced, of course, the subject remained with us, and one
after the other the dogmas were voted down as the mistaken ideas of
men of a less enlightened age. I forget who first started us with a
second axiom. It was one we often dwelt upon: "A forgiving God would
be the noblest work of man." We accepted as proven that each stage of
civilization creates its own God, and that as man ascends and becomes
better his conception of the Unknown likewise improves. Thereafter we
all became less theological, but I am sure more truly religious. The
crisis passed. Happily we were not excluded from Mrs. McMillan's
society. It was a notable day, however, when we resolved to stand by
Miller's statement, even if it involved banishment and worse. We young
men were getting to be pretty wild boys about theology, although more
truly reverent about religion.
The first great loss to our circle came when John Phipps was killed by
a fall from a horse. This struck home to all of us, yet I remember I
could then say to myself: "John has, as it were, just gone home to
England where he was born. We are all to follow him soon and live
forever together." I had then no doubts. It was not a hope I was
pressing to my heart, but a certainty. Happy those who in their agony
have such a refuge. We should all take Plato's advice and never give
up everlasting hope, "alluring ourselves as with enchantments, for the
hope is noble and the reward is great." Quite right. It would be no
greater miracle that brought us into another world to live forever
with our dearest than that which has brought us into this one to live
a lifetime with them. Both are equally incomprehensible to finite
beings. Let us therefore comfort ourselves with everlasting hope, "as
with enchantments," as Plato recommends, never forgetting, however,
that we all have our duties here and that the kingdom of heaven is
within us. It also passed into an axiom with us that he who proclaims
there is no hereafter is as foolish as he who proclaims there is,
since neither can know, though all may and should hope. Meanwhile
"Home our heaven" instead of "Heaven our home" was our motto.
During these years of which I have been writing, the family fortunes
had been steadily improving. My thirty-five dollars a month had grown
to forty, an unsolicited advance having been made by Mr. Scott. It was
part of my duty to pay the men every month.[19] We used checks upon
the bank and I drew my salary invariably in two twenty-dollar gold
pieces. They seemed to me the prettiest works of art in the world. It
was decided in family council that we could venture to buy the lot and
the two small frame houses upon it, in one of which we had lived, and
the other, a four-roomed house, which till then had been occupied by
my Uncle and Aunt Hogan, who had removed elsewhere. It was through the
aid of my dear Aunt Aitken that we had been placed in the small house
above the weaver's shop, and it was now our turn to be able to ask her
to return to the house that formerly had been her own. In the same way
after we had occupied the four-roomed house, Uncle Hogan having passed
away, we were able to restore Aunt Hogan to her old home when we
removed to Altoona. One hundred dollars cash was paid upon purchase,
and the total price, as I remember, was seven hundred dollars. The
struggle then was to make up the semi-annual payments of interest and
as great an amount of the principal as we could save. It was not long
before the debt was cleared off and we were property-holders, but
before that was accomplished, the first sad break occurred in our
family, in my father's death, October 2, 1855. Fortunately for the
three remaining members life's duties were pressing. Sorrow and duty
contended and we had to work. The expenses connected with his illness
had to be saved and paid and we had not up to this time much store in
reserve.
[Footnote 19: "I remember well when I used to write out the monthly
pay-roll and came to Mr. Scott's name for $125. I wondered what he did
with it all. I was then getting thirty-five." (Andrew Carnegie in
speech at Reunion of U.S. Military Telegraph Corps, March 28, 1907.)]
And here comes in one of the sweet incidents of our early life in
America. The principal member of our small Swedenborgian Society was
Mr. David McCandless. He had taken some notice of my father and
mother, but beyond a few passing words at church on Sundays, I do not
remember that they had ever been brought in close contact. He knew
Aunt Aitken well, however, and now sent for her to say that if my
mother required any money assistance at this sad period he would be
very pleased to advance whatever was necessary. He had heard much of
my heroic mother and that was sufficient.
One gets so many kind offers of assistance when assistance is no
longer necessary, or when one is in a position which would probably
enable him to repay a favor, that it is delightful to record an act of
pure and disinterested benevolence. Here was a poor Scottish woman
bereft of her husband, with her eldest son just getting a start and a
second in his early teens, whose misfortunes appealed to this man, and
who in the most delicate manner sought to mitigate them. Although my
mother was able to decline the proffered aid, it is needless to say
that Mr. McCandless obtained a place in our hearts sacred to himself.
I am a firm believer in the doctrine that people deserving necessary
assistance at critical periods in their career usually receive it.
There are many splendid natures in the world--men and women who are
not only willing, but anxious to stretch forth a helping hand to those
they know to be worthy. As a rule, those who show willingness to help
themselves need not fear about obtaining the help of others.
Father's death threw upon me the management of affairs to a greater