Ten minutes ago I received glorious news. The dream of a dozen years is at last on the very threshold of realisation. Yes I am to visit Scotland, see and talk with you all again! – Uncles, Aunts and Cousins, my schoolfellows and companions of my childhood – all are to be greeted again. The past is to be recalled. I shall once more wander through Woodmill Braes, see a hundred other spots that have haunted me for years till Dunfermline and its neighbourhood has grown to be a kind of ‘Promised Land’ to me. And all this is six short weeks from now. I can scarcely believe my senses and yet I’m sure I have just been notified that our Company grants me three months leave of absence to date from July first. Hurrah! Three cheers for this! There is nothing on earth I would ask in preference to what has just been given me. The exuberance of my joy I find is tempered by a deep feeling of thankfulness for the privilege vouchsafed. . . .
I shall miss one I longed much to see, my only school teacher, Mr Martin. Would he were now alive. Surely Aunt Charlotte will be to the fore when I arrive. . . .
We will make a bee line for Dunfermline. I won’t turn my head to look at anything until I see Bruce’s Monument [i.e. the tower memorial to Robert Bruce at Dunfermline Abbey]. I remember that was the last thing I saw of Dunfermline and I cried bitterly when I could see it no more. I intend to remain in Dunfermline until I’m glutted with all it can give and then I will take a run over the Continent as far as the Rhine perhaps. Can’t you go along? You must at least arrange to go through Scotland with me sure. We must spout Roderick Dhu [a character in Sir Walter Scott’s The Lady of the Lake, 1810] on his own ground. I haven’t forgotten my part, get to work at yours. I count upon Uncle giving us a good part of his time. If any of the friends intend visiting London I would like them to postpone and we will be of the party. Uncle Tom and Aunt Morrison always intended visiting Yankeeland; they had better come over with us. We have everything now to render such a visit desirable; besides I want to show Uncle Tom what the ‘great Glorious and Free’ is. But of this more when we meet. Four weeks and I’m afloat, six and I’m in ‘Dunfarlin Town’. Whew! that’s about enough to make one jolly, isn’t it? I confess I’m clean daft about it. I fancy I look like an ardent lover who has just obtained a flattering ‘yes’. I’m wreathed in smiles and couldn’t be cross if I should try my very best. . . .
And now My Dear Dod good night. Tell all our friends we expect to meet them soon; that we look forward to that long wished for day with an intensity of desire felt only by exiles from home, and with feelings of the warmest friendship for all connected with us in dear old Scotland. Good bye. Let’s pray for the early meeting of Dod and Naig. Truly your affectionate Cousin. . . .1
On 28 June 1862 the Carnegie party set off. Carnegie and his mother were joined by his old friend Thomas N. Miller, now a railway executive. Brother Tom was left behind to take care of family business; he was disappointed and disgruntled. First-class passages were booked aboard the Inman Line passenger steamship Aetna for the two-week Atlantic crossing.
From Liverpool they travelled to Scotland by the LNER railway to Edinburgh. From South Queensferry they crossed the Firth of Forth on the line of saintly Queen Margaret’s royal ferry to North Queensferry, and thence to Dunfermline. It was an emotional return for the Carnegies; Margaret was tearfully triumphant as she caught her first glimpse of the abbey tower; her American gamble had paid off and they had exchanged poverty for prosperity. ‘For myself,’ said Carnegie, ‘I felt as if I could throw myself upon the sacred soil and kiss it.’2
Carnegie visited all his old haunts with great eagerness. His birthplace in Moodie Street, his Rolland Street school, the old well, the abbey, the glen, the royal palace were all the same . . . yet there was something different:
The High Street, which I had considered not a bad Broadway, uncle’s shop, which I had compared with some New York establishments, the little mounds about the town, to which he had run on Sundays to play, the distances, the height of the houses, all had shrunk. Here was a city of the Lilliputians. I could almost touch the eaves of the house in which I was born, and the sea – to walk to which on a Saturday had been a considerable feat – was only three miles distant. The rocks at the seashore, among which I have gathered wilks [whelks] seemed to have vanished, and a tame flat shoal remained. The schoolhouse, around which had centred many of my schoolboy recollections – my only Alma Mater – and the playground, upon which mimic battles had been fought and races run, had shrunk to ridiculously small dimensions. The fine residences, Broomhall, Fordell and especially the conservatories at Donibristle, fell one after the other into the pretty insignificant.3 What I felt on a later occasion on a visit to Japan, with its small toy houses, was something like a repetition of the impression my old home made upon me.4
Even the people had changed. Although the old women still sat at their doors in mutches (close-fitting caps) and black dresses, where were the weavers of old, with their webs over their shoulders? And there was a silence too; no clacking of looms. A lot of the poverty seemed to have gone; working folk had better dwellings, the middle classes were building new houses at Abbey Parks and there were new industrial sites like St Leonard’s Works in Bothwell Street (demolished in 1984). Carnegie’s head buzzed with the changes. And then there were the friends and relations. The Morrisons and the Lauders clamoured for news; Aggie Gibson, a childhood sweetheart, was greeted with delight; Ailie Ferguson Henderson, who had loaned them the £20 needed to emigrate, was embraced. And cousin Dod, now a civil engineer, lapped up the details of Andrew’s new life in America; should he up sticks and go too? And Aunt Charlotte Drysdale – who had also criticised them for going to America – was in her element. She regaled the company with reminiscences of Carnegie’s childhood when she had nursed him. In her enthusiasm she turned to her nephew and said: ‘Oh, you will just be coming back here some day and keep a shop in the High Street.’5 She also added more embarrassing tales of how Carnegie had screamed as an infant if he were not fed with two spoons one after the other.6 As he walked through his childhood haunts one particular thought formed in Carnegie’s mind. Much as he loved his native land and birthplace, he could never have prospered here. There was in his relatives a deadening lack of ambition and limitation of thought; if he stayed here longer than a holiday his drive would be inhibited.
Despite the delights of family reunions and old haunts revisited, conversations with friends and relations soon turned sombre for Carnegie. Dunfermline was suffering because of the war in America. Linen exports had declined, and local opinions were largely against Abraham Lincoln and the Union cause. Carnegie was depressed by the Dunfermline folks’ attitude, yet he found one supporter in Uncle George Lauder. Still a comparatively young man, George Lauder followed every phase of the war, charting its progress carefully on maps marked with battles from the early conflicts at Fort Sumter, and Wilson’s Creek, Missouri (10 August 1861), to the more recent Pea Ridge, Arkansas (7–8 March 1862), and Glorita Pass, New Mexico (26–8 March 1862). He particularly revelled in Carnegie’s personal story about the fight at Bull Run.
Uncle George went further in his support. He handed over to Carnegie what amounted to the whole of his savings to invest in US Federal Bonds. ‘Invest this for me as you think best,’ he said to his nephew, ‘but if you put it into United States bonds it will add to my pleasure, for then I can feel that, in the hour of her danger, I have never lost faith in the Republic.’7 The bonds were a risk, the Bank of England regarding them as ‘untrustworthy’. Later Carnegie made this assess-ment: ‘Three times the value of [Uncle Lauder’s] gold was remitted, and double the value of his patriotic investment since, has rewarded his faith in the triumph of democracy.’8
During Carnegie’s absence, Uncle Tom Morrison’s influence had grown in Dunfermline and Fife in general. He was now one of Dunfermline’s six town councillors but the fire of his radicalism still burned bright. After the Reform Bill of 1832 Dunfermline was in the constituency of Stirling Burghs. The sitting Member of Parliament,
(Sir) James Caird of Baldoon, an agriculturalist who had toured Canada and the United States in 1858–9, was more than familiar with Morrison’s opinion. Indeed, Morrison remained a thorn in the side of local and national politicians until his death, still in municipal harness, in 1879. Carnegie and his uncle had many a walk by Woodmill Braes reminiscing and discussing a wide range of topics; in particular they compared notes on oratory. Carnegie revelled in the speeches he gave to the various societies of which he was a member and constantly sought ways to improve his public speaking style. He told his uncle:
I think that when, in making a speech, one feels himself lifted as it were, and swept by enthusiasm into the expression of some burning truth, he feels words whose eloquence surprises himself, he throws it forth, and, panting for breath, hears the roar of his fellow men in thunder of assent, the precious moment which tells him that the audience is his own, but one soul in it and that his; I think this the supreme moment of life.9
Although Morrison had opposed the Carnegie emigration, he now accepted his nephew’s success with pride.
Carnegie had intended that his trip to Dunfermline would be followed by several weeks touring Britain, France and Germany. Alas, he fell ill at Dunfermline; still debilitated by the episode of sunstroke in America, his wanderings around damp south-west Fife brought on a severe chill which led to coryza and an unresolved pneumonia. He was cared for during a period of six weeks at his Uncle George’s flat above the grocer’s shop in the High Street. He noted, ‘Scottish medicine was as stern as Scottish theology . . . and I was bled.’10 Following the blood-letting his condition worsened, putting his Dunfermline family in a panic. At the physician’s suggestion, rented accommodation was taken at nearby Loch Leven in Kinross, where a slow recovery was made. Eventually Carnegie felt well enough to visit some sights in Edinburgh and Glasgow before returning to America.
Recuperating after the tiresome sea voyage to the United States in the autumn of 1862, Carnegie prepared himself to return to work. The weeks at sea had given him time to reflect on his Dunfermline trip and on his future. Carnegie was 28 years old and had an earned and unearned income that was remarkable for the time. For instance, a statement found in his papers for 1863 showed an income of $47,860.67.11 His investments in transport, iron bridges and various stocks made a substantial foundation for his future wealth. He now made a review of his work practices. After his hard work as a boy, Carnegie planned to devote half his time to play. He saw his future role as an ideas man; he would supply the inspiration and driving energy for projects, but would employ others to supply the drudgery of putting ideas to work. He believed that the future secret of his success would be found in his Scottish upbringing and ‘genes’. There was one mistake though, that he was determined not to make, and this he set down in a letter to his cousin Dod: ‘Isn’t it strange how little ambition most of our Scottish acquaintances have to become independent and then enjoy the luxuries which wealth can (and should) procure?’12 He also gave Dod an insight into his future plans:
For my part, I am determined to expand as my means do and ultimately to own a noble place in the country, cultivate the rarest flowers, the best breeds of cattle, own a magnificent lot of horses and be distinguished for taking the deepest interest in all those about my place. The position most to be envied, outside the ring of great men, I think is that of a British gentleman who labours diligently to educate and improve the condition of his dependents and who takes an independent part in National politics, always labouring to correct some ancient abuse – to curtail the privileges of the few and increase those of the many.13
Carnegie returned to work in high spirits, but Pittsburgh was in a state of alarm. Union Army intelligence showed that the Confederate General Robert E. Lee was aiming to capture Pittsburgh. The city began to fortify and some 6,800 volunteers put the place in a state of readiness. Carnegie helped with the transportation of soldiers and goods by rail until he had satisfied the quotas set by Major-General Brooks, commander of the Monogahela region south of Pittsburgh. There was now to be enacted the best-known military engagement in American history. General Lee and his Army of Northern Virginia moved north to Gettysburg. Here over the three days of 1 July to 3 July 1863 battle raged. Lee’s army of 75,000 faced the 83,300 troops of the Union under Major-General George G. Meade. Finally Lee began to retreat on 4 July. His drive north had failed, and he told his men: ‘It is I who have lost this fight, and you must help me out of it the best way you can.’ Although Lee lost 28,100 men at Gettysburg (against 23,000 Union casualties), Meade did not follow up his victory with more slaughter, and the pressure was taken off Pittsburgh.
The Civil War had driven up the price of iron to more than $103 per ton, and it was now in short supply. Consequently the railway system was suffering from a lack of maintenance and repairs. Added to this there had been a run on locomotives, dozens of which had been destroyed in the conflict. Carnegie was to make a killing in both areas.
Carnegie decided to invest in the iron business to the tune of $10,000, and in 1864 formed with others the Superior Rail Mill and Blast Furnaces. In 1866, together with Thomas N. Miller, a colleague in the Sun City Forge Co., another of Carnegie’s interests, they set up the Pittsburgh Locomotive Works. Again Carnegie saw an opportunity to invest in track infrastructure, having observed how the traditional American wooden bridges were very vulnerable in war. Thus with bridge designer H.J. Linville, engineer John L. Piper and his partner Aaron Shiffler, he formed the Piper & Shiffler Company to build iron bridges. Carnegie involved Thomas A. Scott in the venture as co-founder, with each of the principals contributing $1,250; the company was merged into the Keystone Bridge Co. in 1863. A major contract was bridging the Ohio River at Steubenville, with a cast-iron bridge of 300ft span; this would be the first of many important contracts which gave rise to the Carnegie motto: ‘If you want a contract, be on the spot when it is let.’14
If he had not consciously realised it before, Carnegie had developed into a capitalist, a term that would have sent shock waves through his radical relatives’ nerves, and there was another socialist hate-word to add to Carnegie’s latest category of achievements, namely exploitation; in future years Carnegie detractors would castigate him for exploiting the war needs for his own ends. One day his old telegraph office friend Tom David called to see him. In conversation about how well he was doing Carnegie mimed exultation with his arms and exclaimed, ‘Oh! I’m rich, I’m rich.’ By this time he had personal capital deposits in the region of $50,000 and interests in more companies than any colleague realised. In terms of the old Scots proverb which Carnegie often recited, he was successful in ‘gathering gear’, ‘gear’ being the Scots term for possessions, money or property.15
The day after General Lee began his retreat from the disaster at Gettysburg, another key defeat loomed for the South. Vicksburg in Mississippi was one of the two remaining strongholds in Confederate hands (the other was Port Hudson, Louisiana). Of Vicksburg Abraham Lincoln said, ‘the war can never be brought to a close until that key is in our pocket.’ Vicksburg was also an important east–west railway junction. Some 77,000 Union troops under Major-General Ulysses S. Grant and Acting Rear Admiral David D. Porter were assembled at Vicksburg to face 62,000 Confederates under General Joseph K. Johnston and Lieutenant-General John J. Pemberton. After a 47-day siege of Vicksburg, the white flag was raised by the Confederates on 4 July 1863 and closure was brought to one of the most important chapters of the Civil War; as the Confederate General Stephen D. Lee remarked, Vicksburg was ‘a staggering blow from which the Confederacy never rallied’.
The summer of 1864 saw Union Major-General William T. Sherman embark his army on the Western & Atlantic Railroad bound for Atlanta. On 27 June he successfully defeated Confederate General Joseph E. Johnston’s Army of Tennessee at the battle of Kennesaw Mountain; within a few months he would raise the US flag over Atlanta. Further north Lieutenant-General Jubal A. Early was the only Confederate general to win a major battle
north of the Potomac; he triumphed against Major-General Lewis Wallace at Monocacy, Maryland, on 9 July 1864. While these and other battles were raging, Carnegie received a shock.
His efforts to increase his wealth and his work for the US government had put from his mind the notion that he might be eligible for military service. When he received his letter to this effect, he was aghast. It was ridiculous: how could he be drafted? He was doing very important transportation and construction work for the war effort. All that he considered far more important than toting a rifle through the cornfields of Maryland, or chasing rebels across Tennessee. And what was more, had he not already shed blood for his new country? The telegraph wire incident? But his enquiries only emphasised his eligibility for draft.
According to the US Conscription Act of 1863 Carnegie could dodge the draft by paying a fee to the government, or by negotiating with another man to fill his draft position. To sort out the details for him he employed draft agent H.M. Butler, who supplied an Irish immigrant called John Lindew to take Carnegie’s place. The draft dodge cost Carnegie $850 in agent’s fees. In exchange he received a Certificate of Non-Liability valid until 19 July 1867.16 It was not an episode he would bring to public notice in his autobiographical writings.
More changes were in the wind for Carnegie. Rumours were circulating that he would soon be offered the post of Assistant General Superintendent, ranking just below Enoch Lewis. At 29, this would be his route to a vice-presidency of the Pennsylvania Railroad. Did he want to emulate his patron Thomas A. Scott? At length J. Edgar Thomson did offer Carnegie the position, and the dilemma had to be faced.
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