fought with John Brown in Kansas, shoulder to
shoulder, and it was only through an accident that he was not with Brown
at Harpers Ferry, in which case his soul would have gone marching on
with that of Old John Brown. From Eighteen Hundred Sixty to Eighteen
Hundred Sixty-six Pond belonged to the army, and was stationed in
Western Missouri, where there was no commissariat, where they took no
prisoners, and where men like Jesse James lived, who never knew the war
was over. Pond had so many notches cut on the butt of his pistol that he
had ceased to count them.

He was big, brusk, quibbling, insulting, dictatorial, painstaking,
considerate and kind. He was the most exasperating and lovable man I
ever knew. He left a trail of enemies wherever he traveled, and the
irony of fate is shown in that he was allowed to die peacefully in his
bed.

I cut my relationship with him because I did not care to be pained by
seeing his form dangling from the crossbeam of a telegraph-pole. When I
lectured at Washington a policeman appeared at the box-office and
demanded the amusement-license fee of five dollars. "Your authority?"
roared Pond. And the policeman not being able to explain, Pond kicked
him down the stairway, and kept his club as a souvenir. We got out on
the midnight train before warrants could be served.

He would often push me into the first carriage when we arrived at a
town, and sometimes the driver would say, "This is a private carriage,"
or, "This rig is engaged," and Pond would reply, "What's that to
me?--drive us to the hotel--you evidently don't know whom you are
talking to!" And so imperious was his manner that his orders were
usually obeyed. Arriving at the hotel, he would hand out double fare. It
was his rule to pay too much or too little. Yet as a manager he was
perfection--he knew the trains to a minute, and always knew, too, what
to do if we missed the first train, or if the train was late. At the
hall he saw that every detail was provided for. If the place was too
hot, or too cold, somebody got thoroughly damned. If the ventilation was
bad, and he could not get the windows open, he would break them out. If
you questioned his balance-sheet he would the next day flash up an
expense-account that looked like a plumber's bill and give you fifty
cents as your share of the spoils. At hotels he always got a room with
two beds, if possible. I was his prisoner--he was despotically kind--he
regulated my hours of sleep, my