... My uncle Henry, who was killed in India, was never more to me than a romantic name, but Uncle Charles figured conspicuously and defightfully in our boyish lives. A lieutenant in the United States navy, he spent most of his shore leave at Danskammer, and his visits were great events; he was so jolly and entertaining, so full of life and spirits. And then he was sure to bring us all manner of curiosities that he had picked up on his voyages — rare shells, strange arms, and such-like barbaric treasure. One of his voyages was in the U. S. Sloop-of-War Saratoga to the coast of Africa — she was built at Portsmouth and this was her maiden trip — and he brought fascinating things from this cruise and thrilled us with fine tales of an African chief he had met, with a marvellous name which I have forgotten. From Egypt he once brought us some wheat that had been found in a mummy-case. It was planted, and in my mind's eye I can see the beautiful waving green patch that sprang from it growing at one side of the avenue. But, sad to say, my brother Gouv insists that it never came up.
One of uncle's cruises under the command of Commodore Perry had an unfortunate termination. It seems that on a certain occasion Perry was obliged to be away, and left the ship under the command of a lieutenant of a lower rank than my uncle. As this was not at all in accordance with etiquette, Uncle Charles considered it an insult and expostulated with the commodore, and finally sent him a challenge to fight a duel, through his friend and second. Captain Hunter. Commodore Perry declined to meet him, and my uncle was court-martialled for challenging his superior officer; but he was practically acquitted, for he was given merely a nominal sentence, being suspended for a very short time. I believe the affair caused quite a stir in navy circles. ...
... I shall never forget Uncle Charles's last visit to Danskammer. It was winter and the snow was on the ground; I was out at the stable and he drove up to say good-by. I watched him as he disappeared through the big black gate. I never saw him again. It was a great grief to all of us boys when we heard of his death, just as he was finishing a cruise, "at midnight, aboard cruiser Ohio, off Rio, homeward-bound." He died of yellow fever and was buried at sea. I heard at the time that he was taken ill of the fever on shore and did not want to be taken back to the ship, fearing that the disease would be communicated to others. This was like him; he was an unselfish, gallant fellow. We boys loved him dearly. I have heard that at his funeral there was not a dry eye on the ship.
For years after his death old salts would turn up at Danskammer and tell us about him; they said that on board ship he was a strict disciplinarian, but when any sailor met him on shore he always gave him all the money he had in his pockets. ...
