The gentleman who graced the gubernatorial armchair of our
state when this century was born happened to be an admirer of
classic lore and the sonorous names of antiquity.
It is owing to his weakness in bestowing pompous cognomens on
our embryo towns and villages that to-day names like Utica,
Syracuse, and Ithaca, instead of evoking visions of historic pomp
and circumstance, raise in the minds of most Americans the
picture of cocky little cities, rich only in trolley-cars and
Methodist meeting-houses.
When, however, this cultured governor, in his ardor,
christened one of the cities Troy, and the hill in its vicinity
Mount Ida, he little dreamed that a youth was living on its
slopes whose name was destined to become a household word the
world over, as the synonym for the proudest and wealthiest
republic yet known to history, a sobriquet that would be familiar
in the mouths of races to whose continents even the titles of
Jupiter or Mars had never penetrated.
A little before this century began, two boys with packs bound
on their stalwart shoulders walked from New York and established
a brickyard in the neighborhood of what is now Perry Street,
Troy. Ebenezer and Samuel Wilson soon became esteemed
citizens of the infant city, their kindliness and benevolence
winning for them the affection and respect of the community.
The younger brother, Samuel, was an especial favorite with the
children of the place, whose explorations into his deep pockets
were generally rewarded by the discovery of some simple
“sweet” or home-made toy. The slender youth
with the “nutcracker” face proving to be the merriest
of playfellows, in their love his little band of admirers gave
him the pet name of “Uncle Sam,” by which he quickly
became known, to the exclusion of his real name. This is
the kindly and humble origin of a title the mere speaking of
which to-day quickens the pulse and moistens the eyes of millions
of Americans with the same thrill that the dear old flag arouses
when we catch sight of it, especially an unexpected glimpse in
some foreign land.
With increasing wealth the brickyard of the Wilson brothers
was replaced by an extensive slaughtering business, in which more
than a hundred men were soon employed—a vast establishment
for that day, killing weekly some thousand head of cattle.
During the military operations of 1812 the brothers signed a
contract to furnish the troops at Greenbush with meat,
“packed in full bound barrels of white oak”; soon
after, Samuel was appointed Inspector of Provisions for the
army.
It is a curious coincidence that England also should have
taken an ex-army-contractor as her patron saint, for if we are to
believe tradition, St. George of Cappadocia filled that position
unsatisfactorily before he passed through martyrdom to
sainthood.
True prototype of the nation that was later to adopt him as
its godfather, the shrewd and honest patriot, “Uncle
Sam,” not only lived loyally up to his contracts, giving
full measure and of his best, but proved himself incorruptible,
making it his business to see that others too fulfilled their
engagements both in the letter and the spirit; so that the
“U.S.” (abbreviation of United States) which he
pencilled on all provisions that had passed his inspection became
in the eyes of officers and soldiers a guarantee of
excellence. Samuel’s old friends, the boys of Troy
(now enlisted in the army), naïvely imagining that the
mystic initials were an allusion to the pet name they had given
him years before, would accept no meats but “Uncle
Sam’s,” murmuring if other viands were offered
them. Their comrades without inquiry followed this example;
until so strong did the prejudice for food marked
“U.S.” become, that other contractors, in order that
their provisions should find favor with the soldiers, took to
announcing “Uncle Sam” brands.
To the greater part of the troops, ignorant (as are most
Americans to-day) of the real origin of this pseudonym,
“Uncle Sam’s” beef and bread meant merely
government provisions, and the step from national belongings to
an impersonation of our country by an ideal “Uncle
Sam” was but a logical sequence.
In his vigorous old age, Samuel Wilson again lived on Mount
Ida, near the estates of the Warren family, where as children we
were taken to visit his house and hear anecdotes of the aged
patriot’s hospitality and humor. The honor in which
he was held by the country-side, the influence for good he
exerted, and the informal tribunal he held, to which his
neighbors came to get their differences straightened out by his
common sense, are still talked of by the older inhabitants.
One story in particular used to charm our boyish ears. It
was about a dispute over land between the Livingstons and the Van
Rensselaers, which was brought to an end by “Uncle
Sam’s” producing a barrel of old papers (confided to
him by both families during the war, for safe keeping) and
extracting from this original “strong box” title
deeds to the property in litigation.
Now, in these troubled times of ours, when rumors of war are
again in the air, one’s thoughts revert with pleasure to
the half-mythical figure on the threshold of the century, and to
legends of the clear-eyed giant, with the quizzical smile and the
tender, loyal heart, whose life’s work makes him a more
lovable model and a nobler example to hold up before the youth of
to-day than all the mythological deities that ever disported
themselves on the original Mount Ida.
There is a singular fitness in this choice of “Uncle
Sam” as our patron saint, for to be honest and loyal and
modest, to love little children, to do one’s duty quietly
in the heyday of life, and become a mediator in old age, is to
fulfil about the whole duty of man; and every patriotic heart
must wish the analogy may be long maintained, that our loved
country, like its prototype, may continue the protector of the
feeble and a peace-maker among nations.
