reservoir in "trunks," wooden pipes made of hollowed-out logs. This would provide the President's house with running water, a convenience enjoyed by the clientele of most hotels, but which was not yet available to the Chief Executive of the United States.
Christopher met the engineer in charge of the job, a man named Robert Leckie, who was eager to share his vision. Stone pedestals would be laid in the reservoir where the pipes surfaced. The water would emerge in fountains. Here, too, were iron pumps, trimmed with brass and sheltered by ornamented wooden pump houses resembling church steeples. Pipes running from the pump houses to the mansion would be laid underground, and fitted with hand pumps which would produce sufficient pressure to carry the water to the second story. Inside the mansion, the pipes would be capped with brass cocks. Leckie informed Christopher of President Jackson's intention to install a bathing room in the east wing, which would include facilities for a shower bath and a hot bath, the latter made possible by the building of coal fires beneath large copper boilers. Christopher was impressed. Hot baths to be had by simply turning a spigot! What would they think of next?
He spent a good part of the late morning in the White House gardens. Jackson had called upon Jemmy Maher, who he had appointed Washington's public gardener, to improve the appearance of the grounds. A hardworking—and harder-drinking—Irishman who hated the British with a passion, Maher had much in common with Old Hickory, and they got along famously. Christopher counted over fifty laborers hard at work, some hacking at the earth with picks and hoes, others grading with rakes, still others pushing draymen's carts and wheelbarrows hither and yon, and all of it producing a choking pall of dust which, combined with the May heat, made working conditions less than ideal. Maher's men were transforming the north driveway into a wide horseshoe, bordered with paved footpaths. The circular road was being leveled and graded. Maher had purchased trees and shrubbery from Bloodgood & Company of New York, the nation's most prestigious nursery. Among the many trees Maher had ordered were sugar and silver leafmaples, sycamores of both the European and American varieties, lindens, oaks, and horse chestnuts, the latter highly prized for their white, wisterialike blossoms. Jackson wanted the grounds heavily planted with trees, with the exception of the two-acre flower garden. It was here that Christopher finally found blessed relief from all the dust and hubbub.
The garden was accentuated with numerous rose trellises, as well as a tunnel arbor and an orangery. The latter sported tall glass windows. It had been constructed using the shell of an old fireproof vault from the Treasury, which had been discarded after the war. Gravel walks intersected meticulously groomed stands of camelias and laurestina, and beds of hyacinth, narcissus, and tulips.
Christopher found a remote and quiet spot for his refuge, an iron bench in the welcome shade of a stately old elm, and here he sat for quite some time, thinking about Texas. He was intrigued by the idea of seeing with his own eyes this strange new land he had heard so much about. And if President Jackson was right about the destiny of Texas, then truly a young man could find all the adventure his valiant heart desired. Returning to Kentucky to live at Elm Tree had never been a very appealing prospect for him. Now it seemed even less so, when compared to Texas. In Texas he could find a new beginning, where a man's past mattered not.
He was disturbed in his ruminations by a short, round-bellied man who emerged quite unexpectedly from the arbor, carrying shears in one gloved hand and a freshly cut bouquet of roses in the other. He was clad in old, soiled dungarees and a somewhat frayed and disreputable tweed jacket. A straw hat with a hole in the brim shaded his eyes. Christopher assumed he was one of the gardeners,
Christopher met the engineer in charge of the job, a man named Robert Leckie, who was eager to share his vision. Stone pedestals would be laid in the reservoir where the pipes surfaced. The water would emerge in fountains. Here, too, were iron pumps, trimmed with brass and sheltered by ornamented wooden pump houses resembling church steeples. Pipes running from the pump houses to the mansion would be laid underground, and fitted with hand pumps which would produce sufficient pressure to carry the water to the second story. Inside the mansion, the pipes would be capped with brass cocks. Leckie informed Christopher of President Jackson's intention to install a bathing room in the east wing, which would include facilities for a shower bath and a hot bath, the latter made possible by the building of coal fires beneath large copper boilers. Christopher was impressed. Hot baths to be had by simply turning a spigot! What would they think of next?
He spent a good part of the late morning in the White House gardens. Jackson had called upon Jemmy Maher, who he had appointed Washington's public gardener, to improve the appearance of the grounds. A hardworking—and harder-drinking—Irishman who hated the British with a passion, Maher had much in common with Old Hickory, and they got along famously. Christopher counted over fifty laborers hard at work, some hacking at the earth with picks and hoes, others grading with rakes, still others pushing draymen's carts and wheelbarrows hither and yon, and all of it producing a choking pall of dust which, combined with the May heat, made working conditions less than ideal. Maher's men were transforming the north driveway into a wide horseshoe, bordered with paved footpaths. The circular road was being leveled and graded. Maher had purchased trees and shrubbery from Bloodgood & Company of New York, the nation's most prestigious nursery. Among the many trees Maher had ordered were sugar and silver leafmaples, sycamores of both the European and American varieties, lindens, oaks, and horse chestnuts, the latter highly prized for their white, wisterialike blossoms. Jackson wanted the grounds heavily planted with trees, with the exception of the two-acre flower garden. It was here that Christopher finally found blessed relief from all the dust and hubbub.
The garden was accentuated with numerous rose trellises, as well as a tunnel arbor and an orangery. The latter sported tall glass windows. It had been constructed using the shell of an old fireproof vault from the Treasury, which had been discarded after the war. Gravel walks intersected meticulously groomed stands of camelias and laurestina, and beds of hyacinth, narcissus, and tulips.
Christopher found a remote and quiet spot for his refuge, an iron bench in the welcome shade of a stately old elm, and here he sat for quite some time, thinking about Texas. He was intrigued by the idea of seeing with his own eyes this strange new land he had heard so much about. And if President Jackson was right about the destiny of Texas, then truly a young man could find all the adventure his valiant heart desired. Returning to Kentucky to live at Elm Tree had never been a very appealing prospect for him. Now it seemed even less so, when compared to Texas. In Texas he could find a new beginning, where a man's past mattered not.
He was disturbed in his ruminations by a short, round-bellied man who emerged quite unexpectedly from the arbor, carrying shears in one gloved hand and a freshly cut bouquet of roses in the other. He was clad in old, soiled dungarees and a somewhat frayed and disreputable tweed jacket. A straw hat with a hole in the brim shaded his eyes. Christopher assumed he was one of the gardeners,
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