Eighty Years and More; Reminiscences 1815-1897
clothed, and fed, enjoying sound minds in sound bodies, no one need be
afraid of going through the marriage ceremony on Friday for fear of bad
luck. The Scotch clergyman who married us, being somewhat superstitious,
begged us to postpone it until Saturday; but, as we were to sail early
in the coming week, that was impossible. That point settled, the next
difficulty was to persuade him to leave out the word "obey" in the
marriage ceremony. As I obstinately refused to obey one with whom I
supposed I was entering into an equal relation, that point, too, was
conceded. A few friends were invited to be present and, in a simple
white evening dress, I was married. But the good priest avenged himself
for the points he conceded, by keeping us on the rack with a long prayer
and dissertation on the sacred institution for one mortal hour. The Rev.
Hugh Maire was a little stout fellow, vehement in manner and speech, who
danced about the floor, as he laid down the law, in the most original
and comical manner. As Mr. Stanton had never seen him before, the hour
to him was one of constant struggle to maintain his equilibrium. I had
sat under his ministrations for several years, and was accustomed to his
rhetoric, accent, and gestures, and thus was able to go through the
ordeal in a calmer state of mind.
Sister Madge, who had stood by me bravely through all my doubts and
anxieties, went with us to New York and saw us on board the vessel. My
sister Harriet and her husband, Daniel C. Eaton, a merchant in New York
city, were also there. He and I had had for years a standing game of
"tag" at all our partings, and he had vowed to send me "tagged" to
Europe. I was equally determined that he should not. Accordingly, I
had a desperate chase after him all over the vessel, but in vain. He had
the last "tag" and escaped. As I was compelled, under the circumstances,
to conduct the pursuit with some degree of decorum, and he had the
advantage of height, long limbs, and freedom from skirts, I really stood
no chance whatever. However, as the chase kept us all laughing, it
helped to soften the bitterness of parting.
[Illustration: H.B. Stanton] [Illustration: MRS. STANTON AND DAUGHTER,
1857.]
Fairly at sea, I closed another chapter of my life, and my thoughts
turned to what lay in the near future. James G. Birney, the anti-slavery
nominee for the presidency of the United States, joined us in New York,
and was a fellow-passenger on the Montreal for England. He and my
husband were delegates to the World's Anti-slavery Convention, and both
interested themselves in my anti-slavery education. They gave me books
to read, and, as we paced the deck day by day, the question was the
chief theme of our conversation.
Mr. Birney was a polished gentleman of the old school, and was
excessively proper and punctilious in manner and conversation. I soon
perceived that he thought I needed considerable toning down before
reaching England. I was quick to see and understand that his criticisms
of others in a general way and the drift of his discourses on manners
and conversation had a nearer application than he intended I should
discover, though he hoped I would profit by them. I was always grateful
to anyone who took an interest in my improvement, so I laughingly told
him, one day, that he need not make his criticisms any longer in that
roundabout way, but might take me squarely in hand and polish me up as
speedily as possible. Sitting in the saloon at night after a game of
chess, in which, perchance, I had been the victor, I felt complacent
and would sometimes say:
"Well, what have I said or done to-day open to criticism?"
So, in the most gracious manner, he replied on one occasion:
"You went to the masthead in a chair, which I think very unladylike. I
heard you call your husband 'Henry' in the presence of strangers, which
is not permissible in polite society. You should always say 'Mr.
Stanton.' You have taken three moves back in this game."
"Bless me!" I replied, "what a catalogue in one day! I fear my Mentor
will despair of my ultimate perfection."
"I should have more hope," he replied, "if you seemed to feel my rebukes
more deeply, but you evidently think them of too little consequence to
be much disturbed by them."
As he found even more fault with my husband, we condoled with each other
and decided that our friend was rather hypercritical and that we were as
nearly perfect as mortals need be for the wear and tear of ordinary
life. Being both endowed with a good degree of self-esteem, neither the
praise nor the blame of mankind was overpowering to either of us. As the
voyage lasted eighteen days--for we were on a sailing vessel--we had
time to make some improvement, or, at least, to consider all friendly
suggestions.
At this time Mr. Birney was very much in love with Miss Fitzhugh of
Geneseo, to whom he was afterward married. He suffered at times great
depression of spirits, but I could always rouse him to a sunny mood by
introducing her name. That was a theme of which he never grew weary,
and, while praising her, a halo of glory was to him visible around my
head and I was faultless for the time being. There was nothing in our
fellow-passengers to break the monotony of the voyage. They were all
stolid, middle-class English people, returning from various parts of the
world to visit their native land.
When out of their hearing, Mr. Birney used to ridicule them without
mercy; so, one day, by way of making a point, I said with great
solemnity, "Is it good breeding to make fun of the foibles of our
fellow-men, who have not had our advantages of culture and education?"
He felt the rebuke and blushed, and never again returned to that
subject. I am sorry to say I was glad to find him once in fault.
Though some amusement, in whatever extraordinary way I could obtain it,
was necessary to my existence, yet, as it was deemed important that I
should thoroughly understand the status of the anti-slavery movement in
my own country, I spent most of my time reading and talking on that
question. Being the wife of a delegate to the World's Convention, we all
felt it important that I should be able to answer whatever questions I
might be asked in England on all phases of the slavery question.
The captain, a jolly fellow, was always ready to second me in my
explorations into every nook and cranny of the vessel. He imagined that
my reading was distasteful and enforced by the older gentlemen, so he
was continually planning some diversion, and often invited me to sit
with him and listen to his experiences of a sailor's life.
But all things must end in this mortal life, and our voyage was near
its termination, when we were becalmed on the Southern coast of England
and could not make more than one knot an hour. When within sight of the
distant shore, a pilot boat came along and offered to take anyone ashore
in six hours. I was so delighted at the thought of reaching land that,
after much persuasion, Mr. Stanton and Mr. Birney consented to go.
Accordingly we were lowered into the boat in an armchair, with a
luncheon consisting of a cold chicken, a loaf of bread, and a bottle of
wine, with just enough wind to carry our light craft toward our
destination. But, instead of six hours, we were all day trying to reach
the land, and, as the twilight deepened and the last breeze died away,
the pilot said: "We are now two miles from shore, but the only way you
can reach there to-night is by a rowboat."
As we had no provisions left and nowhere to sleep, we were glad to avail
ourselves of the rowboat. It was a bright moonlight night, the air
balmy, the waters smooth, and, with two stout oarsmen, we glided swiftly
along. As Mr. Birney made the last descent and seated himself, doubtful
as to our reaching shore, turning to me he said: "The woman tempted me
and I did leave the good ship." However, we did reach the shore at
midnight and landed at Torquay, one of the loveliest spots in that
country, and our journey to Exeter the next day lay through the most
beautiful scenery in England.
As we had no luggage with us, our detention by customs officers was
brief, and we were soon conducted to a comfortable little hotel, which
we found in the morning was a bower of roses. I had never imagined
anything so beautiful as the drive up to Exeter on the top of a coach,
with four stout horses, trotting at the rate of ten miles an hour. It
was the first day of June, and the country was in all its glory. The
foliage was of the softest green, the trees were covered with blossoms,
and the shrubs with flowers. The roads were perfect; the large,
fine-looking coachman, with his white gloves and reins, his rosy face
and lofty bearing and the postman in red, blowing his horn as we passed
through every village, made the drive seem like a journey in fairyland.
We had heard that England was like a garden of flowers, but we were
wholly unprepared for such wealth of beauty.
In Exeter we had our first view of one of the great cathedrals in the
Old World, and we were all deeply impressed with its grandeur. It was
just at the twilight hour, when the last rays of the setting sun,
streaming through the stained glass windows, deepened the shadows and
threw a mysterious amber light over all. As the choir was practicing,
the whole effect was heightened by the deep tones of the organ
reverberating through the arched roof, and the sound of human voices as
if vainly trying to fill the vast space above. The novelty and solemnity
of the surroundings roused all our religious emotions and thrilled every
nerve in our being. As if moved by the same impulse to linger there a
while, we all sat down, silently waiting for something to break the
spell that bound us. Can one wonder at the power of the Catholic
religion for centuries, with such accessories to stimulate the
imagination to a blind worship of the unknown?
Sitting in the hotel that evening and wanting something to read, we
asked the waiter for the daily papers. As there was no public table or
drawing room for guests, but each party had its own apartment, we needed
a little change from the society of each other. Having been, as it were,
shut from the outside world for eighteen days, we had some curiosity to
see whether our planet was still revolving from west to east. At the
mention of papers in the plural number, the attendant gave us a look of
surprise, and said he would get "it." He returned saying that the
gentleman in No. 4 had "it," but he would be through in fifteen minutes.
Accordingly, at the end of that time, he brought the newspaper, and,
after we had had it the same length of time, he came to take it to
another party. At our lodging house in London, a paper was left for half
an hour each morning, and then it was taken to the next house, thus
serving several families of readers.
The next day brought us to London. When I first entered our lodging
house in Queen Street, I thought it the gloomiest abode I had ever seen.
The arrival of a delegation of ladies, the next day, from Boston and
Philadelphia, changed the atmosphere of the establishment, and filled me
with delightful anticipations of some new and charming acquaintances,
which I fully realized in meeting Emily Winslow, Abby Southwick,
Elizabeth Neal, Mary Grew, Abby Kimber, Sarah Pugh, and Lucretia Mott.
There had been a split in the American anti-slavery ranks, and delegates
came from both branches, and, as they were equally represented at our
lodgings, I became familiar with the whole controversy. The potent
element which caused the division was the woman question, and as the
Garrisonian branch maintained the right of women to speak and vote in
the conventions, all my sympathies were with the Garrisonians, though