Eighty Years and More; Reminiscences 1815-1897
bring me a glass of water." I replied indignantly, "I am not a servant;
I am here for fun."
In all these escapades we were followed by Peter, black as coal and six
feet in height. It seems to me now that his chief business was to
discover our whereabouts, get us home to dinner, and take us back to
school. Fortunately he was overflowing with curiosity and not averse to
lingering a while where anything of interest was to be seen or heard,
and, as we were deemed perfectly safe under his care, no questions were
asked when we got to the house, if we had been with him. He had a long
head and, through his diplomacy, we escaped much disagreeable
surveillance. Peter was very fond of attending court. All the lawyers
knew him, and wherever Peter went, the three little girls in his charge
went, too. Thus, with constant visits to the jail, courthouse, and my
father's office, I gleaned some idea of the danger of violating the law.
The great events of the year were the Christmas holidays, the Fourth of
July, and "general training," as the review of the county militia was
then called. The winter gala days are associated, in my memory, with
hanging up stockings and with turkeys, mince pies, sweet cider, and
sleighrides by moonlight. My earliest recollections of those happy days,
when schools were closed, books laid aside, and unusual liberties
allowed, center in that large cellar kitchen to which I have already
referred. There we spent many winter evenings in uninterrupted
enjoyment. A large fireplace with huge logs shed warmth and cheerfulness
around. In one corner sat Peter sawing his violin, while our youthful
neighbors danced with us and played blindman's buff almost every evening
during the vacation. The most interesting character in this game was a
black boy called Jacob (Peter's lieutenant), who made things lively for
us by always keeping one eye open--a wise precaution to guard himself
from danger, and to keep us on the jump. Hickory nuts, sweet cider, and
_olie-koeks_ (a Dutch name for a fried cake with raisins inside) were
our refreshments when there came a lull in the fun.
As St. Nicholas was supposed to come down the chimney, our stockings
were pinned on a broomstick, laid across two chairs in front of the
fireplace. We retired on Christmas Eve with the most pleasing
anticipations of what would be in our stockings next morning. The
thermometer in that latitude was often twenty degrees below zero, yet,
bright and early, we would run downstairs in our bare feet over the cold
floors to carry stockings, broom, etc., to the nursery. The gorgeous
presents that St. Nicholas now distributes show that he, too, has been
growing up with the country. The boys and girls of 1897 will laugh when
they hear of the contents of our stockings in 1823. There was a little
paper of candy, one of raisins, another, of nuts, a red apple, an
_olie-koek_, and a bright silver quarter of a dollar in the toe. If a
child had been guilty of any erratic performances during the year, which
was often my case, a long stick would protrude from the stocking; if
particularly good, an illustrated catechism or the New Testament would
appear, showing that the St. Nicholas of that time held decided views
on discipline and ethics.
During the day we would take a drive over the snow-clad hills and
valleys in a long red lumber sleigh. All the children it could hold made
the forests echo with their songs and laughter. The sleigh bells and
Peter's fine tenor voice added to the chorus seemed to chant, as we
passed, "Merry Christmas" to the farmers' children and to all we met on
the highway.
Returning home, we were allowed, as a great Christmas treat, to watch
all Peter's preparations for dinner. Attired in a white apron and
turban, holding in his hand a tin candlestick the size of a dinner
plate, containing a tallow candle, with stately step he marched into the
spacious cellar, with Jacob and three little girls dressed in red
flannel at his heels. As the farmers paid the interest on their
mortgages in barrels of pork, headcheese, poultry, eggs, and cider, the
cellars were well crowded for the winter, making the master of an
establishment quite indifferent to all questions of finance. We heard
nothing in those days of greenbacks, silver coinage, or a gold basis.
Laden with vegetables, butter, eggs, and a magnificent turkey, Peter and
his followers returned to the kitchen. There, seated on a big ironing
table, we watched the dressing and roasting of the bird in a tin oven in
front of the fire. Jacob peeled the vegetables, we all sang, and Peter
told us marvelous stories. For tea he made flapjacks, baked in a pan
with a long handle, which he turned by throwing the cake up and
skillfully catching it descending.
Peter was a devout Episcopalian and took great pleasure in helping the
young people decorate the church. He would take us with him and show us
how to make evergreen wreaths. Like Mary's lamb, where'er he went we
were sure to go. His love for us was unbounded and fully returned. He
was the only being, visible or invisible, of whom we had no fear. We
would go to divine service with Peter, Christmas morning and sit with
him by the door, in what was called "the negro pew." He was the only
colored member of the church and, after all the other communicants had
taken the sacrament, he went alone to the altar. Dressed in a new suit
of blue with gilt buttons, he looked like a prince, as, with head erect,
he walked up the aisle, the grandest specimen of manhood in the whole
congregation; and yet so strong was prejudice against color in 1823 that
no one would kneel beside him. On leaving us, on one of these occasions,
Peter told us all to sit still until he returned; but, no sooner had he
started, than the youngest of us slowly followed after him and seated
herself close beside him. As he came back, holding the child by the
hand, what a lesson it must have been to that prejudiced congregation!
The first time we entered the church together the sexton opened a white
man's pew for us, telling Peter to leave the Judge's children there.
"Oh," he said, "they will not stay there without me." But, as he could
not enter, we instinctively followed him to the negro pew.
Our next great fête was on the anniversary of the birthday of our
Republic. The festivities were numerous and protracted, beginning then,
as now, at midnight with bonfires and cannon; while the day was ushered
in with the ringing of bells, tremendous cannonading, and a continuous
popping of fire-crackers and torpedoes. Then a procession of soldiers
and citizens marched through the town, an oration was delivered, the
Declaration of Independence read, and a great dinner given in the open
air under the trees in the grounds of the old courthouse. Each toast was
announced with the booming of cannon. On these occasions Peter was in
his element, and showed us whatever he considered worth seeing; but I
cannot say that I enjoyed very much either "general training" or the
Fourth of July, for, in addition to my fear of cannon and torpedoes, my
sympathies were deeply touched by the sadness of our cook, whose drunken
father always cut antics in the streets on gala days, the central figure
in all the sports of the boys, much to the mortification of his worthy
daughter. She wept bitterly over her father's public exhibition of
himself, and told me in what a condition he would come home to his
family at night. I would gladly have stayed in with her all day, but the
fear of being called a coward compelled me to go through those trying
ordeals. As my nerves were all on the surface, no words can describe
what I suffered with those explosions, great and small, and my fears
lest King George and his minions should reappear among us. I thought
that, if he had done all the dreadful things stated in the Declaration
of '76, he might come again, burn our houses, and drive us all into the
street. Sir William Johnson's mansion of solid masonry, gloomy and
threatening, still stood in our neighborhood. I had seen the marks of
the Indian's tomahawk on the balustrades and heard of the bloody deeds
there enacted. For all the calamities of the nation I believed King
George responsible. At home and at school we were educated to hate the
English. When we remember that, every Fourth of July, the Declaration
was read with emphasis, and the orator of the day rounded all his
glowing periods with denunciations of the mother country, we need not
wonder at the national hatred of everything English. Our patriotism in
those early days was measured by our dislike of Great Britain.
In September occurred the great event, the review of the county militia,
popularly called "Training Day." Then everybody went to the race course
to see the troops and buy what the farmers had brought in their wagons.
There was a peculiar kind of gingerbread and molasses candy to which we
were treated on those occasions, associated in my mind to this day with
military reviews and standing armies.
Other pleasures were, roaming in the forests and sailing on the mill
pond. One day, when there were no boys at hand and several girls were
impatiently waiting for a sail on a raft, my sister and I volunteered to
man the expedition. We always acted on the assumption that what we had
seen done, we could do. Accordingly we all jumped on the raft, loosened
it from its moorings, and away we went with the current. Navigation on
that mill pond was performed with long poles, but, unfortunately, we
could not lift the poles, and we soon saw we were drifting toward the
dam. But we had the presence of mind to sit down and hold fast to the
raft. Fortunately, we went over right side up and gracefully glided down
the stream, until rescued by the ever watchful Peter. I did not hear the
last of that voyage for a long time. I was called the captain of the
expedition, and one of the boys wrote a composition, which he read in
school, describing the adventure and emphasizing the ignorance of the
laws of navigation shown by the officers in command. I shed tears many
times over that performance.
CHAPTER II.
SCHOOL DAYS.
When I was eleven years old, two events occurred which changed
considerably the current of my life. My only brother, who had just
graduated from Union College, came home to die. A young man of great
talent and promise, he was the pride of my father's heart. We early felt
that this son filled a larger place in our father's affections and
future plans than the five daughters together. Well do I remember how
tenderly he watched my brother in his last illness, the sighs and tears
he gave vent to as he slowly walked up and down the hall, and, when the
last sad moment came, and we were all assembled to say farewell in the
silent chamber of death, how broken were his utterances as he knelt and
prayed for comfort and support. I still recall, too, going into the
large darkened parlor to see my brother, and finding the casket,
mirrors, and pictures all draped in white, and my father seated by his
side, pale and immovable. As he took no notice of me, after standing a
long while, I climbed upon his knee, when he mechanically put his arm
about me and, with my head resting against his beating heart, we both
sat in silence, he thinking of the wreck of all his hopes in the loss of
a dear son, and I wondering what could be said or done to fill the void
in his breast. At length he heaved a deep sigh and said: "Oh, my
daughter, I wish you were a boy!" Throwing my arms about his neck, I
replied: "I will try to be all my brother was."
[Illustration: MARGARET LIVINGSTON CADY.] [Illustration: JUDGE DANIEL
CADY.] Then and there I resolved that I would not give so much time as
heretofore to play, but would study and strive to be at the head of all