Eighty Years and More; Reminiscences 1815-1897
my classes and thus delight my father's heart. All that day and far into
the night I pondered the problem of boyhood. I thought that the chief
thing to be done in order to equal boys was to be learned and
courageous. So I decided to study Greek and learn to manage a horse.
Having formed this conclusion I fell asleep. My resolutions, unlike many
such made at night, did not vanish with the coming light. I arose early
and hastened to put them into execution. They were resolutions never to
be forgotten--destined to mold my character anew. As soon as I was
dressed I hastened to our good pastor, Rev. Simon Hosack, who was always
early at work in his garden.
"Doctor," said I, "which do you like best, boys or girls?"
"Why, girls, to be sure; I would not give you for all the boys in
Christendom."
"My father," I replied, "prefers boys; he wishes I was one, and I intend
to be as near like one as possible. I am going to ride on horseback and
study Greek. Will you give me a Greek lesson now, doctor? I want to
begin at once."
"Yes, child," said he, throwing down his hoe, "come into my library and
we will begin without delay."
He entered fully into the feeling of suffering and sorrow which took
possession of me when I discovered that a girl weighed less in the scale
of being than a boy, and he praised my determination to prove the
contrary. The old grammar which he had studied in the University of
Glasgow was soon in my hands, and the Greek article was learned before
breakfast.
Then came the sad pageantry of death, the weeping of friends, the dark
rooms, the ghostly stillness, the exhortation to the living to prepare
for death, the solemn prayer, the mournful chant, the funeral cortège,
the solemn, tolling bell, the burial. How I suffered during those sad
days! What strange undefined fears of the unknown took possession of me!
For months afterward, at the twilight hour, I went with my father to the
new-made grave. Near it stood two tall poplar trees, against one of
which I leaned, while my father threw himself on the grave, with
outstretched arms, as if to embrace his child. At last the frosts and
storms of November came and threw a chilling barrier between the living
and the dead, and we went there no more.
During all this time I kept up my lessons at the parsonage and made
rapid progress. I surprised even my teacher, who thought me capable of
doing anything. I learned to drive, and to leap a fence and ditch on
horseback. I taxed every power, hoping some day to hear my father say:
"Well, a girl is as good as a boy, after all." But he never said it.
When the doctor came over to spend the evening with us, I would whisper
in his ear: "Tell my father how fast I get on," and he would tell him,
and was lavish in his praises. But my father only paced the room,
sighed, and showed that he wished I were a boy; and I, not knowing why
he felt thus, would hide my tears of vexation on the doctor's shoulder.
Soon after this I began to study Latin, Greek, and mathematics with a
class of boys in the Academy, many of whom were much older than I. For
three years one boy kept his place at the head of the class, and I
always stood next. Two prizes were offered in Greek. I strove for one
and took the second. How well I remember my joy in receiving that prize.
There was no sentiment of ambition, rivalry, or triumph over my
companions, nor feeling of satisfaction in receiving this honor in the
presence of those assembled on the day of the exhibition. One thought
alone filled my mind. "Now," said I, "my father will be satisfied with
me." So, as soon as we were dismissed, I ran down the hill, rushed
breathless into his office, laid the new Greek Testament, which was my
prize, on his table and exclaimed: "There, I got it!" He took up the
book, asked me some questions about the class, the teachers, the
spectators, and, evidently pleased, handed it back to me. Then, while I
stood looking and waiting for him to say something which would show that
he recognized the equality of the daughter with the son, he kissed me on
the forehead and exclaimed, with a sigh, "Ah, you should have been a
boy!"
My joy was turned to sadness. I ran to my good doctor. He chased my
bitter tears away, and soothed me with unbounded praises and visions of
future success. He was then confined to the house with his last illness.
He asked me that day if I would like to have, when he was gone, the old
lexicon, Testament, and grammar that we had so often thumbed together.
"Yes, but I would rather have you stay," I replied, "for what can I do
when you are gone?" "Oh," said he tenderly, "I shall not be gone; my
spirit will still be with you, watching you in all life's struggles."
Noble, generous friend! He had but little on earth to bequeath to
anyone, but when the last scene in his life was ended, and his will was
opened, sure enough there was a clause saying: "My Greek lexicon,
Testament, and grammar, and four volumes of Scott's commentaries, I will
to Elizabeth Cady." I never look at these books without a feeling of
thankfulness that in childhood I was blessed with such a friend and
teacher.
I can truly say, after an experience of seventy years, that all the
cares and anxieties, the trials and disappointments of my whole life,
are light, when balanced with my sufferings in childhood and youth from
the theological dogmas which I sincerely believed, and the gloom
connected with everything associated with the name of religion, the
church, the parsonage, the graveyard, and the solemn, tolling bell.
Everything connected with death was then rendered inexpressibly
dolorous. The body, covered with a black pall, was borne on the
shoulders of men; the mourners were in crape and walked with bowed
heads, while the neighbors who had tears to shed, did so copiously and
summoned up their saddest facial expressions. At the grave came the
sober warnings to the living and sometimes frightful prophesies as to
the state of the dead. All this pageantry of woe and visions of the
unknown land beyond the tomb, often haunted my midnight dreams and
shadowed the sunshine of my days. The parsonage, with its bare walls and
floors, its shriveled mistress and her blind sister, more like ghostly
shadows than human flesh and blood; the two black servants, racked with
rheumatism and odoriferous with a pungent oil they used in the vain hope
of making their weary limbs more supple; the aged parson buried in his
library in the midst of musty books and papers--all this only added to
the gloom of my surroundings. The church, which was bare, with no
furnace to warm us, no organ to gladden our hearts, no choir to lead our
songs of praise in harmony, was sadly lacking in all attractions for the
youthful mind. The preacher, shut up in an octagonal box high above our
heads, gave us sermons over an hour long, and the chorister, in a
similar box below him, intoned line after line of David's Psalms, while,
like a flock of sheep at the heels of their shepherd, the congregation,
without regard to time or tune, straggled after their leader.
Years later, the introduction of stoves, a violoncello, Wesley's hymns,
and a choir split the church in twain. These old Scotch Presbyterians
were opposed to all innovations that would afford their people paths of
flowery ease on the road to Heaven. So, when the thermometer was twenty
degrees below zero on the Johnstown Hills, four hundred feet above the
Mohawk Valley, we trudged along through the snow, foot-stoves in hand,
to the cold hospitalities of the "Lord's House," there to be chilled to
the very core by listening to sermons on "predestination,"
"justification by faith," and "eternal damnation."
To be restless, or to fall asleep under such solemn circumstances was a
sure evidence of total depravity, and of the machinations of the devil
striving to turn one's heart from God and his ordinances. As I was
guilty of these shortcomings and many more, I early believed myself a
veritable child of the Evil One, and suffered endless fears lest he
should come some night and claim me as his own. To me he was a personal,
ever-present reality, crouching in a dark corner of the nursery. Ah! how
many times I have stolen out of bed, and sat shivering on the stairs,
where the hall lamp and the sound of voices from the parlor would, in a
measure, mitigate my terror. Thanks to a vigorous constitution and
overflowing animal spirits, I was able to endure for years the strain of
these depressing influences, until my reasoning powers and common sense
triumphed at last over my imagination. The memory of my own suffering
has prevented me from ever shadowing one young soul with any of the
superstitions of the Christian religion. But there have been many
changes, even in my native town, since those dark days. Our old church
was turned into a mitten factory, and the pleasant hum of machinery and
the glad faces of men and women have chased the evil spirits to their
hiding places. One finds at Johnstown now, beautiful churches,
ornamented cemeteries, and cheerful men and women, quite emancipated
from the nonsense and terrors of the old theologies.
An important event in our family circle was the marriage of my oldest
sister, Tryphena, to Edward Bayard of Wilmington, Delaware. He was a
graduate of Union College, a classmate of my brother, and frequently
visited at my father's house. At the end of his college course, he came
with his brother Henry to study law in Johnstown. A quiet, retired
little village was thought to be a good place in which to sequester
young men bent on completing their education, as they were there safe
from the temptations and distracting influences of large cities. In
addition to this consideration, my father's reputation made his office a
desirable resort for students, who, furthermore, not only improved their
opportunities by reading Blackstone, Kent, and Story, but also by making
love to the Judge's daughters. We thus had the advantage of many
pleasant acquaintances from the leading families in the country, and, in
this way, it was that four of the sisters eventually selected most
worthy husbands.
Though only twenty-one years of age when married, Edward Bayard was a
tall, fully developed man, remarkably fine looking, with cultivated
literary taste and a profound knowledge of human nature. Warm and
affectionate, generous to a fault in giving and serving, he was soon a
great favorite in the family, and gradually filled the void made in all
our hearts by the loss of the brother and son.
My father was so fully occupied with the duties of his profession, which
often called him from home, and my mother so weary with the cares of a
large family, having had ten children, though only five survived at this
time, that they were quite willing to shift their burdens to younger
shoulders. Our eldest sister and her husband, therefore, soon became our
counselors and advisers. They selected our clothing, books, schools,
acquaintances, and directed our reading and amusements. Thus the reins
of domestic government, little by little, passed into their hands, and
the family arrangements were in a manner greatly improved in favor of
greater liberty for the children.
The advent of Edward and Henry Bayard was an inestimable blessing to us.
With them came an era of picnics, birthday parties, and endless
amusements; the buying of pictures, fairy books, musical instruments and
ponies, and frequent excursions with parties on horseback. Fresh from
college, they made our lessons in Latin, Greek, and mathematics so easy
that we studied with real pleasure and had more leisure for play. Henry
Bayard's chief pleasures were walking, riding, and playing all manner of
games, from jack-straws to chess, with the three younger sisters, and we