Eighty Years and More; Reminiscences 1815-1897
boys in the street added to the general din. Under such circumstances it
was difficult to preserve my equilibrium. I felt like laughing at my own
comical predicament, and I decided to make my address a medley of
anecdotes and stories, like a string of beads, held together by a fine
thread of argument and illustration. The moment the hand of the clock
pointed at eight o'clock the band struck up, thus announcing that the
happy hour for the minstrels had come. Those of my audience who wished
to stay were offered seats at half price; those who did not, slipped
out, and the crowd rushed in, soon packing the house to its utmost
capacity. I stayed, and enjoyed the performance of the minstrels more
than I had my own.
As the lyceum season lasted from October to June, I was late in reaching
Philadelphia. Miss Anthony and Mrs. Gage had already been through the
agony of finding appropriate headquarters for the National Suffrage
Association. I found them pleasantly situated on the lower floor of No.
1431 Chestnut Street, with the work for the coming month clearly mapped
out. As it was the year for nominating candidates for the presidency of
the United States, the Republicans and Democrats were about to hold
their great' conventions. Hence letters were to be written to them
recommending a woman suffrage plank in their platforms, and asking seats
for women in the conventions, with the privilege of being heard in their
own behalf. On these letters our united wisdom was concentrated, and
twenty thousand copies of each were published.
Then it was thought pre-eminently proper that a Woman's Declaration of
Rights should be issued. Days and nights were spent over that document.
After many twists from our analytical tweezers, with a critical
consideration of every word and sentence, it was at last, by a consensus
of the competent, pronounced very good. Thousands were ordered to be
printed, and were folded, put in envelopes, stamped, directed, and
scattered. Miss Anthony, Mrs. Gage, and I worked sixteen hours, day and
night, pressing everyone who came in, into the service, and late at
night carrying immense bundles to be mailed. With meetings, receptions,
and a succession of visitors, all of whom we plied with woman suffrage
literature, we felt we had accomplished a great educational work.
Among the most enjoyable experiences at our headquarters were the
frequent visits of our beloved Lucretia Mott, who used to come from her
country home bringing us eggs, cold chickens, and fine Oolong tea. As
she had presented us with a little black teapot that, like Mercury's
mysterious pitcher of milk, filled itself for every coming guest, we
often improvised luncheons with a few friends. At parting, Lucretia
always made a contribution to our depleted treasury. Here we had many
prolonged discussions as to the part we should take, on the Fourth of
July, in the public celebration. We thought it would be fitting for us
to read our Declaration of Rights immediately after that of the Fathers
was read, as an impeachment of them and their male descendants for their
injustice and oppression. Ours contained as many counts, and quite as
important, as those against King George in 1776. Accordingly, we applied
to the authorities to allow us seats on the platform and a place in the
programme of the public celebration, which was to be held in the
historic old Independence Hall. As General Hawley was in charge of the
arrangements for the day, I wrote him as follows:
"1431 Chestnut Street, July 1, 1876.
"General Hawley.
"_Honored Sir_: As President of the National Woman's Suffrage
Association, I am authorized to ask you for tickets to the
platform, at Independence Hall, for the celebration on the Fourth
of July. We should like to have seats for at least one
representative woman from each State. We also ask your permission
to read our Declaration of Rights immediately after the reading of
the Declaration of Independence of the Fathers is finished.
Although these are small favors to ask as representatives of
one-half of the nation, yet we shall be under great obligations to
you if granted.
"Respectfully Yours,
"Elizabeth Cady Stanton."
To this I received the following reply:
"U.S.C.C. Headquarters, July 2.
"Mrs. Elizabeth Cady Stanton.
"_Dear Madam_: I send you, with pleasure, half a dozen cards of
invitation. As the platform is already crowded, it is impossible to
reserve the number of seats you desire. I regret to say it is also
impossible for us to make any change in the programme at this late
hour. We are crowded for time to carry out what is already
proposed.
"Yours Very Respectfully,
"Joseph R. Hawley,
"President, U.S.C.C."
With this rebuff, Mrs. Mott and I decided that we would not accept the
offered seats, but would be ready to open our own convention called for
that day, at the First Unitarian church, where the Rev. William H.
Furness had preached for fifty years. But some of our younger coadjutors
decided that they would occupy the seats and present our Declaration of
Rights. They said truly, women will be taxed to pay the expenses of
this celebration, and we have as good a right to that platform and to
the ears of the people as the men have, and we will be heard.
That historic Fourth of July dawned at last, one of the most oppressive
days of that heated season. Susan B. Anthony, Matilda Joslyn Gage, Sara
Andrews Spencer, Lillie Devereux Blake, and Phoebe W. Couzins made their
way through the crowds under the broiling sun of Independence Square,
carrying the Woman's Declaration of Rights. This Declaration had been
handsomely engrossed by one of their number, and signed by the oldest
and most prominent advocates of woman's enfranchisement. Their tickets
of admission proved an "open sesame" through the military barriers, and,
a few moments before the opening of the ceremonies, these women found
themselves within the precincts from which most of their sex were
excluded.
The Declaration of 1776 was read by Richard Henry Lee of Virginia, about
whose family clusters so much historic fame. The moment he finished
reading was determined upon as the appropriate time for the presentation
of the Woman's Declaration. Not quite sure how their approach might be
met, not quite certain if, at this final moment, they would be permitted
to reach the presiding officer, those ladies arose and made their way
down the aisle. The bustle of preparation for the Brazilian hymn covered
their advance. The foreign guests and the military and civil officers
who filled the space directly in front of the speaker's stand,
courteously made way, while Miss Anthony, in fitting words, presented
the Declaration to the presiding officer. Senator Ferry's face paled as,
bowing low, with no word he received the Declaration, which thus became
part of the day's proceedings. The ladies turned, scattering printed
copies as they deliberately walked down the platform. On every side
eager hands were outstretched, men stood on seats and asked for them,
while General Hawley, thus defied and beaten in his audacious denial to
women of the right to present their Declaration, shouted, "Order,
order!"
Passing out, these ladies made their way to a platform, erected for the
musicians, in front of Independence Hall. Here, under the shadow of
Washington's statue, back of them the old bell that proclaimed "liberty
to all the land and all the inhabitants thereof," they took their
places, and, to a listening, applauding crowd, Miss Anthony read the
Woman's Declaration. During the reading of the Declaration, Mrs. Gage
stood beside Miss Anthony and held an umbrella over her head, to shelter
her friend from the intense heat of the noonday sun. And thus in the
same hour, on opposite sides of old Independence Hall, did the men and
women express their opinions on the great principles proclaimed on the
natal day of the Republic. The Declaration was handsomely framed, and
now hangs in the Vice President's room in the Capitol at Washington.
These heroic ladies then hurried from Independence Hall to the church,
already crowded with an expectant audience, to whom they gave a full
report of the morning's proceedings. The Hutchinsons of worldwide fame
were present in their happiest vein, interspersing the speeches with
appropriate songs and felicitous remarks. For five long hours on that
hot midsummer day a crowded audience, many standing, listened with
profound interest and reluctantly dispersed at last, all agreeing that
it was one of the most impressive and enthusiastic meetings they had
ever attended.
All through our Civil War the slaves on the Southern plantations had an
abiding faith that the terrible conflict would result in freedom for
their race. Just so through all the busy preparations of the Centennial,
the women of the nation felt sure that the great national celebration
could not pass without the concession of some new liberties to them.
Hence they pressed their claims at every point, at the Fourth of July
celebration in the exposition buildings, and in the Republican and
Democratic nominating conventions; hoping to get a plank in the
platforms of both the great political parties.
The Woman's Pavilion upon the centennial grounds was an afterthought, as
theologians claim woman herself to have been. The women of the country,
after having contributed nearly one hundred thousand dollars to the
centennial stock, found there had been no provision made for the
separate exhibition of their work. The centennial board, of which Mrs.
Gillespie was president, then decided to raise funds for the erection of
a separate building, to be known as the Woman's Pavilion. It covered an
acre of ground, and was erected at an expense of thirty thousand
dollars--a small sum in comparison with the money which had been raised
by women and expended on the other buildings, not to speak of the State
and national appropriations, which the taxes levied on them had largely
helped to swell.
The Pavilion was no true exhibit of woman's art. Few women are, as yet,
owners of the business which their industry largely makes remunerative.
Cotton factories, in which thousands of women work, are owned by men.
The shoe business, in some branches of which women are doing more than
half the work, is under the ownership of men. Rich embroideries from
India, rugs of downy softness from Turkey, the muslin of Decca,
anciently known as "The Woven Wind," the pottery and majolica ware of P.
Pipsen's widow, the cartridges and envelopes of Uncle Sam, Waltham
watches, whose finest mechanical work is done by women, and ten thousand
other industries found no place in the pavilion. Said United States
Commissioner Meeker of Colorado, "Woman's work comprises three-fourths
of the exposition; it is scattered through every building; take it away,
and there would be no exposition."
But this pavilion rendered one good service to woman in showing her
capabilities as an engineer. The boiler, which furnished the force for
running its work, was under the charge of a young Canadian girl, Miss
Allison, who, from childhood, had loved machinery, spending much time in
the large saw and grist mills of her father, run by engines of two and
three hundred horse-power, which she sometimes managed for amusement.
When her name was proposed for running the pavilion machinery, it caused
much opposition. It was said that the committee would, some day, find
the pavilion blown to atoms; that the woman engineer would spend her
time reading novels instead of watching the steam gauge; that the idea
was impracticable and should not be thought of. But Miss Allison soon