Eighty Years and More; Reminiscences 1815-1897
curb bit before starting.' Surely, a man ought to know what is necessary
to manage a horse, and not expect a woman to tell him."
Our lives were still further varied and intensified by the usual number
of flirtations, so called, more or less lasting or evanescent, from all
of which I emerged, as from my religious experiences, in a more rational
frame of mind. We had been too much in the society of boys and young
gentlemen, and knew too well their real character, to idealize the sex
in general. In addition to our own observations, we had the advantage
of our brother-in-law's wisdom. Wishing to save us as long as possible
from all matrimonial entanglements, he was continually unveiling those
with whom he associated, and so critically portraying their intellectual
and moral condition that it was quite impossible, in our most worshipful
moods, to make gods of any of the sons of Adam.
However, in spite of all our own experiences and of all the warning
words of wisdom from those who had seen life in its many phases, we
entered the charmed circle at last, all but one marrying into the legal
profession, with its odious statute laws and infamous decisions. And
this, after reading Blackstone, Kent, and Story, and thoroughly
understanding the status of the wife under the old common law of
England, which was in force at that time in most of the States of the
Union.
CHAPTER IV.
LIFE AT PETERBORO.
The year, with us, was never considered complete without a visit to
Peterboro, N.Y., the home of Gerrit Smith. Though he was a reformer and
was very radical in many of his ideas, yet, being a man of broad
sympathies, culture, wealth, and position, he drew around him many
friends of the most conservative opinions. He was a man of fine
presence, rare physical beauty, most affable and courteous in manner,
and his hospitalities were generous to an extreme, and dispensed to all
classes of society.
Every year representatives from the Oneida tribe of Indians visited him.
His father had early purchased of them large tracts of land, and there
was a tradition among them that, as an equivalent for the good bargains
of the father, they had a right to the son's hospitality, with annual
gifts of clothing and provisions. The slaves, too, had heard of Gerrit
Smith, the abolitionist, and of Peterboro as one of the safe points _en
route_ for Canada. His mansion was, in fact, one of the stations on the
"underground railroad" for slaves escaping from bondage. Hence they,
too, felt that they had a right to a place under his protecting roof. On
such occasions the barn and the kitchen floor were utilized as chambers
for the black man from the southern plantation and the red man from his
home in the forest.
The spacious home was always enlivened with choice society from every
part of the country. There one would meet members of the families of the
old Dutch aristocracy, the Van Rensselaers, the Van Vechtens, the
Schuylers, the Livingstons, the Bleeckers, the Brinkerhoffs, the Ten
Eycks, the Millers, the Seymours, the Cochranes, the Biddles, the
Barclays, the Wendells, and many others.
As the lady of the house, Ann Carroll Fitzhugh, was the daughter of a
wealthy slaveholder of Maryland, many agreeable Southerners were often
among the guests. Our immediate family relatives were well represented
by General John Cochrane and his sisters, General Baird and his wife
from West Point, the Fitzhughs from Oswego and Geneseo, the Backuses and
Tallmans from Rochester, and the Swifts from Geneva. Here one was sure
to meet scholars, philosophers, philanthropists, judges, bishops,
clergymen, and statesmen.
Judge Alfred Conkling, the father of Roscoe Conkling, was, in his late
years, frequently seen at Peterboro. Tall and stately, after all life's
troubled scenes, financial losses and domestic sorrows, he used to say
there was no spot on earth that seemed so like his idea of Paradise. The
proud, reserved judge was unaccustomed to manifestations of affection
and tender interest in his behalf, and when Gerrit, taking him by both
hands would, in his softest tones say, "Good-morning," and inquire how
he had slept and what he would like to do that day, and Nancy would
greet him with equal warmth and pin a little bunch of roses in his
buttonhole, I have seen the tears in his eyes. Their warm sympathies and
sweet simplicity of manner melted the sternest natures and made the most
reserved amiable. There never was such an atmosphere of love and peace,
of freedom and good cheer, in any other home I visited. And this was the
universal testimony of those who were guests at Peterboro. To go
anywhere else, after a visit there, was like coming down from the divine
heights into the valley of humiliation.
How changed from the early days when, as strict Presbyterians, they
believed in all the doctrines of Calvin! Then, an indefinite gloom
pervaded their home. Their consciences were diseased. They attached such
undue importance to forms that they went through three kinds of baptism.
At one time Nancy would read nothing but the Bible, sing nothing but
hymns, and play only sacred music. She felt guilty if she talked on any
subject except religion. She was, in all respects, a fitting mate for
her attractive husband. Exquisitely refined in feeling and manner,
beautiful in face and form, earnest and sincere, she sympathized with
him in all his ideas of religion and reform. Together they passed
through every stage of theological experience, from the uncertain ground
of superstition and speculation to the solid foundation of science and
reason. The position of the Church in the anti-slavery conflict, opening
as it did all questions of ecclesiastical authority, Bible
interpretation, and church discipline, awakened them to new thought and
broader views on religious subjects, and eventually emancipated them
entirely from the old dogmas and formalities of their faith, and lifted
them into the cheerful atmosphere in which they passed the remainder of
their lives. Their only daughter, Elizabeth, added greatly to the
attractions of the home circle, as she drew many young people round her.
Beside her personal charm she was the heiress of a vast estate and had
many admirers. The favored one was Charles Dudley Miller of Utica,
nephew of Mrs. Blandina Bleecker Dudley, founder of the Albany
Observatory. At the close of his college life Mr. Miller had not only
mastered the languages, mathematics, rhetoric, and logic, but had
learned the secret windings of the human heart. He understood the art of
pleasing.
These were the times when the anti-slavery question was up for hot
discussion. In all the neighboring towns conventions were held in which
James G. Birney, a Southern gentleman who had emancipated his slaves,
Charles Stuart of Scotland, and George Thompson of England, Garrison,
Phillips, May, Beriah Greene, Foster, Abby Kelly, Lucretia Mott,
Douglass, and others took part. Here, too, John Brown, Sanborn, Morton,
and Frederick Douglass met to talk over that fatal movement on Harper's
Ferry. On the question of temperance, also, the people were in a
ferment. Dr. Cheever's pamphlet, "Deacon Giles' Distillery," was
scattered far and wide, and, as he was sued for libel, the question was
discussed in the courts as well as at every fireside. Then came the
Father Matthew and Washingtonian movements, and the position of the
Church on these questions intensified and embittered the conflict. This
brought the Cheevers, the Pierponts, the Delevans, the Nortons, and
their charming wives to Peterboro. It was with such company and varied
discussions on every possible phase of political, religious, and social
life that I spent weeks every year. Gerrit Smith was cool and calm in
debate, and, as he was armed at all points on these subjects, he could
afford to be patient and fair with an opponent, whether on the platform
or at the fireside. These rousing arguments at Peterboro made social
life seem tame and profitless elsewhere, and the youngest of us felt
that the conclusions reached in this school of philosophy were not to be
questioned. The sisters of General Cochrane, in disputes with their
Dutch cousins in Schenectady and Albany, would end all controversy by
saying, "This question was fully discussed at Peterboro, and settled."
The youngsters frequently put the lessons of freedom and individual
rights they heard so much of into practice, and relieved their brains
from the constant strain of argument on first principles, by the wildest
hilarity in dancing, all kinds of games, and practical jokes carried
beyond all bounds of propriety. These romps generally took place at Mr.
Miller's. He used to say facetiously, that they talked a good deal about
liberty over the way, but he kept the goddess under his roof. One
memorable occasion in which our enthusiasm was kept at white heat for
two hours I must try to describe, though words cannot do it justice, as
it was pre-eminently a spectacular performance. The imagination even
cannot do justice to the limp, woe-begone appearance of the actors in
the closing scene. These romps were conducted on a purely democratic
basis, without regard to color, sex, or previous condition of servitude.
It was rather a cold day in the month of March, when "Cousin Charley,"
as we called Mr. Miller, was superintending some men who were laying a
plank walk in the rear of his premises. Some half dozen of us were
invited to an early tea at good Deacon Huntington's. Immediately after
dinner, Miss Fitzhugh and Miss Van Schaack decided to take a nap, that
they might appear as brilliant as possible during the evening. That they
might not be late, as they invariably were, Cousin Lizzie and I decided
to rouse them in good season with a generous sprinkling of cold water.
In vain they struggled to keep the blankets around them; with equal
force we pulled them away, and, whenever a stray finger or toe appeared,
we brought fresh batteries to bear, until they saw that passive
resistance must give place to active hostility. We were armed with two
watering pots. They armed themselves with two large-sized syringes used
for showering potato bugs. With these weapons they gave us chase
downstairs. We ran into a closet and held the door shut. They quietly
waited our forthcoming. As soon as we opened the door to peep out, Miss
Fitzhugh, who was large and strong, pulled it wide open and showered us
with a vengeance. Then they fled into a large pantry where stood several
pans of milk.
At this stage Cousin Charley, hearing the rumpus, came to our
assistance. He locked them in the pantry and returned to his work,
whereupon they opened the window and showered him with milk, while he,
in turn, pelted them with wet clothes, soaking in tubs near by. As they
were thinly clad, wet to the skin, and the cold March wind blew round
them (we were all in fatigue costume in starting) they implored us to
let them out, which we did, and, in return for our kindness, they gave
us a broadside of milk in our faces. Cousin Lizzie and I fled to the
dark closet, where they locked us in. After long, weary waiting they
came to offer us terms of capitulation. Lizzie agreed to fill their guns
with milk, and give them our watering pots full of water, and I agreed
to call Cousin Charley under my window until they emptied the contents
of guns and pots on his head. My room was on the first floor, and Miss
Fitzhugh's immediately overhead. On these terms we accepted our freedom.
Accordingly, I gently raised the window and called Charley
confidentially within whispering distance, when down came a shower of
water. As he stepped back to look up and see whence it came, and who
made the attack, a stream of milk hit him on the forehead, his heels
struck a plank, and he fell backward, to all appearance knocked down