Eighty Years and More; Reminiscences 1815-1897
with a stream of milk. His humiliation was received with shouts of
derisive laughter, and even the carpenters at work laid down their
hammers and joined in the chorus; but his revenge was swift and capped
the climax. Cold and wet as we all were, and completely tired out, we
commenced to disrobe and get ready for the tea party. Unfortunately I
had forgotten to lock my door, and in walked Cousin Charley with a quart
bottle of liquid blacking, which he prepared to empty on my devoted
head. I begged so eloquently and trembled so at the idea of being dyed
black, that he said he would let me off on one condition, and that was
to get him, by some means, into Miss Fitzhugh's room. So I ran screaming
up the stairs, as if hotly pursued by the enemy, and begged her to let
me in. She cautiously opened the door, but when she saw Charley behind
me she tried to force it shut. However, he was too quick for her. He had
one leg and arm in; but, at that stage of her toilet, to let him in was
impossible, and there they stood, equally strong, firmly braced, she on
one side of the door and he on the other. But the blacking he was
determined she should have; so, gauging her probable position, with one
desperate effort he squeezed in a little farther and, raising the
bottle, he poured the contents on her head. The blacking went streaming
down over her face, white robe, and person, and left her looking more
like a bronze fury than one of Eve's most charming daughters. A yard or
more of the carpet was ruined, the wallpaper and bedclothes spattered,
and the poor victim was unfit to be seen for a week at least. Charley
had a good excuse for his extreme measures, for, as we all by turn
played our tricks on him, it was necessary to keep us in some fear of
punishment. This was but one of the many outrageous pranks we
perpetrated on each other. To see us a few hours later, all absorbed in
an anti-slavery or temperance convention, or dressed in our best, in
high discourse with the philosophers, one would never think we could
have been guilty of such consummate follies. It was, however, but the
natural reaction from the general serious trend of our thoughts.
It was in Peterboro, too, that I first met one who was then considered
the most eloquent and impassioned orator on the anti-slavery platform,
Henry B. Stanton. He had come over from Utica with Alvin Stewart's
beautiful daughter, to whom report said he was engaged; but, as she soon
after married Luther R. Marsh, there was a mistake somewhere. However,
the rumor had its advantages. Regarding him as not in the matrimonial
market, we were all much more free and easy in our manners with him than
we would otherwise have been. A series of anti-slavery conventions was
being held in Madison County, and there I had the pleasure of hearing
him for the first time. As I had a passion for oratory, I was deeply
impressed with his power. He was not so smooth and eloquent as Phillips,
but he could make his audience both laugh and cry; the latter, Phillips
himself said he never could do. Mr. Stanton was then in his prime, a
fine-looking, affable young man, with remarkable conversational talent,
and was ten years my senior, with the advantage that number of years
necessarily gives.
Two carriage-loads of ladies and gentlemen drove off every morning,
sometimes ten miles, to one of these conventions, returning late at
night. I shall never forget those charming drives over the hills in
Madison County, the bright autumnal days, and the bewitching moonlight
nights. The enthusiasm of the people in these great meetings, the
thrilling oratory, and lucid arguments of the speakers, all conspired to
make these days memorable as among the most charming in my life. It
seemed to me that I never had so much happiness crowded into one short
month. I had become interested in the anti-slavery and temperance
questions, and was deeply impressed with the appeals and arguments. I
felt a new inspiration in life and was enthused with new ideas of
individual rights and the basic principles of government, for the
anti-slavery platform was the best school the American people ever had
on which to learn republican principles and ethics. These conventions
and the discussions at my cousin's fireside I count among the great
blessings of my life.
One morning, as we came out from breakfast, Mr. Stanton joined me on the
piazza, where I was walking up and down enjoying the balmy air and the
beauty of the foliage. "As we have no conventions," said he, "on hand,
what do you say to a ride on horseback this morning?" I readily accepted
the suggestion, ordered the horses, put on my habit, and away we went.
The roads were fine and we took a long ride. As we were returning home
we stopped often to admire the scenery and, perchance, each other. When
walking slowly through a beautiful grove, he laid his hand on the horn
of the saddle and, to my surprise, made one of those charming
revelations of human feeling which brave knights have always found
eloquent words to utter, and to which fair ladies have always listened
with mingled emotions of pleasure and astonishment.
One outcome of those glorious days of October, 1839, was a marriage, in
Johnstown, the 10th day of May, 1840, and a voyage to the Old World.
Six weeks of that charming autumn, ending in the Indian summer with its
peculiarly hazy atmosphere, I lingered in Peterboro. It seems in
retrospect like a beautiful dream. A succession of guests was constantly
coming and going, and I still remember the daily drives over those grand
old hills crowned with trees now gorgeous in rich colors, the more
charming because we knew the time was short before the cold winds of
November would change all.
The early setting sun warned us that the shortening days must soon end
our twilight drives, and the moonlight nights were too chilly to linger
long in the rustic arbors or shady nooks outside. With the peculiar
charm of this season of the year there is always a touch of sadness in
nature, and it seemed doubly so to me, as my engagement was not one of
unmixed joy and satisfaction. Among all conservative families there was
a strong aversion to abolitionists and the whole anti-slavery movement.
Alone with Cousin Gerrit in his library he warned me, in deep, solemn
tones, while strongly eulogizing my lover, that my father would never
consent to my marriage with an abolitionist. He felt in duty bound, as
my engagement had occurred under his roof, to free himself from all
responsibility by giving me a long dissertation on love, friendship,
marriage, and all the pitfalls for the unwary, who, without due
consideration, formed matrimonial relations. The general principles laid
down in this interview did not strike my youthful mind so forcibly as
the suggestion that it was better to announce my engagement by letter
than to wait until I returned home, as thus I might draw the hottest
fire while still in safe harbor, where Cousin Gerrit could help me
defend the weak points in my position. So I lingered at Peterboro to
prolong the dream of happiness and postpone the conflict I feared to
meet.
But the Judge understood the advantage of our position as well as we
did, and wasted no ammunition on us. Being even more indignant at my
cousin than at me, he quietly waited until I returned home, when I
passed through the ordeal of another interview, with another
dissertation on domestic relations from a financial standpoint. These
were two of the most bewildering interviews I ever had. They succeeded
in making me feel that the step I proposed to take was the most
momentous and far-reaching in its consequences of any in this mortal
life. Heretofore my apprehensions had all been of death and eternity;
now life itself was filled with fears and anxiety as to the
possibilities of the future. Thus these two noble men, who would have
done anything for my happiness, actually overweighted my conscience and
turned the sweetest dream of my life into a tragedy. How little strong
men, with their logic, sophistry, and hypothetical examples, appreciate
the violence they inflict on the tender sensibilities of a woman's
heart, in trying to subjugate her to their will! The love of protecting
too often degenerates into downright tyranny. Fortunately all these
sombre pictures of a possible future were thrown into the background by
the tender missives every post brought me, in which the brilliant
word-painting of one of the most eloquent pens of this generation made
the future for us both, as bright and beautiful as Spring with her
verdure and blossoms of promise.
However, many things were always transpiring at Peterboro to turn one's
thoughts and rouse new interest in humanity at large. One day, as a bevy
of us girls were singing and chattering in the parlor, Cousin Gerrit
entered and, in mysterious tones, said: "I have a most important secret
to tell you, which you must keep to yourselves religiously for
twenty-four hours."
We readily pledged ourselves in the most solemn manner, individually and
collectively.
"Now," said he, "follow me to the third story."
This we did, wondering what the secret could be. At last, opening a
door, he ushered us into a large room, in the center of which sat a
beautiful quadroon girl, about eighteen years of age. Addressing her, he
said:
"Harriet, I have brought all my young cousins to see you. I want you to
make good abolitionists of them by telling them the history of your
life--what you have seen and suffered in slavery."
Turning to us he said:
"Harriet has just escaped from her master, who is visiting in Syracuse,
and is on her way to Canada. She will start this evening and you may
never have another opportunity of seeing a slave girl face to face, so
ask her all you care to know of the system of slavery."
For two hours we listened to the sad story of her childhood and youth,
separated from all her family and sold for her beauty in a New Orleans
market when but fourteen years of age. The details of her story I need
not repeat. The fate of such girls is too well known to need rehearsal.
We all wept together as she talked, and, when Cousin Gerrit returned to
summon us away, we needed no further education to make us earnest
abolitionists.
Dressed as a Quakeress, Harriet started at twilight with one of Mr.
Smith's faithful clerks in a carriage for Oswego, there to cross the
lake to Canada. The next day her master and the marshals from Syracuse
were on her track in Peterboro, and traced her to Mr. Smith's premises.
He was quite gracious in receiving them, and, while assuring them that
there was no slave there, he said that they were at liberty to make a
thorough search of the house and grounds. He invited them to stay and
dine and kept them talking as long as possible, as every hour helped
Harriet to get beyond their reach; for, although she had eighteen hours
the start of them, yet we feared some accident might have delayed her.
The master was evidently a gentleman, for, on Mr. Smith's assurance that
Harriet was not there, he made no search, feeling that they could not do
so without appearing to doubt his word. He was evidently surprised to
find an abolitionist so courteous and affable, and it was interesting to
hear them in conversation, at dinner, calmly discussing the problem of
slavery, while public sentiment was at white heat on the question. They
shook hands warmly at parting and expressed an equal interest in the
final adjustment of that national difficulty.
In due time the clerk returned with the good news that Harriet was safe
with friends in a good situation in Canada. Mr. Smith then published an
open letter to the master in the New York _Tribune_, saying "that he
would no doubt rejoice to know that his slave Harriet, in whose fate he