Part 9

“Well, if you do, then I keep a hotel,” replied Mrs. Anderson, whose large house was well filled by the family connection. To take high tea at “Vaucluse” was always delightful. I should be afraid to say how many people sat around the long, well-polished mahogany table. Yet there were always plenty of hot Indian-meal griddle-cakes, as well as other good things, for every one. When there were many guests, it was necessary to set the table a second time. Fannie, who presided over the household, was as hospitable as her father, but the strain of this heavy entertaining was too much for her strength. Her housekeeping ideals were high, and servants hard to get and to keep. In one of his crusades Mr. Hazard, who had been brought up in the Society of Friends or Quakers, attacked the Roman Catholic Church. This made it more difficult for him to procure servants, who, at that time, were almost all Roman Catholic Irishwomen.

So Fannie and her sisters did a great deal of the housework themselves. Mr. Hazard was a most devoted father, but, being extremely vigorous himself, he failed to realize that his daughters were of a less robust type. All four died before reaching the age of forty, three of tuberculosis.

He himself held various singular beliefs upon which he loved to expatiate to his friends. Chief among his hobbies was spiritualism. He would quote to my mother, as remarkable new truths, views with which she, a student of philosophy, was perfectly familiar. We were all gathered at the Anderson mansion one evening, to witness a clever exhibition of legerdemain by Mr. Elbert Anderson. After witnessing the various conjuror’s tricks, Mr. Hazard declared that they were done by spiritualism! When he was with difficulty convinced that they were not, he naïvely observed that just such things were done by spiritualists! Toward the end of his life, when his wife appeared to him as a materialized spirit, he gladly received some cotton lace from her celestial robe!

In the efficacy of Brandreth’s pills for typhoid fever and minor ills he was a fervent believer. Even calves he dosed with them. He scorned the aid of surgeons, holding that the only persons who could properly attend to broken bones were a certain family of Sweets, “natural bone-setters,” as they were called. In spite of all these eccentricities, he was a very intelligent man. His extreme credulity was due, in part, to lack of early education.

Many were the merry picnics that the Howes, Hazards and sometimes the Andersons had at the “Glen” and at “Paradise.” Lawton’s Valley itself was a favorite place for picnics when my father bought it. It was soon evident, however, that we and the public could not jointly use it, because the latter were so extremely inconsiderate. To have your place treated like an inn, to have strange omnibuses loaded with unknown people arrive without warning at your back door, destroys all privacy. The tendency of Americans to leave behind unpleasant mementoes in the shape of the débris of the feast, and to carry off floral tributes, is a thing to be deplored. It is to be hoped that our new Anglo-French alliance will teach our people to respect private property.

When the Civil War came, the Naval Academy was moved from Annapolis to Newport. The older classes were sent to take their part in the conflict, the younger remaining at Newport. Their coming brought gay doings for the young girls. Weekly hops were held on Saturday afternoons, aboard the famous old frigate _Constitution_. To these we all repaired, being rowed over in the ship’s boats. The dancing took place between decks where a very tall man might easily have bumped his head. The naval band furnished the music, a certain tune giving us a gentle hint to depart when the dance was over.

The midshipmen were extremely young, but so were we! I myself was nearly sixteen, but some of my partners looked to me like mere children. Others were old enough to be “real beaux.” However, we entered their names on our cards impartially and danced with them, young or old, as they came along. The gallant and ill-fated De Long was at Newport that summer, but I do not remember him among my partners.

A few young men who were not navy officers came to these hops. I remember among the dancers a tall, handsome fellow with fair hair. Some of the girls disapproved of him, thinking him dandified, because he wore a white tie. I, however, admired him and learned later, from one of the older girls, that he had said complimentary things about me. She did not, however, offer to introduce us, nor did I have the skill to manage an introduction. Whether dandified or not, W—— T—— was no slacker, but fought for his country on land, as the midshipmen did on the sea.

The next time I met him was on the New York boat. As my mother and I boarded it, to go to Boston, a figure shrouded in shawls emerged from the darkness of the boat, on his way to the shore. It was W—— T—— returning wounded to his aunt’s home in Newport, which we had just left. I never saw him again, for he went back to the army and was killed. So ended this shadow of a war romance!

Parties were given for the midshipmen both at Lawton’s Valley and at “Vaucluse.” The ice-cream for our entertainment missed connections, so David Hall, always obliging, was commissioned to drive to Newport and bring it out. Meantime the lady of his affections, the present writer, was left to philander about with the midshipmen. The feelings of the boy, who was not yet sixteen, as he drove the ice-cream, a chilling passenger, out in his buggy may be imagined!

Our cousin, Louisa Mailliard, a tall, slender girl of fourteen, very pretty and very mischievous, was then with us. One of the midshipmen, Mr. N——, became desperately infatuated with her. When the omnibus containing the young men was starting for Newport, he could not refrain from turning and gazing fondly at her.

“Eyes right!” sang out his mates, who made very merry over the lovesick swain.

The landsmen were jealous of the embryo sailors, and could not understand the attraction of the latter for the young girls. Some of our youthful friends arranged an expedition to Fort Adams, where a drill of the midshipmen was to be held. Cousin Louisa and I were the girls of the party, while the mother of one of the boys acted as matron. All went well during the sail across the harbor. But no sooner had we reached the landing than midshipmen appeared and we paired off quite happily, without paying the smallest attention to the boys who had brought us over.

This was not polite to our escorts, but we were very young and uniforms are ever attractive. Serenely we walked over the fort, the discarded boys grumbling ominously in our rear. We were too late for the drill, but we had a pleasant promenade, returning peacefully to our sail-boat.

As she drew away from the landing, one of the boys could contain his feelings no longer. He shouted his views of their conduct after the midshipmen on the wharf, in language sufficiently abusive. It was the same boy, David Hall, my future husband, who was obliged to conduct the ice-cream party! He _did_ have a hard time with the midshipmen!

The girls were extremely indignant. Of course we walked with the middies! What did they think we went over for? etc., etc. The return voyage was rather stormy. It transpired that _one_ of the boys, possessed of a meaner spirit than the others, had proposed sailing away without us!

The midshipmen were transferred later to the Atlantic House, one of the chief hotels of Newport in the early days. Here also were hops given, but they could not compare in fascination with the dances on board ship.

In the following letter sister Julia describes some of our “civilian” gaieties:

_Tuesday Morning, Aug. 13, 1861._

DEAR PAPA,— ... We have enjoyed Mrs. Bell and Mrs. Pratt[8] exceedingly. What little jewels they are! Mrs. Dorr was to have a party for the governor (Andrew) in the evening. Mamma decided that it would not be very interesting for us girls, so we stayed at home, expecting to entertain Woody, who we supposed would arrive in the evening. What was our surprise when, at about half past eight o’clock, a carriage arrived whose driver bore a message from Mamma to the effect that we were to dress and go into town to Mrs. Dorr’s house. What cogitation and agitation followed can be only pictured by those who have a thorough knowledge of young girls.

Mrs. Dorr had told Mamma, I believe, that the party would be pleasant for us, and that she wished to have us come. So there was a confusion and indecision, and brushing, braiding, and curling, in our one little room, quite amusing to behold. How the best white skirts were whisked about! How poor Ann and Mary frisked up and down stairs! How much had to be done before, fully prinked, we squeezed our crape and piña selves into the little rockaway! But it makes even careless _me_ blush to think of the state in which we left our room. What mountains of skirts, sleeves, and gowns, with here and there a stray comb or pomatum-pot, met the eye of the astonished bystander. And yet,—would you believe it?—when we returned next day we found the apartment in order. (Oh dear, Papa! I _never_ shall finish this letter. Mamma is in the room, and she is so witty that I write my words wrong.) Mrs. Pratt and Mrs. Bell looked finely, as the graceful diminutive darlings always do.... In order that they might all get into the carriage poor Mamma slipped up-stairs and slipped off her crinoline. You cannot imagine how droll her figure looked without it. Floss and I slept together and a merry time we had. Of course we were somewhat excited by the party, and the clock struck half past twelve before we slept. Just think of us, your bread-and-butter nine o’clock girls, being so dissipated! Mamma was to have had a party this afternoon, but the weather is so stormy that no one has come. We all dressed ourselves out in our best, but silks would not bring visitors, so they have made a pleasant little circle down stairs, and are chatting gaily.

Ever your loving

J.

Footnote 8:

Daughters of Rufus Choate.

During the Civil War Portsmouth Grove, some three miles away, became a military camp and hospital. The soldiers often strolled over to Lawton’s Valley, finding it a pleasant place in which to do their laundry work. This somewhat restricted the family’s use of the valley, although the soldiers were never uncivil.

One of the prominent figures in Newport life was that of George Bancroft, the historian. Like President Wilson, he was a schoolmaster turned politician. He had taught at the famous Round Hill School for Boys, and had also held various political offices, including that of Secretary of the Navy. Hence, if he came on board the _Constitution_ while we were there, our ears were deafened by the official salute, sixteen guns, as I think, fired in his honor. Greatness certainly has its inconveniences.

He was already gray when I first remember him, but slender and active. Evidently he felt much younger than he looked. It was rumored that he said to one young lady, “_Call me George_.” In a word, he was inclined at this time to be “frisky.”

He and his wife set an example of steadfast loyalty to the Union, in Newport, where there was a good deal of secession sentiment among the summer residents early in the Civil War. I remember a party at their house, where we school-girls as well as our elders were present. We had patriotic recitations, everything being done in the pleasant, informal fashion of that day. It was after this party that my mother made her “Remember R——n” resolve.

In a spirit of pure fun, she rallied this gentleman on his attentions to one of the young girls present who was hardly more than a child. Mr. R—— solemnly asseverated that Mrs. Howe was entirely mistaken. On her return home, she declared her intention of hanging up a placard reading, “Remember R——n,” as a warning to her never to try to joke with persons devoid of a sense of humor.

Mrs. Bancroft set a good example by substituting gray silk or thread gloves for kid during the Civil War. She attended the Unitarian church, where Rev. Charles T. Brooks then officiated. He was a genial and delightful man, whose buoyant spirit made it wholly unnecessary to affect youth. Mr. Brooks never seemed to grow old, though he lived to be seventy or more. He was a German scholar and translated Goethe’s “Faust” into English verse. He enjoyed Teutonic humor, preparing for the church fairs numerous booklets with little German jokes and illustrations.

XI

ANTI-SLAVERY AND CIVIL WAR MEMORIES

_Deep Interest of My Parents in the Anti-Slavery Movement and in the Civil War.—We Learn the Evil of Compromise.—A Trip to Kansas.—Manners on the Mississippi Steamboats.—Fort Sumter Is Attacked.—Mother’s Poems of the War.—Father’s Work on the Sanitary Commission.—How the Flag Was Treated at Newport.—We Ride in the “Jeff Davis.”_

I CANNOT remember when my father began his anti-slavery work, because at that time I was an infant. It was the kidnapping of a runaway negro in the streets of Boston that roused him to action. He called a meeting in Faneuil Hall over which John Quincy Adams presided. My father made the principal address. Colonel Higginson tells us that “Every sentence was a sword-thrust.” The result of the meeting was the formation of a Vigilance Committee of forty with my father as chairman. Its object was to prevent the returning of fugitives to the slavery from which they had escaped. To the descendants of the men who had fought in the Revolution for the cause of Liberty, the thought that “the port of Boston had been opened to the slave-trader” was intolerable.

The records of that Vigilance Committee have never been published. It is to be hoped that some day they will be, unless they have been destroyed. Thomas Wentworth Higginson has told us that my father’s part in the anti-slavery movement was almost unique and wholly characteristic of the man, who was a natural crusader or paladin.

The little Howes did not know of the existence of this committee. Neither did we know of our father’s strenuous labors in connection with the election to the Senate of his friend Charles Sumner. We were too young to be intrusted with state secrets. But from our early childhood my father taught us to love freedom and to hate slavery. He told us of the successive aggressions of the slave power and of the steps by which it had grown to threaten the whole land. We learned of the Missouri Compromise, the Dred Scott Decision, the Kansas and Nebraska Bill.

We knew these, not as dry political facts from the office of a lawyer, but as the successive invasions of a fire that was destined, ere many years had passed, to involve our beloved country in the terrible conflagration of the Civil War. To my father and his co-workers in the anti-slavery cause, these successive encroachments of slavery on the territory which the framers of our Federal Constitution had declared should remain eternally free, were a growing menace of evil. He strongly impressed upon our minds the sin of compromise of principle. Did he not see, in the bloody struggle in Kansas, the sinister results of those weak yieldings of the North?

The electric current of indignation that thrilled through our home we felt very strongly, as we did the stir of action. Lowell’s lines, splendid in themselves, gained a new force and intensity as my father repeated them to us.

Truth forever on the scaffold, Wrong forever on the throne, Yet that scaffold sways the future, and, behind the dim unknown, Standeth God with the shadow, keeping watch above His own.

Sometimes I would hear him and his friends talking together over the political situation with deep earnestness and indignation. Those were exciting days. As children, we knew nothing of the approaching storm, but we felt the stir in the air!

Brother Harry, a child of eleven, wrote an indignant letter, after the capture of John Brown, to Governor Wise of Virginia. As it was couched in abusive terms, I fear it was never mailed. Since few of our young mates agreed with us in opinion, we had many arguments. In the early days one of our friends at the Stevenson School laughingly called us “Little Free-dirters,” because we belonged to the Free Soil party. As events moved rapidly forward feeling grew more intense. We were very indignant at the deadly assault in the Senate Chamber upon our friend, Charles Sumner. As he sat pinioned down by his desk, and so unable to rise, blows with a loaded cane were showered upon his head. Some of the girls of our acquaintance sought to justify the attack. We countered with the testimony of Henry Wilson (later Vice-President of the United States), who had witnessed the scene where a colleague of Preston Brooks stood guard, a pistol in either hand, to prevent any interference in behalf of Sumner. For a long time, the victim’s life was in danger. His seat in the Senate remained “eloquently empty” for three years. Yet Charles Sumner lived to see slavery overthrown and the United States a free country. Within a year his young assailant died of membranous croup. It was thought that remorse for his brutal deed hastened his death.

We children heard of Sumner’s great sufferings, and of the cruel “Mochsa” treatment—the burning of his back.

In the Presidential election of 1856 we were greatly interested. I remember a political procession in which a dead deer was borne aloft with the device, “Old Buck Is Dead.” The result of the election was not certain for some time. We held on to hope as long as we could. From California no word could come for ten days! I asked my father whether the result there might not change the result. He said, “No. There is enough to settle the hash without California.” James Buchanan, the last President of the slavery era, had indeed been elected.

My father was deeply interested in the struggle for freedom in Kansas. When the colonists from the free states were almost overpowered by the border ruffians, he again called a Faneuil Hall meeting where money was raised and sent to help the settlers. He himself went out there, with great risk to his life.

In the spring of 1857 my mother and I accompanied him on one of his trips to Kansas, but, as I became ill at Louisville, he went on without us. Part of our journey was made on the large steamboats of the Ohio and Mississippi Rivers. Great was the horror of the other women when my mother took out a pack of cards to amuse me. This was owing to the prevalence of gambling in that section of the country. Many years later, in traveling through the Middle West, I found this prejudice had not wholly died out.

There was little to do during the long spring days when the steamboats sailed along the great, quiet rivers. It seemed very strange that every one rushed so to get through the meals quickly. As the service was _table d’hôte_, it is possible that people hurried in order to get all that they could before the food was removed. My mother always made a practice of eating slowly; hence her excellent digestion.

On this trip our mother purchased a red toy balloon for brother Harry. It was then a novelty and cost something like a dollar. As it was affixed to the tail of one of our dogs, it did not long survive. We had supposed this fascinating object would be a lasting investment.

On our outward journey we stopped overnight at Harper’s Ferry. I remember climbing the hill and looking down upon the valley where the Judas tree was in blossom. Did it bloom in somber foreboding of the blood to be shed there, a little later, in the John Brown raid and in the Civil War?

I remember too vast engines with which we climbed the terrifying slopes of the Alleghanies. No sleeping-cars were then to be seen, but only cars with reclining chairs. Hence the advisability of traveling by water whenever possible.

At Cincinnati, then the principal city of that part of the country and much larger than Chicago, we stayed with Mr. and Mrs. William Greene, the former a cousin of Grandfather Ward. We visited the observatory and the Longworths’ wine-cellar, where I was discovered in a corner, a glass of champagne tilted up against my nose. At the age of eleven I saw no reason why I should _not_ partake of the wine, since they were kind enough to offer it to me.

My memories of Louisville, Kentucky, are sinister. Here we were shown the spot where several negroes had been lynched. We also went to court, where a man was on trial for the murder of his wife. From the appearance of his face, I fancy he must have committed the crime while drunk.

We stayed also at the house of my father’s great friend, Horace Mann, then president of Antioch College, a coeducational institution of Ohio. Mrs. Mann believed in using cream in cooking, rather than butter. If you had no cream, you thickened milk with flour! The Manns were “so glad to see us they almost ate us up”! Mrs. Mann was a woman of intellectual tastes and interested in good works. She was the sister of the wife of Nathaniel Hawthorne and of Miss Elizabeth Peabody, who first introduced the kindergarten in America.

Horace Mann himself had a pleasant, kindly face and beautiful snow-white hair parted in the middle. This had suddenly turned white (in a single night, it was said) through grief at the death of his first wife.

In this year, 1857, there was a terrible financial panic, of which I heard some echoes. Nickel cents were then first coined, replacing the large copper ones we had used previously.

During the winter of 1860–61 we heard rumors of war and secession. Some young friends, the sons of Admiral Winslow of _Kearsarge_ fame, had visited the South, and assured us that serious preparations were going on there. Still, we of the North hardly dreamed of the struggle to come. Meantime traitorous officials of the federal government were transferring supplies of arms to the Southern states, knowing well these would soon be used against the nation’s life. Officers trained at West Point and bound by oath to support the government to which they owed not only allegiance, but their education, were resigning from the regular army and going to the South. The North in 1861, like the English in 1914, was unprepared. Many attempts have been made to disguise the issue. Fifty years hence, when all the passions roused by the Civil War have died away, as I pray they may, the truth will stand out clearly. For the rest, it was clear enough in 1860–61. As soon as the Republican party came into power, on a platform declaring, as the framers of the Constitution had declared, that slavery should be extended no farther, the Southern states seceded.

My father was one of those who from the very beginning saw the issue clearly. When the news of the firing on Sumter was received he came, with his quick, active step and gallant bearing, into the nursery at “Green Peace,” crying out to us:

“Sumter has been fired upon! That’s the death-blow of slavery!”

He rejoiced that the irrepressible conflict had begun. Of course he did not foresee—who could?—that the struggle would be so long and so terrible. But he knew it must come. Throughout those four years he never lost faith that the right would triumph. On learning of the attack on Sumter, he wrote at once to Governor Andrew:

Since they will have it so—in the name of God, Amen! Now let all the governors and chief men of the people see to it that war shall not cease until emancipation is secure. If I can be of any use, anywhere, in any capacity (save that of spy), command me.[9]

Footnote 9:

from _Journals and Letters of Samuel Gridley Howe_. Dana, Estes & Co.