In the first part of May my son, William, moved from Alameda to
Oakland and I left the Thirteenth street home and joined his family at
324 Tenth street, in one of the Tutt flats. We had hardly got settled
when in September my son was stricken with typhoid fever. He was taken
to the sanitarium. I was obliged to move to 212 Eleventh street and
begin anew my music and art. I remained there two years and over. I
then moved to 116 Eleventh street where I found an ideal studio in the
Abbott residence. There I remained until the earthquake, after which I
moved to my present abode. This was on October 1, 1907. From 1903 I
continued my voice teaching and have been successfully teaching in
Oakland since. Since my affliction I have sung on several special
occasions, twice on July Fourth and also for the G.A.R. I will sing
for them as long as I can sing acceptably, and as long as I am able to
sing they will have me. We have grown old together and I suppose no
Daughter of the Regiment has ever been so loyally loved as I have been
all these years. No joyful occasion is complete until I have been
bidden. I have been invited to the Memorial Day exercises,
installations, banquets, socials and yearly gatherings. I began when
they marched away in 1861 and our concerts were many to supply the
things they needed, when disaster overtook them, when they returned
wounded. We visited the hospitals, buried the dead and brought comfort
to the widow and orphan. My duty and loyalty is not finished until I
have done what I can for every brave comrade that shouldered the gun
and marched in the ranks of the army of the U.S.A.
In 1902 I greeted the new year sitting in an invalid's chair. On
September 1 of the preceding year I sustained a compound fracture of
the hip and thigh bone through the inattention of a conductor on a San
Pablo avenue car, who started the car before I had time to get off.
For four months I passed through the different phases of such an
accident. My attending physician, Dr. J.M. Shannon, and my faithful
nurses at last brought me to a point where I was enabled to begin life
again. Only those who go through such an experience are able to
understand what it means to lose the use of any part of the body and
be disabled after many years of perfect health. To be deprived of my
ability to walk and the use of my body as of old, words are not
adequate to describe the dreadful change, knowing that in all the
coming years of my life I would have this burden. The stoutest heart
could not but feel the weight of such an affliction. Had it not been
for my hopeful disposition, my pluck and energy to overcome obstacles,
combined with clear reasoning, life would have looked drear enough.
With it all I had much to be grateful for. Such an outpouring of
Christ-like humanity! I, the recipient of all this unexpected and
spontaneous expression of benevolence from friends and strangers
alike. I never knew before the part I had taken in the community.
Having lived and sung for over sixty years I found I had made friends
unnumbered. Friends and people whom I never knew called or wrote their
heartfelt sorrow for my affliction and hoped my injuries were not as
serious as reported. The ladies of the Ebell and other clubs and
societies made daily inquiries after my condition and sent many tokens
of kindness to me during all those weary weeks of pain and
uncertainty.
I was deeply affected one morning of the first week of my accident. My
nurse was summoned to the door by the ringing of the bell and on
opening the door before her stood five of Oakland's first citizens and
one of them inquired, "How is the afflicted singer this morning?"
Whereupon the nurse assured them that I was doing very well. They
received the news with evident delight. When they turned to leave she
asked, "Whom shall I say called?" "Oh, just say her friends who pass
in the morning." Who would not justly feel grateful for such deep
respect and appreciation from neighbors and strangers? In sweeping my
doorsteps and sidewalk and attending to the lawn and flower beds
before my studio to make the home look bright and cheerful I often saw
gentlemen pass early in the morning going to the city. But I never
dreamed that while I was getting things in order for the day, arising
early so as to escape notice at my rough work, that I had any part in
their attention as they were men of business. But it is evident that
they saw who the spirit was among the blossoms although I never
dreamed that I was observed. Following that first morning these five
gentlemen called often to inquire into my condition.
It had been my habit to keep a diary of facts and engagements since
the year 1870 and later on when I began teaching vocal music and
filling engagements I was obliged to keep a strict account of my
transactions so as to be upright and strict in my dealings with the
community. Since undertaking the work of writing my memoirs I find I
have more than enough for three good sized volumes of interesting
history and life-experiences that come to those who are forced by
circumstances unlooked for to pass through such a checkered career as
mine. If it were possible to tell it all, perhaps it might be an
incentive for other women left alone as I was, to do likewise. It
might be a stepping stone for a greater effort in life and receive the
plaudits of "Well done!" from those who have felt your influence and
respected a noble and self-sustaining woman. What more could anyone
ask? This great outpouring of tender solicitude, sympathy and charity
toward me in my great calamity, shall always be an oasis in the wide
desert of life that will make me return in my memory as long as life
shall last, and rest and be refreshed, feeling it was God's way to
find the bread that had been cast upon the waters through the years of
my active life in every city where I have ever lived. To all who were
thus kind I have built a lasting monument of gratitude that will not
crumble in the years yet remaining in my life. I feel I must make some
acknowledgment to all for these acts of kindness toward me in my
distress, which was so unnecessarily brought upon me, I am sorry to
say, by careless inattention of an unknown conductor.
This accident closed the usefulness of an energetic life. For sixty
years I had been active in many lines of endeavor such as drawing,
writing, painting, sewing and singing. The whole year of 1902 I was
convalescing and trying to regain my strength and learning to walk. It
was slow work. The expenses were going on and I could not be without a
nurse. I was unable to teach the pupils that I had before the
accident. In my planning I decided to paint and etch on linen. "I can
make pretty cards of all kinds, why not do something like this, try at
any rate. It will help me pass the time and I'll be happy in doing
this." So my dear nurse listened to my plan and we got everything in
readiness for business. There was never a day without some callers. I
hunted my art books for all kinds of favors, birthday favors,
engagement cards, club cards for whist, etc., and in a short time I
had a fine collection to suit the most fastidious society dame. The
first one who got a glimpse of the pretty things was the dear Mrs.
Robert Watt, a lifelong friend who had been unceasing in her kindness
from the first day of the accident. When she beheld all that I had
accomplished she was amazed at my ability and the pluck shown by my
making these dainty articles with pen and brush while sitting in bed.
She immediately made her selections to the amount of twelve dollars'
worth and ordered as much more. It was soon noised about and I had no
lack for orders. Mrs. W.S. Goodfellow, Mrs. William Angus, Mrs. John
Valentine and the prominent ladies of the Church of the Advent, pupils
and their parents came and ordered various cards and linen etchings.
The Woman's Exchange sent me word to place articles on sale there
which they would dispose of for me. For this kind act I am indebted to
Miss Helen Weidersheim and her sister, Mrs. Gruenhagen, who had
informed the ladies of the Exchange of the dainty work I had done. By
these acts of kindness I was enabled to keep my nurse and obtain the
necessary comforts of the sick room. Miss Pauline Peterson, Mrs. Henry
Wetherbee, Mr. and Mrs. James Melvin, Mr. and Mrs. W.S. Goodfellow,
Mrs. Derby and family, Mrs. Charles Farnham, Mrs. C. Webb Howard, Mrs.
Charles Lloyd, Mrs. Charles Kellogg and family, Mrs. Folger, Mrs.
Mauvais, Mr. John Britton, Thomas Magee, Miss Elizabeth English,
Calvary Church friends, C.O.G. Millar, Mr. and Mrs. Henry Cushing were
friends indeed. It seems they had me upon their minds constantly. If I
had been a relative more affectionate attention could not have been
bestowed. Besides these good friends there were others who came to
cheer me and from whom I received many offices of kindness that were
touching and fully appreciated. No one came to see me from the first
day whose names were not recorded and kept sacred by me until now. It
were not possible to write all the names. I have not the space allowed
by the printer for I have many important facts still to tell.
From September 1, 1901, to December 31, 1901, I received 1,666 calls
from friends and strangers alike, young and old, and not one came
empty handed. My rooms were redolent with the odor of floral tributes
that were constantly supplied by some kind friend or stranger. I
cannot pass over an episode that occurred March 29, 1902. I had passed
a restless day and about four o'clock in the afternoon Mrs. James
Melvin came in and brought an offering of fruit from her father's
ranch. During our conversation she thought I looked tired and I told
her I was. I tried to sit up and I could not find a chair that suited,
although I had several sent from the stores. I saw she was distressed
about it but said nothing more and went home. About nine o'clock of
the same evening the bell rang. I had already retired. Soon I heard
voices and in a few moments Mr. and Mrs. Melvin stood before me,
smiling, and between them was a fine bamboo chair. After Mr. Melvin
came home from the city and while they were at dinner, Mrs. Melvin had
told him of my trouble in obtaining the proper chair. They lived on
Grove and Nineteenth streets and I on Thirteenth street between
Webster and Harrison streets. It was too late to have the chair sent
and these two kind-hearted people carried it all that distance to my
studio, and there it was for me to use. It was not possible for me to
hold back my tears at such a token of sympathy and affection. I'll
never forget how dear they looked, like two happy children bringing a
favorite toy to the sick child in the fairy stories we all know and
teach to our children. After I could compose myself I begged the nurse
to let me get up and try the new chair and when I was ready the
whole-souled James lifted me and placed me in the chair. Oh, what a
comfort at last! I could sit up without weariness and I was loath to
go once more to my couch. I begged just for one hour more and I
promised I'd sing for them. They looked astonished, not thinking I
could sing. I said, "listen" and sang three verses of Annie Laurie.
When I got through there was not a sound. They were sitting there like
statues and with tears in their eyes. I saw the situation and let out
a merry laugh, saying, "Was it then so bad you had to cry?" They said
the singing was so far away it was not like an earthly voice. Knowing
what I had suffered and was still suffering it struck them as simply
miraculous that my voice was so pure and clear and they were stilled
and strangely affected. It did not seem real to have me sing like
that. So the evening ended and we were all made happy by doing what we
could in return for one another's kindness. Mrs. Melvin was a good
friend and a generous woman and I mourn with her family at her sudden
taking away which came as a shock to all who loved her.
[Illustration:
In 1852
In 1874
In 1864
In 1905
In 1880