Transcriber’s Note:
Inconsistent hyphenation and spelling in the original document have
been preserved. Obvious typographical errors have been corrected.
Italic text is denoted by _underscores_ and bold text by =equal
signs=.
“Fort Sumpter”is probably a typo or printer’s error
The following may be typos or printer's errors:
practise/practice
Cammann/Camman
PIONEER WORK
IN OPENING THE
MEDICAL PROFESSION TO WOMEN
AUTOBIOGRAPHICAL SKETCHES
BY
DR. ELIZABETH BLACKWELL
AUTHOR OF
‘THE MORAL EDUCATION OF THE YOUNG’ ETC.
LONDON
LONGMANS, GREEN, AND CO.
AND NEW YORK
1895
All rights reserved
PREFACE
It has often been urged that a record should be preserved of some
of the first efforts by means of which the medical profession of our
day has been opened to women.
In the belief that a large providential guidance may often be
recognised in the comparatively trivial incidents of an individual
life, this request of many friends is here complied with.
The possession of old journals and of family correspondence gives
accuracy to these details of past years.
HASTINGS, 1895.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER I
EARLY YEARS
1821
PAGE
Family Life in England—Walks around Bristol—May Missionary
Meetings—A Vivid Reminiscence—Bristol Riots—Early Religious
Impressions—Emigration to the United States—Schooldays
in New York—Anti-slavery—Removal to Ohio—The Struggle of
Life—Establishment of Boarding-school—The Wider Education
of Women—Join the Episcopal Church—General Harrison’s
Election—Transcendentalism—The Rev. W. H. Channing’s
Congregation—Experiences in Henderson, Kentucky 1
CHAPTER II
EARNING MONEY FOR STUDY
1845
The Medical Idea taking Shape—Lack of an Absorbing
Object—Objection to falling in Love—Struggles with
Disinclination to the Study of Medicine—The Moral Aspect of
the Work conquers—Resolution to earn Money for Study—Journey
to Asheville, N.C.—Life in Asheville—Journey to Charleston,
S.C.—Teaching at Mrs. du Pré’s—Reading Medicine with
Dr. S. H. Dickson—Sivori Concerts—Calhoun on States
Rights—Dr. Warrington on Medical Study—Boarding-school
Experiences—Summer at Aiken, S.C. 26
CHAPTER III
STUDY IN AMERICA
1847
Searching for a College—Application to Colleges
of Philadelphia and New York—Interviews with
Professors—Anatomical Study with Dr. Allen—Lectures at Dr.
Warrington’s—Application to other Schools—Joyful Result—Life
at College—Residence in Blockley Almshouse—Graduation 58
CHAPTER IV
STUDY IN EUROPE
1849
Glimpse of the Black Country—Visit to Medical Institutions
of Birmingham—Stay in London—Fashionable Life—Visits:
to Dr. Carpenter, to Professor Owen, to St. Thomas’s
Hospital, to Dr. Wilkinson—Leave for Paris—Descriptive
Letters—Interview with Lamartine—Interview with Police
Official, with M. Louis—Difficulties to be overcome—Political
Troubles in Paris—Entrance into La Maternité—Severe
Life there—Friendship with the _Interne_—A _Sortie_ and
Hypnotic _Séance_—Serious Accident—Visit to Gräfenberg—Life
there—First Patient—Study in London—Admission to St.
Bartholomew’s—Visit to Rev. Dr. Leifchild—Hospital
Experiences—Medical Scepticism awakens—Letter to Dr. S.
H. Dickson—Social Relaxation—Woman’s Rights Movement in
the United States—Visit to Miss Nightingale—Visit to Lady
Byron—Opening of the Great Exhibition—Anxious Discussion
as to remaining in England—Farewell Visits—Last Days in
England 96
CHAPTER V
PRACTICAL WORK IN AMERICA
1851
Settlement in New York—First Medical Consultation—Lectures
on the Physical Education of Girls—Formation of
Independent Dispensary—Quaker Help—Incorporation of the
New York Infirmary, 1854—Letters descriptive of Early
Difficulties—Purchase of House—Adoption of Child—First
Drawing-room Address—Sister resolves to study—Letters to
her whilst in Europe—Amusing Experience with Dr. Simpson
of Edinburgh—Joined by Dr. Emily Blackwell in New York 190
CHAPTER VI
ENGLAND REVISITED
1858
Letter from Paris—Acquaintance with Dr. Trélat of La
Salpêtrière—Addresses given in England—Result of London
Addresses—Circular for proposed Hospital—Letters from
London—Registered as English Physician, 1859—Reasons for
returning to New York—Work there continued—Civil War—Ladies’
Sanitary Aid Association established—Incidents of the
War—Establishment of Infirmary Medical School—Letters
from Miss Elizabeth Garrett—Sanitary Work of the New York
Infirmary 213
CHAPTER VII
RETURN TO ENGLAND
1869
The Social Science Congress of 1869—Medical Work—Health
Work—Moral Work 241
APPENDIX 255
CHAPTER I
EARLY LIFE IN ENGLAND
1821
It is a great advantage to have been born one of a large family group
of healthy, active children, surrounded by wholesome influences.
The natural and healthy discipline which children exercise upon one
another, the variety of tastes and talents, the cheerful companionship,
even the rivalries, misunderstandings, and reconciliations where free
play is given to natural disposition, under wise but not too rigid
oversight, form an excellent discipline for after-life.
Being the third daughter in a family of nine brothers and sisters,
who grew up to adult life with strong ties of natural affection, I
enjoyed this advantage.
My earliest recollections are connected with the house in Bristol,
No. 1 Wilson Street, near Portman Square, to which the family removed
from Counterslip, where I was born, when I was about three years
old. My childish remembrances are chiefly associated with my elder
sisters, for being born between two baby brothers, who both died in
infancy, I naturally followed my sisters’ lead, and was allowed to
be their playmate.
Our Wilson Street home had the advantage of possessing a garden behind
it, containing fine trees; and also a large walled garden opposite
to it, with fruit trees and many flowers and shrubs, which afforded
us endless delight and helped to create an early love of Nature.
I cannot recall the sequel of incidents in this period of my life, for
being so young when we moved to Wilson Street, the recollections of
those early years are confused; but some things stand out, distinctly
impressed on the memory.
My eldest sister had become possessed of a small telescope, and
gazing through one of the garret windows, we thought we could spy the
Duchess of Beaufort’s woods over the tops of the houses. There was a
parapet running along the front of the house, and we were seized with
a desire for a more extensive view through the precious telescope
than the garret window afforded, so a petition for liberty to go on
to the roof was sent to papa in our names by my lively eldest sister.
The disappointing answer soon came:
Anna, Bessie, and Polly, Your request is mere folly,
The leads are too high For those who can’t fly.
If I let you go there, I suppose your next prayer
Will be for a hop To the chimney top!
So I charge you three misses, Not to show your phizes
On parapet wall, Or chimney so tall,
But to keep on the earth, The place of your birth.
‘Even so,’ says papa. ‘Amen,’ says mama. ‘Be it so,’ says Aunt
Bar.
The Aunt Barbara here referred to was a maiden sister of my father’s,
a somewhat stern though upright ruler of our youngest days; but
the dear father, with his warm affection, his sense of fun, and his
talent for rhyming, represented a beneficent Providence to me from
my earliest recollection.
Another very vivid remembrance of that first period of childhood
remains. My father was an active member of the ‘Independent’ body,
belonging to the Rev. Mr. Leifchild’s Bridge Street congregation, and
the May missionary meetings were a great event to us children, for,
taking lunch with us, we sometimes picnicked in the gallery of the
selected chapel, and divided our time between listening to thrilling
stories of the missionaries and more physical pleasures. A number of
these rather jolly divines often dined at our house, and the dinner
party of the ministers was one of the incidents of the May meetings.
There was a certain Mr. Burnet of Cork, who used to keep the table in
a roar. To be allowed to dine and listen at a side-table was indeed
a treat. But on one occasion, my name, alas! was in the Black Book,
for some childish misdemeanour—I forget what; but the punishment I
well remember. I was sent up to the attics, instead of being allowed
to join the dinner party. Upstairs in the dark I leaned over the
banisters, watched the light stream out from the dining-room as the
servants carried the dishes in and out, and listened to the cheerful
buzz of voices and frequent peals of laughter as the door opened.
I felt very miserable, with also a sense of guilt that I should
have been so wicked as to let my name get into the Black Book, for
I always accepted, without thought of resistance, the decrees of my
superiors. The fact that those in authority were capable of injustice
or stupidity was a perception of later growth.
The impression made by this little incident on a childish mind was
curiously shown on my revisiting Bristol, after an absence of nearly
forty years. Wishing to see the scene of my early childhood, I called
at the Wilson Street house, and its occupants kindly allowed me to
enter my old home, the home which I remembered as so large, but which
then looked so small. All was changed. The pleasant walled-in garden
across the street, with its fine fruit trees, where we played for hours
together with a neighbour’s children, was turned into a carpenter’s
yard. The long garden behind the house, with its fine trees, and
stable opening into a back street, was built over; but as I stood in
the hall and looked up, I suddenly seemed to see a little childish
face peeping wistfully over the banisters, and the whole scene of
that dining-room paradise, from which the child was banished, rose
vividly before me.
But a stranger incident still occurred as I stood there. The sound of
a latch-key was heard in the hall-door, and a figure, that I at once
recognised as my father’s, in a white flannel suit, seemed to enter
and look smilingly at me. It was only a momentary mental vision, but
it was wonderfully vivid; and I then remembered what I had utterly
forgotten—forgotten certainly for forty years—that our father would
sometimes remain late at his sugar-house, and come home in the white
flannel suit worn in the heated rooms of the refinery, letting himself
into the house with a rather peculiar latch-key.
Far clearer and more varied recollections are, however, connected
with the house in Nelson Street, to which we moved in 1824, and whence
the family emigrated to New York in 1832.
This comfortable family home, made by throwing two houses together,
with its walled-in courtyard leading to the sugar refinery and my
father’s offices, was our town residence for eight very happy years.
Here the group of brothers and sisters grew up together, taking
daily walks with our governess into the lovely environs of the then
small town. We became familiar with St. Vincent’s Rocks and the
Hot Wells, with Clifton Down and Leigh Woods, which were not built
on then. The Suspension Bridge across the Avon was a thing of the
future, and Cook’s Folly stood far away on the wild Durdham Down. In
another direction, Mother Pugsley’s field, with its healing spring,
leading out of Kingsdown Parade, was a favourite walk—for passing
down the fine avenue of elms we stood at the great iron gates of
Sir Richard Vaughan’s place, to admire the peacocks, and then passed
up the lane towards Redland, where violets grew on the grassy banks
and natural curiosities could be collected. All these neighbourhoods
were delightfully free and open. Our governess encouraged our natural
tastes, and the children’s pennies were often expended in purchasing
the landscape stones and Bristol diamonds offered for sale on Clifton
Down. In still another direction, the ‘Brook,’ leading through pleasant
fields to the distant Beaufort woods, had a never-ending charm. Daily,
and often twice a day, the group of children with their governess
wandered to these pleasant spots. In the summer time Weston-super-Mare
and Clevedon gave endless seaside delights, and furnished a charming
picture-gallery through all the subsequent wanderings of later life.
During the last years of our Bristol life, a house at Olveston,
about nine miles from town, was rented as a summer residence. This
afforded fresh delight. Not only was the neighbourhood beautiful,
and interesting with views of the Welsh mountains seen across the
Severn from a high common near by, and the remains of an old abbey
where wolves’ heads were formerly taken as tribute still remained;
but the large, well-stocked garden was separated from the orchard by
a rapid stream, over which two tiny bridges were thrown.
To active, imaginative children this little domain was a source of
never-ending enjoyment, whether cherishing pet animals, cultivating
gardens, or playing Robinson Crusoe. When not staying in town we lived
in this pleasant place, my father driving out from business daily.
Only on rare occasions did any of the children go to school.
Governesses and masters at home supplied the necessary book knowledge;
and a passion for reading grew up, which made the present of a new
book the greatest delight, and our own pocket-money was chiefly spent
in buying books.
Whilst the home life was thus rich and satisfying to children, echoes
from the outside world came vaguely to us. The Bristol Riots took place
during this period, and I remember watching the glare of incendiary
fires from the heights round our country home. Also I vividly recall
the ‘chairing’ of Bright and Protheroe, with their red and yellow
colours, and the illumination of the house and premises in Nelson
Street, in honour of this Liberal victory.
Our interest was early enlisted in the anti-slavery struggle then
vigorously proceeding in England, and Wilberforce was an heroic
name. The children voluntarily gave up the use of sugar, as a ‘slave
product,’ although it was only in later years, when living in America,
that they threw themselves ardently into the tremendous fight.
My father was an active member of the Independent body, and strongly
opposed to the Established Church. ‘Rags of Popery’ was a phrase early
learned in a parrot-like way. But a very strong sense of religion
was early implanted. The Bible was held in affectionate reverence.
Mrs. Sherwood’s stories were favourite books; and although we soon
learned to skip the endless disquisitions on metaphysical dogmas
which they contained, yet goodness, gentleness, and reverence were
inseparably blended with breezy commons, lovely woods, clear streams,
and waterfalls, from reading those charming story-books. Religion thus
became associated with all that was beautiful in Nature and lovely
in social life.
Müller and Craik, the founders of the Plymouth Brethren, were then
beginning their work in Bristol, and I was much impressed by the
earnest eloquence of the young Scotch evangelist.
EMIGRATION TO THE UNITED STATES
The first eleven years of life had been passed under these happy
influences of a healthy English home, when a great change of social
surroundings took place, by my father’s emigration to the United
States with his large and increasing family.
_Early life in America._—In the month of August 1832, the family
party of eight children and seven adults sailed from Bristol in the
merchant ship ‘Cosmo,’ reaching New York in about seven weeks.
The cholera was raging in England when we left; we found New York
comparatively deserted, from the same cause, when we arrived, and
several steerage passengers died during the voyage; but the family
party remained in good health, and the ocean life furnished delightful
experiences to the younger travellers.
The following six years were spent in New York and its suburb, Jersey
City, across the bay.
As daily pupil in an excellent school in New York, entering ardently
into the anti-slavery struggle, attending meetings and societies,
the years passed rapidly away. Our brothers being younger than the
three elder sisters, habits of unconscious independence amongst the
sisters were formed, which became a matter of course.
Often in returning home from some evening meeting in New York the
hourly ferry-boat would be missed, and we have crossed by the eleven or
twelve o’clock boat, with no sense of risk or experience of annoyance.
We became acquainted with William Lloyd Garrison and other noble
leaders in the long and arduous anti-slavery struggle. Garrison was
a welcome guest in our home. He was very fond of children, and would
delight them with long repetitions of Russian poetry.
But fierce antagonisms were already aroused by this bitter struggle;
and on one occasion the Rev. Samuel H. Cox, a well-known Presbyterian
clergyman, and his family, sought refuge at our country house. This
gentleman had stated in the pulpit that the Lord Jesus belonged to
a race with darker skins than ours. At once the rumour went abroad
that ‘Dr. Cox had called Jesus Christ a nigger,’ and it was resolved
forthwith to lynch him! So he came out to our country house on Long
Island until the storm had blown over.
_Removal to Ohio, 1838._—When I was seventeen years old my father
removed from New York with his family to Cincinnati, then a small
but flourishing town, on the Ohio River, where a promising opening
for the extension of his business presented itself.
We left New York full of hope and eager anticipation. We were delighted
with the magnificent scenery of the mountains and rivers as we
crossed Pennsylvania by canal and stage (for it was before the time
of railways), and sailed down the noble Ohio River, then lined with
forests. With eager enjoyment of new scenes, the prosperous little
Western town was reached. It was picturesquely situated on a plateau,
overlooking the river, and surrounded by pleasant hills.
For a few months we enjoyed the strange incidents of early Western
civilisation, so different from the older society of the East.
Amongst other curious experiences, we attended a public Fourth of
July picnic, held in the neighbouring woods. At this festival, the
well-known ‘Come-outers’[1]—the Wattles brothers—were the chief
speakers. Augustus, the elder, had established in the unsettled
districts of the West what he called ‘Humanity’s Barn,’ where any human
being might find a night’s shelter. His younger brother, John, was a
chief speaker on this special occasion, and he concluded his speech
with the following (to us) astounding sentiment, which was loudly
applauded by the large assembly present—viz.: ‘Priests, Lawyers, and
Doctors, the Trinity of the Devil!’
But all these curious experiences were suddenly checked by a
catastrophe which compelled us to face the stern realities of life,
in the strange land to which we had just removed, without friends
or pecuniary resources. This was the sudden death of our earthly
Providence.
The hot, oppressive summer of that Western climate proved too much
for the English constitution of our father. Within a few months of
our arrival in Cincinnati he died, after a short illness, from bilious
fever, leaving his widow and nine children entirely unprovided for.
This irreparable loss completely altered our lives. Recovering from the
first effects of the stunning blow, we began to realise our position,
and the heavy responsibilities henceforth devolving on us. The three
elder sisters set zealously to work, and in time established a day and
boarding school for young ladies; whilst our eldest brother obtained
a situation in the Court House of Cincinnati, under Major Gano.
For the next few years, until the younger children grew up and were
able gradually to share in the work, we managed to support the family
and maintain a home.
During this long struggle our minds rapidly opened to new views of
social and religious duty in the untrammelled social atmosphere of
the West.
The wider education of women was a subject then coming to the front;
and we three sisters threw ourselves with ardour into the public
conferences held in Cincinnati on this subject, actively supporting
our staunch champion Lawyer Johnston, who ably opposed the reactionary
efforts of the Roman Catholic Archbishop Purcell in his endeavour
to check the liberal tendencies of the age in relation to women’s
education.
About this time we had joined the Episcopal Church, being confirmed
by the venerable Bishop McIlvaine of Ohio. We became members of St.
Paul’s Church, of which the Rev. H. V. Johns was rector, entering
heartily into its social life and teaching in its Sunday-school. We
shared also in the stirring political contest which took place when
General Harrison defeated Van Buren, the ‘Locofoco’[2] candidate for
the presidency. We attended political conventions and public meetings,
and joined in singing political songs. It was a most exciting time.
Some years later, the New England Transcendental movement spread
to the West. It was the era of the Brook Farm experiment. We became
acquainted with the very intelligent circle of New England society
settled in Cincinnati, of which the Rev. W. H. Channing was the
attractive centre. This gentleman, nephew of Dr. Ellery Channing of
Boston, and father of our present parliamentary representative of the
Kettering Division of Northamptonshire, was afterwards well known in
Liverpool and in London. He was a man of rare moral endowments and
eloquence as a speaker. His social influence on a limited circle was
remarkable. Men of thought and active intelligence gathered round him.
Men from New England who were then intellectual leaders of Cincinnati
thought—such as James Perkins, C. P. Cranch, William Greene, and
Judge Walker—formed a society of which he was the inspiring centre,
a society which strongly attracted us. The ‘Dial,’ and afterwards the
‘Harbinger,’ with its anticipation of social reorganisation, were then
appearing. The writings of Cousin, Carlyle, and Fourier were keenly
studied, and Emerson was revolutionising American thought. I well
remember the glowing face with which I found Mr. Channing reading a
book just received. ‘Sit down,’ he cried, ‘and listen to this!’ and
forthwith he poured forth extracts from Emerson’s essays.
Notwithstanding our close and arduous teaching occupations, we eagerly
shared in the active awakening of thought that marked the time, and
joined the Church of which Mr. Channing was minister.
In the year 1842, our elder brothers entering into business, the
boarding-school was given up, and I occupied myself with private
pupils. Whilst still engaged in this way I was invited to take
charge of a girls’ district school, to be established in the town of
Henderson, situated in the western part of Kentucky. The invitation
seemed to promise useful remunerative work, so it was accepted.
The region of Kentucky, where I then went, was a tobacco-growing
district. I there gained my first practical experience of negro
slavery and the crude civilisation of a Western slave State.
This being my first separation from the family, a constant
correspondence was kept up with home. Some extracts from these letters
will give a curious glimpse of Kentucky rural life fifty years ago.
Henderson: March 5, 1844.
No doubt you’ve reproached me for my silence, after
promising to write the second day from my arrival, but we
had a very long trip, and it was not till the morning of
the fourth day that I set my foot in the mud of Henderson.
The ‘Chieftain’ left Cincinnati at two o’clock Wednesday
morning, and in seven hours we made _twenty miles_. All
seemed lazy on board the boat. The first night we laid up,
on account of the fog; the second we spent at Louisville,
the third at Evansville; we had on board a quantity of green
wood, and stopped continually to take in fresh supplies.
The captain, a fat, red-faced, good-natured fellow, went to
sleep, or took matters very easily. As we entered the canal
at Louisville he was standing on the hurricane-deck, at
the head of the boat, apparently fast asleep; the helmsman
steered immediately for the rough stone wall of the canal,
and with a tremendous shock smashed in a great deal of the
woodwork in the fore part of the boat. The captain gave one
jump, wrung his hands, spun round, and went to sleep again.
In the morning I went with Mr. S. into Louisville; there I
got my watch-key mended (a providential piece of foresight,
for ’twould have been impossible here), bought various
little things, and saw also the famed Kentucky giant, and
bade good-bye to Louisville, having been five hours passing
through the canal. One afternoon Mr. S. was playing on his
guitar on the side deck, when a great rough-looking boy
made his appearance, and addressed me: ‘The ladies sent
me to tell you to bring your man into the cabin, that he
may sing for them.’ I translated for the _man’s_ benefit,
and a good hearty laugh we had. One of Mr. S.’s favourite
amusements was to stand on the hurricane-deck with me and
joke about my _village_; every two or three dirty-looking
shanties that we passed he would tell me to look out, for
he had a presentiment that we were reaching Henderson. I
grew almost nervous as we were approaching the situation,
for really all the little towns we had passed looked so
straggling, dingy, and uninteresting that it appeared to
me almost impossible for a decent individual to inhabit
them; you may imagine how I felt standing, for the last
time, on a bright Saturday morning, with my last friend
and remaining piece of civilisation, awaiting my destiny.
The clerk approached. ‘Madam, we have reached Henderson;’
the boat turns, I give one glance, three dirty old frame
buildings, a steep bank covered with mud, some negroes and
dirty white people at the foot, and behold all that I could
see of my future home. I looked resolutely down, exclaiming
(to my French friend), ‘Laide, vilain, horrible!’ but the
boat touched and I was hurried off. Upon my inquiring for
Dr. Wilson, a rough-looking man presented his arm, three
negroes seized my trunks, to ‘tote them up,’ the steamboat
shoved off, and I followed my companion—holding his hand
to prevent myself slipping down the bank. In the middle
of the mud I stopped to see the last of our friend and
civilisation; we waved our handkerchiefs till the boat was
out of sight, and then, gulping down my tears and giving
a few convulsive laughs, we proceeded on our way through a
dirty, little, straggling, country village; we stopped before
a small frame house, entered a low, shabbily-furnished room,
where a poorly-dressed, sleepy-looking woman was introduced
as Mrs. Wilson. I longed to be shown to my bedroom, for
my head was in a perfect whirl, but I had to sit down and
talk about I know not what. At last I ventured to request
permission to go upstairs; the daughter showed me up old,
crooked, creaking steps, and opened the bedroom door. How
shall I describe it? A little window looking upon the side
of a house not two yards from it, the rough board walls
daubed with old whitewash, the bed, the furniture, dirty,
covered with litter and dust, all gloomy and wretched. My
disposition to cry vanished at once, tears froze far below
zero; I smiled on my companion, who stood examining me, and
asked to have my trunks carried up. This request brought
my hostess, who with some confusion told me, ‘This was not
to be my home, but that her niece was gone to make some
preparations for my reception and would take me there in the
evening, she being perfectly aware that I could not live in
such a _hole_.’ The word ‘hole’ revived me; the inhabitants
of Henderson were, then, not perfectly blind; they had some
little consciousness that there were degrees of decency;
there was a small ray of comfort in that little word ‘hole.’
I descended, and soon found that everything proceeded with
real Kentucky slowness. Begin to teach on Monday! This was
utterly impossible! The idea seemed to them preposterous, the
schoolhouse was hardly selected, the windows were broken,
the floor and walls filthy, the plaster fallen off, the
responsible trustees not appointed, the scholars unnotified
of my arrival; no, ’twas impossible, I must wait a week; but
the idea of spending an unnecessary week in Henderson was
insupportable, so I urged and argued, and persuaded and ran
about, till a man was sent to mend the windows, and another
to clean the floor, and the Responsibles came to visit me,
and promised to collect the scholars, and on Monday I was
to begin. Then, to avoid the necessity of having to sit and
repeat wearisome inanities, I set out, accompanied by the
daughter, to view the so-called _city_. All looked dreary on
a dull winter day—in fact, Henderson is a very small, very
uninteresting country place, though, it must be confessed,
the view of it from the river is the worst of all. Towards
evening I took a look at my schoolhouse; nothing was done
but mischief. The old negro had flooded the muddy floor with
water and gone away, leaving the floor like the bed of the
Nile; ’twas now too late to get the place into order. The
people are very pious, nothing could be done Sunday; so,
cursing the laziness of a slave society, I resigned myself
to fate, and followed my young hostess—a tall, graceful,
sleepy-eyed girl—to my new quarters.
A substantial, rough brick house opened its enormous gates
to receive me. I entered a small, high-ceilinged bedroom,
where I was to make one of _four_, and then my conductress
glided away to bring her mother and two other sisters.
The sight of the sisters somewhat consoled me, because I
immediately hoped to be able to teach for my board. The
mother received me with good-nature, and ever since I’ve
been here the whole family have treated me with kindness to
the extent of their knowledge, one portion of which is never
to leave me alone, and I, who so love a hermit life for
a good part of the day, find myself living in public, and
almost losing my identity. Well, Sunday, and a refreshing
Presbyterian sermon, of an eternity’s duration, I must
leave to your imagination. Monday I ran about, and at last
seated myself in Dr. Wilson’s parlour, where I received a
visit from one of the Responsibles, a fussy, pompous little
doctor, who talked _grandly_, whereupon I talked grandlier,
upon which he told me this was an epoch in the history of
Henderson. Then in came the other Responsibles, when I spoke
and they rejoined, and the little doctor called to order,
and after a wonderful quantity of fuss the schoolhouse was
pitched upon, put into something like order, and on Tuesday
morning I took my seat at the head of fourteen girls, and
organised my school.
_March 20, 1844._—So far as I can learn I give general
satisfaction, but I believe the people are a little afraid
of me, particularly when they see me read German (for I
often forget myself with Hoffman). I am amused to learn
accidentally how I have been talked over in every direction,
and my teeth particularly admired in peculiarly Kentucky
style. ‘Well, I do declare she’s got a clean mouth, hasn’t
she!’—white teeth seeming remarkable where all use tobacco!
All the chief people of the place have called on me, which
plagues me dreadfully, as I have to return the calls,
and find them in the lowest degree uninteresting, with
nothing to do but knit, nothing to hear but their own petty
affairs. Then they are most unmerciful in the length of
visit. If they live in what is called out of town, nothing
will satisfy but giving up the afternoon, taking tea, and
sleeping. The sleeping I have victoriously fought against,
but the rest I have sometimes been betrayed into, and have
sat hour after hour striving dreadfully to take an interest
in the gossip, swallowing yawns until my eyes watered,
and then suddenly awaking out of a long reverie on all of
you to the consciousness that everybody is sitting in an
awkward silence, and that it is absolutely necessary to
say something. The first evening I so spent I was rejoicing
at the prospect of escape, for the watches had been pulled
out, and it was declared late (half-past eight), when I was
taken quite by surprise by seeing the Episcopal clergyman
who was present seat himself by the table with a large Bible
before him, wipe his spectacles, and give a preparatory
hem! I gave an inward groan, sat down again and looked with
a long face steadily at the fire, whilst a north-wester
was blowing all the time through a crack of the door into
my ear. As we knelt down, and I looked round at the funny
kneeling figures and up at the walls of a real log cabin,
and on one side at the immense wood fire, it all seemed so
very odd that I almost began to doubt my own identity.
We have had miserable weather for more than a week. The
house, though substantially built of brick, with a deep
verandah all round, is dreadfully cold; the two immense
brick-paved halls, which cross in the centre, have great
doors almost always open. The four rooms occupying the four
corners, in one of which we sleep, have chimneys, all of
which smoke. Then none of the windows seem to fit, and there
are holes in the wall where the plaster has been knocked
off, and will be replaced, I suppose, next doomsday. ’Tis
pretty much the same in the schoolhouse. There, one very
cold day, I drew my feet on the bar of my chair, then I
put on my worsted gloves, then drew on my blanket shawl;
and, finally, finding a great blowing about my head from
everywhere in general, I put on my hood!...
_April 4._—The young ladies and gentlemen of Henderson
are most contemptible walkers, opening wide their eyes at
the idea of two or three miles, and telling doleful tales
of blistered feet, wild bulls, and furious dogs, of which
latter there is certainly a larger supply than at any place
I have ever seen. Every negro has his pet dog, the more
savage the better, and all the masters follow their example.
I had a good fright from some of them yesterday, as I was
returning from school. I’d no sooner crossed the steps that
lead into the lawn than an enormous brindled fellow, with
black, devilish face, sprang furiously towards me, followed
by two others, barking and showing their horrid jaws. Now,
thought I, my time has come! I hesitated whether I should
endeavour to tear their mouths open, or jump upon them
and crush them, should the worst arrive. I involuntarily
thought of A., who has a horror of dogs, and then called
out in my blandest tones, ‘Poor fellows; po-or fellows!’
The voice had the desired effect, and instead of having
to fight Samson-wise, the gentlemen contented themselves
with jumping upon me and knocking my dinner-tray out of my
hand. I am in general quite a favourite with the canine
race, and have not the slightest fear of them, which the
ladies here can hardly believe, as their life is almost a
torment to them for fear of dogs and cows; indeed, I would
always sooner meet a dozen dogs than one negro, and the
only uneasiness I have in taking my long, solitary walks
proceeds from this; for of all brutes the human brute is
the worst, and I never meet one in a lonely place without
feeling a sudden perspiration.
I dislike slavery more and more every day; I suppose I see
it here in its mildest form, and since my residence here I
have heard of no use being made of the whipping-post, nor
any instance of downright cruelty. (It was really meant
as an act of hospitality when they placed a little negro
girl as a screen between me and the fire the other day!)
But to live in the midst of beings degraded to the utmost
in body and mind, drudging on from earliest morning to
latest night, cuffed about by everyone, scolded at all day
long, blamed unjustly, and without spirit enough to reply,
with no consideration in any way for their feelings, with
no hope for the future, smelling horribly, and as ugly as
Satan—to live in their midst, utterly unable to help them,
is to me dreadful, and what I would not do long for any
consideration. Meanwhile I treat them civilly, and dispense
with their services as much as possible, for which I
believe the poor creatures despise me. The mistresses pique
themselves on the advantageous situation of their blacks;
they positively think them very well off, and triumphantly
compare their position with that of the poor in England
and other countries. I endeavour, in reply, to slide in a
little truth through the small apertures of their minds, for
were I to come out broadly with my simple, honest opinion
I should shut them up tight, arm all their prejudices, and
do ten times more harm than good. I do long to get hold of
someone to whom I can talk frankly; this constant smiling
and bowing and wearing a mask provokes me intolerably; it
sends me internally to the other extreme, and I shall soon,
I think, rush into the woods, vilify Henderson, curse the
Whigs, and rail at the Orthodox, whose bells have been
going in a fruitless effort at revivals ever since I have
been here. Not, mind, mother, that I really have such
diabolical feelings against the poor Orthodox in general
and particular, but I have an intense longing to scream,
and everyone here speaks in a whisper.
My school, I think I have told you, is limited to twenty-one;
it has been full for some time, and many have been refused.
The girls are a good, pleasant set, much more gentle than
in Cincinnati, and all with faces that seem familiar to me;
in fact, I have hardly seen a face in Henderson that does
not torment me with a likeness to some former acquaintance.
My school hours for the present are from nine to three. At
half-past twelve I ring my bell, when there is a general
rush and devouring. I uncover the tin knife-box devoted to
me, and find regularly inside a saucer with three or four
little slices of ham, a roll, a piece of corn bread, a cup
of cream, and a raw egg; the latter I throw into the hot
ashes, and when it has split with a loud report I take it
out, and, peeling off the coating of burnt egg and ashes,
am generally happy enough to find a little clean piece in
the middle, which I swallow, and burn my throat. Then I
put on my hood and gloves, and walk up and down under a
tree in front of the schoolhouse, eating the remainder,
and endeavouring not to think of you all, as I find it does
not assist the digestion.
I used to look sentimentally to one corner of the heavens
and fancy I saw you all, when one evening, to my amazement,
I beheld the sun set in that corner, so I had to turn right
round and look in the opposite direction, anathematising
the river for being so stupid as to wind, and convert the
sublime imaginings of a forlorn damsel into a ridiculous
blunder.
I have at present four music scholars, and one out-of-school
French, but two go for boarding. I teach ten hours, three
days of the week, and wish the other three were similarly
filled; but it is small remuneration for such an outlay of
breath, and as soon as I have the opportunity I shall fly
off to some other point of the compass, where at any rate
I may learn myself while teaching others. Carlyle’s name
has never even been distantly echoed here, Emerson is a
perfect stranger, and Channing, I presume, would produce
a universal fainting-fit.
Henderson.
I was delighted to receive my box last Sunday, the 12th;
the things do admirably, the dresses I like exceedingly,
they are both very pretty.
The people here begin to interest me more than they did at
first; all continue very kind, and I think well satisfied.
When I came here, I did not care one straw what was
thought of my personal appearance, I dressed entirely from
a principle of self-respect; now I sometimes dress for
others, and feel a slight satisfaction if the glass tells
me I shall not scare people. Is not this a good sign?...
Do not imagine I am going to make myself a whole just at
present; the fact is I cannot find my other half here,
but only about a sixth, which would not do. There are two
rather eligible young males here, whose mothers have for
some time been electioneering for wives; one tall, the
other short, with very pretty names, of good family, and
with tolerable fortune, but unfortunately one seems to
me a dolt, the other, well, not wise, so I keep them at a
respectful distance, which you know I am quite capable of
doing.
There is a spot called Lovers’ Grove, about three-quarters
of a mile from the town, a sweet place on the river bank,
encircled by trees, with a hill behind, and a delightful walk
by the river-side connecting it with the ‘city.’ This used
to be my Sunday afternoon stroll, but unfortunately it is
the favourite resort of the beaux and belles of Henderson,
who, during the summer, after afternoon church, regularly
promenade thither, in groups of four or five, and meet
accidentally on purpose. Here they stroll about, recline
on the grass, watch the steamboats, flirt a very little (it
being Sunday), and carve one another’s names, and sentimental
verses, on the unfortunate locust trees. I had many offers
of an escort thither and as many beaux as I might desire.
I went once or twice, but at last got dreadfully tired of
it, so while my party was busily engaged round a tree, I
started off on a good brisk walk home, where, some time
after, the others arrived, in some consternation to know
how or why I had so suddenly vanished. I laughed at them
and their sentimental doings, and they have not invited me
since.
I had a very pleasant drive yesterday to make a bridal call
on the Presbyterian minister, who has been quite polite.
The country reminded me in some parts of our charming Staten
Island drives, though the scenery here will not, of course,
compare with that little gem.
The people of Henderson were all very friendly to me personally,
and my relations always pleasant with them; but the injustice of the
state of society made a gradually deepening impression on my mind. The
inhabitants lived in constant fear of an outbreak among the slaves.
Women did not dare to walk in the pleasant woods and country around
the village, for terror of runaway slaves. Painful social contrasts
constantly forced themselves on my notice. I well remember sitting
with my hostess, who was reclining in her rocking-chair, on the
broad, shaded verandah, one pleasant Sunday morning, listening to
the distant church bells and the rustling of the locust trees, when
the eldest daughter, a tall, graceful girl, dressed for Sunday, in
fresh and floating summer drapery, came into the verandah on her way
to church. Just at that moment a shabby, forlorn-looking negro in
dirty rags approached the verandah; he was one of the slaves working
in the tobacco plantation. His errand was to beg the mistress to let
him have a clean shirt on that Sunday morning. The contrast of the
two figures, the young lady and the slave, and the sharp reprimand
with which his mistress from her rocking-chair drove the slave away,
left a profound impression on my mind. Kind as the people were to
me personally, the sense of justice was continually outraged; and at
the end of the first term of engagement I resigned the situation.