smoke of that peaceful cigar has smoked, it has drove before it the blood
red cloud of war and treason.” But says I, “that haint the main reason
why I thought you ought to be President, and so I have told Josiah. I
have said to Josiah more’n a hundred times that any man or woman ought
to be President that knew enough not to talk when they hadn’t nothin’ to
say. But--” says I, for even in that wrapped moment stern principle was
the guide of J. Allen’s wife--“That was when you was run up for President
the first time; I go now for Horace Greeley, and so does Josiah.”
There haint nothin’ little and envious about Ulysses Grant, he didn’t act
mad a mite, he nodded to me agin as friendly as ever, and after invitin’
them both in the name of Josiah, to make it thier home with us whenever
they come to Jonesville, and sendin’ my best respects to Julia and Mr.
Dents’es folks, and Skylers’es wife Elliner, I retired to my seat and sot
down.
When Betsey discovered who I had been talkin’ with, she looked wild at
the thought, but it didn’t rouse in her, the spontanious emotions of
patrotism it did in me. If a barell has been filled up with rain water,
you can’t expect to tap it and have it run strong beer. When any sudden
circumstance taps folks’es minds, they will run out of ’em jest what they
have been filled with, no more, no less. My mind was that filled with
noble emotions of admiration and patrotism, that I entirely forgot for
the minute that I was J. Allen’s wife from Jonesville. But Betsey all
the while remembered B. Bobbet, she also remembered her poetry. I don’t
believe a few earthquakes could make her forget that, her first words was
after she recovered herself,
“I will make General Grant, that deah, sweet man, a present. Everybody
does, that wants to get onto the right side of him. I will give him a
piece of my poetry. If I remember rightly I have got one in my satchel
bag, all printed out, with a running vine around the edges. There is
45 verses of it, and it is on the war. How fortunate that I brought it
along.” And as she dove her hands into her satchel bag, she continued
dreamily,
“Mebby he is that liberal and generous turn with his own folks, that
after he has read it, he will give it to some of his wife’s relations.
Mebby there is a few widowehs among them,” and then in a still more
dreamy tone she murmured, “Betsey B. Dent, Washington, D. C.” But anon
or a little after, she roused out of this revery and takin’ the poetry
in her hand, she started down the car, and I bein’ tired, leaned my head
back against the side of the seat, and composed myself together.
[Illustration: “LET US HAVE PEACE.”]
I guess I had most got into a nap, when I heard a loud wrathful, eloquent
voice, seemin’ly makin’ a speech to some enimy. It started me up so that
I rose right up onto my feet, and looked round, and there was that noble
General, standin’ up with his hands extended, layin’ it down strong and
decided. I knew what it was in ½ a minute, Betsey Bobbet had done what a
five years uncivel war couldn’t do, nor a admirin’ nation of 20 million
souls. She had got him to makin’ a speech, while Skyler who had smiled
stidely for upwards of 40 years, stood lookin’ on with a dark and awfully
gloomy frown onto him.
I stood silent for some time lost in the sorrowful feelin’s the scene
called forth, and then almost overcome with my pity for them, I wended my
way towards them. As I drew nearer to them, I heard his words which he
was pourin’ out so eloquently and fluently, “Let us have peace, _Can’t_
we have peace?” he was yellin’ in such harrowin’ tones, that there wasn’t
hardly a dry eye in my head as I listened.
“Have I escaped from the horrible danger of war, have I survived the open
bullets of my enimies, and the well meanin’ but almost fatal arrows of my
friends, to expier in this way? To perish by poetry? Is there no sucker
for me? _Can’t_ we have peace?” he screamed in a loud preachin’ tone as
he ketched sight of me, “Can’t we have it, _say_?”
He was almost delerious. But I laid my hand on his agitated elbow, and
says I in soothin’ tones.
“Yes Ulysses, you _shall_ have a piece, you shall, Josiah Allen’s wife
will see to it, you _shall_ have a piece.”
And then I leaned down and whispered a few words into Betsey Bobbett’s
left ear, and she turned quicker’n a flash, and gathered up her poetry
and rushed into the forward car.
As she disapeared, Skyler’ses face changed from that gloomy sinister
frown, and agin he put on that smile that was upwards of 40 years old,
but was still so sweet and fresh that I knew it was good for another 40
years--and the General grasped me by the hand sayin’ in agitated tones,
“There was upwards of 50 of ’em, and she would read ’em.” Says I
soothingly, “I wouldn’t think of it Ulysses, it is all over now. I was
glad to show the gratitude the nation owes to you. I was glad of the
chance to befriend you.”
“Angel!” says he almost warmly. But I interupted him by sayin’ in a tone
of dignity. “I honor and respect you deeply Ulysses--but in the two names
of Julia and Josiah, I must forbid your callin’ me angel, or any other
pet name.”
I knew it was only his deep gratitude to me for rescuin’ him from his
peril that made him say it, for he and Julia think the world of each
other. And the good solid principles, colored and morally struck in with
tan bark in his early life, the muddy waters of political life haint been
able to wash out, nor the gilt tinsel of fashionable life to cover up and
destroy. I knew that even there in Washington Avenue, among all the big
men there, he loved his wife, jest as much as if it was the fashion to
love ’em. I knew all this, but still I felt that I must speak as I did,
for principle with J. Allen’s wife--as I have remarked more formally--is
all in all.
I then turned and followed Betsey, not knowin’ but what she would be a
comin’ back. What I whispered in her left ear was this, that her back
hair was comin’ down, and she bein’ so bald, I knew it would fetch her
down like a arrow in her breast.
They left at the next Station House, and Betsey and me proceeded onwards
to New York village with no farther coincidences.
AT NEW YORK, ASTERS’ES TAVERN.
The cars didn’t bust up nor break down, which surprised me some, but
which I felt was indeed a blessin’, and at ½ past six Betsey and me stood
on the platform of the depott at New York village. As we stood there
I would have swapped my last new cross barred muslin night cap in my
satchel bag on my arm for a pair of iron ears. I should have been glad of
the loan of a old pair for 16 seconds, if I couldn’t got ’em no longer,
the noise was so distractin’ and awful.
Says I to myself, “Am I Josiah Allen’s wife, or am I not?” some of the
time I thought I was Josiah, I was so destracted. But though inwardly
so tosted up and down, I kep’ a cool demeaniour outside of me. I stood
stun still, firmly graspin’ my satchel bag, my umberell and my green cap
box--with my best head dress in it, till I had collected myself together,
recolected what my name was, and where I was a goin’. When my senses
come back I thought to myself truly Josiah wasn’t so far out of the way
when he worried over old Tammany, for of all the shameless and brazen
set, on the face of the earth, that set a howlin’ round Betsey Bobbet and
me was the shamelessest and brazenest.
Now I am naturaily pretty offish and retirin’ in my ways, with strange
men folks. I think it is becomin’ in a woman to be so, instead of bold.
Now when we sot sail from Jonesville, after we got well to ridin’, a man
came through the cars, a perfect stranger to me, but he reached out his
hand to shake hands with me, jest as friendly and famelier as if I was
his step mother. But I didn’t ketch holt of his hand, as some wimmen
would, I jest folded up my arms, and says I, coolly,
“You have got the advantage of me.”
But he never took the hint, there he stood stun still in front of me
holdin’ out his hand. And seein’ there was a lot of folks lookin’ on,
and not wantin’ to act odd, I kinder took holt of his hand and shook it
slightly, but at the same time says,
“Who under the sun you are I don’t know--but you seem determined to
get acquainted with me. Mebby you are some of his folks I haint never
seen--are you related to Josiah on the Allen side or on the Daggett
side?” Josiah’s mother was a Daggett.
But before I could say any more he spoke up and said all he wanted was
my ticket. I was glad then I had acted offish. For as I say, I don’t
believe in wimmen puttin’ themselves forward and actin’ bold. Not that
that stands in the way of their modistly claimin’ their honest rights. I
have seen enough boldness used by a passel of girls at one huskin’ bee,
or apple cut, to supply 4 presedential elections, and the same number of
female caurkusses, and then have 5 or 6 baskets full left. Havein’ these
modest and reserved feelin’s in my soul--as firm as firm iron--what was
my feelin’s as I stood there on that platform, when a great tall villian
walked up to me and yelled right up close to my bunnet,
“Will you have a bus mom?”
If that man had the privilege of livin’ several hundred years, he would
say at the last 100, that he never forgot the look I gave him as he
uttered these infamous words to me. It was a look calculated to scorch
a man to his very soul. It was a look calculated and designed to make a
man sigh for some small knot hole to creep through and hide him from the
gaze of wimmen. I’ll bet 2 cents that he won’t insult another women in
that way very soon. I give him a piece of my mind that he won’t forget
in a hurry. I told him plainly, “That if I wasn’t a married women and a
Methodist, and, was free to kiss who I was a mind to, I had jest as lives
kiss a anacondy, or a boyconstructor, as him,” and I says in conclusion,
“mebby you think because Josiah haint here to protect me, you can talk
to me as you are a mind to. But,” says I, “if I haint got Josiah with
me I have got a good stout umberell.” He quailed silently, and while he
was a quailin’ I turned to Betsey, and asked her if she was ready to
start along, for as true as I live and breathe, I was afraid Betsey was
so of that clingin turn, that she would be a kissen’ some of them men in
spite of my teeth, for thier was a lot of ’em besettin’ her for a bus.
A yellin’ round her “have a bus? Have a bus?” Jest as if that was jest
what Betsey and me had come from Jonesville for. The miserable--lowlived
creeters.
Betsey seemed to kinder hate to go, but I started her off. For no burdock
bur ever stuck to a horse’s mane, as Josiah Allen’s wife sticks to a
companion, a drawin’ ’em along with her in the cause of Right. As we
wended our way along, walkin’ afoot, she wanted to know what tavern I was
a goin’ to put up to, and I told her “Mr. and Miss Asters’es tavern.”
Says she, “If it was not jest as it was, I would ask you to go to cousin
Ebenezah’s with me. But in the future it may be I shall be freer to act,
than I be now. If I was a married female and had a home of my own heah,
how happy I should be to welcome Jonesville to its blessed presincts. As
deah Tuppah observes--”
But I interrupted her by sayin’ coolly, “Betsey, I have made up my mind
to put up to Mr. Aster’ses, for Johnothan Beans’es ex-wife, Josiah’s 2nd
cousin, is Miss Aster’ses hired girl.”
“Is she a widow?” says Betsey.
“She does a little in that line,” says I in a cautious tone. “She is a
vegetable widow.” I wasn’t goin’ to say “grass widow” right out, though
she _is_ clear grass. For her husband, Johnothan Bean, run away with
another woman 3 years ago this comin’ fall, it was all printed out in
the World at the time. At that very minute we turned on to Broadway, and
Betsey was a sailin’ on ahead of me in gay spirits, a laughin’, and a
talkin’, and a quotin’ Tupper, jest as happy as you please. But as we
turned the corner, I stopped her by ketchin’ holt of her Greek bender,
and says I,
“I’d have a little respect into me, Betsey Bobbet,” says I. “Less stand
still here, till the funeral procession goes by.”
So we put a funeral look onto our faces, and stood still a spell, and
they streamed by. I thought my soul there was no end to the mourners.
It seems as if we stood there decently and in order, with a solemn look
onto our faces, becomin’ the solemn occasion, for pretty nigh ½ an hour.
Finally I whispered to Betsey, and says I,
“Betsey, did you ever see such a gang of mourners in your life?”
I see her eyes looked kinder sot in her head, and she seemed to be not
really sensin’ what I said. She looked strange. Finally says she, “It is
a sorrowful time, I am composin’ a funeral owed, and I will repeat it to
you soon.”
I wanted to get her mind off’en that idee, and I continued on a talkin’,
“It must be some awful big man that is dead. Like as not it is the
Governor of the United States or some deacon or other. Do see ’em
stringin’ along. But how some of the mourners are a behavin’, and how gay
some of the wimmen are dressed. If I had known there was goin’ to be a
funeral in the village, while I was here, some of the mourners might have
had my black bombazeen dress, and my crape viel jest as well as not. I
always make a practice of lendin’ ’em on funeral occasions.”
Jest then a little boy came sailin’ by, with a segar in his mouth almost
as big as _he_ was. And I ketched holt of him, and whispered to him,
“Bub who is dead?” and says I, “be you one of the mourners?”
“Yes, old lady,” says he, in a impudent tone, “I am out on a short mourn.”
If it hadn’t been for the mournful occasion, and for gettin’ off’en my
dignity, I would have spanked him, then and there; he laughed so impudent
at me. But I let him go on, and then I took out my snowy 25 cent linen
handkerchief and wiped off my heated face, and says I to Betsey,
“I am wore out; there hain’t no end to this procession seemin’ly, we may
as well go on, for I am beat out, we shall act as well as some of the
mourners do any way, if we do walk on.” So we wended on. Betsey’s cousin
lived not a great ways from Miss Asters’es, only it was down a little
ways another street, up over a store. I told her “I guessed I wouldn’t
climb up them grocery stairs, I was so tuckered out, and then Miss Aster
would most probable have supper about ready, and I didn’t want to have
her fuss to set the table over for me, or steep her tea over, and I felt
that a cup of tea I must have.”
I was kinder dreadin’ goin’ in alone, not bein’ acquainted with Miss
Aster, and I don’t know when I have been tickleder, than I was to meet
Jonothan Beans’es ex-wife, right on the sidewalk. She was real glad to
see me too, for I befriended her when she first went to grass, (as it
was,) I took her right in for 3 weeks, and give her 2 pair of seamed
stockin’s, and a lot of other things for her comfort.
She went right back with me. Of all the big houses I ever see, Mr.
Asters’es house beat everything. I was determined not to act green and be
a askin’ questions, and so I didn’t say a word. But I spose from the size
of it, that Mr. Aster lets part of it for meetin’ houses, and mebby they
have a few select schools in it, and a few lunatick asylums, I should
think they would need ’em, such a noise. But I didn’t say a word.
Jonothan Beans’es ex-wife told me I must put my name down on the
Register before I went to my room, I didn’t object, nor I didn’t ask
no questions, but I kep’ a pretty good look out. “Register!” I knew I
had heard somethin’ that sounded like that, connected with deeds, and I
wasn’t goin’ to sign away my property. I didn’t know as it was so, but
I did have my thoughts, that mebby somebody had told ’em I was comein’
to the village, and they was tryin’ to get me to sign away my thirds,
there is so much iniquity in the world. But I kep’ my thoughts to myself,
and kep’ my eyes open. I jest looked over the book pretty sharp, before
I put my name down, and I see it was all right. My room was on the 5th
story, and I told J. Beans’es ex-wife that how I was goin’ to climb up
them stairs I didn’t know, I was so tuckered out, I was sorry the minute
I said it, for I was afraid she would go and tell Miss Aster, and Miss
Aster would give up her bedroom to me, or mebby she would make Mr. Aster
sleep with one of the boys, and have me sleep with her, and I wouldn’t
have her put herself out for the world. And I spoke up and says I,
“I guess I can weather it some way.”
And she spoke up and says she, “Here is the elevater, be carried up.”
There was a big nigger comin’ right towards us, and I thought she meant
him, for they have been called such funny names ever since the war, that
I thought likely “Elevater” was one of ’em. But I jest put my foot right
doun to once, says I firmly,
“I haint a goin’ to be lugged up stairs by that nigger.” And then I was
so afraid that he would hear it, and it would hurt his feelin’s, that I
spoke right up pretty loud, and says I,
“It haint on account of the gentleman’s dark complexion at all, that I
object. But I don’t think Josiah would like it, to have any other man
carryin’ me round in his arms.”
But Johnothan Beans’es ex-wife explained it to me. There was a little
room about as big as our smoke house, all fixed off neat as a pin, and
all we had to do was to git in, and then we was histed right up in front
of our room. I was awful glad to be carried up, but I have got some pity
left into me, and I says to her, says I,
“Haint it awful hard for the man that is drawin’ us up?” Says I, “Is it
Mr. Aster, or is it his hired man?” and says I, “does he do it with a
windlass, like a well bucket? or hand over hand, like drawin’ up water
out of a cistern with a pole?”
Johnothan Beans’es ex-wife said it was done by machinery, and she said,
for I asked her the first thing, “that there wasn’t no funeral, that
there was jest such a crowd every day.” I didn’t believe her, but I was
too beat out to contend. And glad enough was I, to stretch my weary limbs
in a rockin’ chair. J. Beans’es ex-wife said she would fetch me up a cup
of tea, and my supper to me. She haint forgot the past.
She told me when she left me that night, to be dreadful careful about the
gass, and not blow it out; she told me jest how it was done, and I’ll bet
Mrs. Aster herself couldn’t do it any neater, for I thought of Josiah,
and the thought of that man nerved me to do it right, so as not to die
and leave him a gass widower, and a lonely man.
When I waked up in the mornin’ such a noise as I heard. Why, I have
thought sometimes when I was sleepy, that our old rooster “Hail the Day”
makes an awful sight of noise. But good land! if all the roosters in
the United States and Boston, had roosted right under my window, they
couldn’t have begun with it. My first thought as I leaped out of bed
was, “Jonesville is afire.” Then recollectin’ myself, I grew calmer, and
thought mebby Miss Aster had got breakfast ready, and was a hollerin’
to me. And growin’ still more composed, I gin up that the tramplin’ and
hollerin’ was doun in the street. As I dressed me, I lay out my work for
the day; thinks’es I, “Betsey Bobbet will be so took up with her mission
to her cousin Ebenezer’s, that I shall be rid of her!” It was a sweet
thought to me, and I smiled as I thought it. But alas! as the poet well
observes, “How little we know what is ahead of us.” Thinks’es I, as I
turned the screw and let the water outen the side of the house to wash
me, (Johnothan Beans’es ex-wife had showed me how the night before,)
I must do all I can this day in the cause of Right. If I get that
destracted here that I am threatened with luny, and have to leave before
my time comes, I will go where duty calls me first and most. I should
have been glad to have looked round the village, and got acquainted with
some of Miss Aster’ses neighbors, but though I felt that the neighborin’
wimmen might think I was real uppish and proud sperited, still I felt
that I could better stand this importation than to desert the cause of
Right for ½ a minute. I felt that Horace, although nearly perfect in
every other respect, needed Josiah Allen’s wife’s influence on a subject
dear to that female’s heart. And I felt that that deluded Miss Woodhull
needed a true and pure principled female to show her plainly where she
stood. Then I laid out to go to Isabella Beecher Hooker’ses. And the time
was short, I knew with every fresh roar of destraction that come up from
the street below, that the time of my stay in that village was short.
I was so almost lost in these thoughts, that I didn’t see how late it was
a gettin’. I had overslept myself in the first place, bein’ so tuckered
out the night before, and thinks’es I all of a sudden,
“What will Miss Aster think, my keepin’ her from eatin’ her breakfast so
long?”
But inwardly, my mind was some composed by thinkin’ it was principle
that had belated me. So I sailed doun stairs. I had put on my best
clothes, my head-dress looked foamin’, my overskirt stood out noble round
my form. And it was with a peaceful mind though some destracted by the
noise, that I wended my way to the breakfast table.
But instead of all of us a settin’ to one table with Miss Aster to the
head, a pourin’ out tea, there was I’ll bet, more’n a hundred little
tables, with folks settin’ round ’em, a eatin’, and waiters a goin’ all
round amongst ’em, a waitin’ on ’em. And every man waiter had got on one
of his wives white bib aprons. Thinks’es I to myself, what a tussle I
should have with Josiah, to get him to wear one of my aprons round the
house when I had company; he is awful sot aginst wearin’ aprons, it is
all I can do to get one on to him when he is a churnin’.
Johnothan Beans’es ex-wife ketched my eye, as I went in, and she came and
sot me doun to a little table where there wasn’t nobody. And then she was
drawed off by somebody and left me alone. And I spoke out loud to myself,
“I’d like to know what I am goin’ to eat, unless I lay to and eat stun
china and glass ware.” And ketchin’ sight of the pepper box, I exclaimed
almost convulsively,
“I never was much of a hand to eat clear pepper, and nothin’ else.”
A nigger come up to me at that minute, and said somethin’ in a
frenchified accent about a cart bein’ on my plate, or somethin’ about a
cart, and I see in a minute that he wanted to make out--because I come
from the country--that I wanted a cart load of vittles. I don’t know when
I have been madder. Says I,
“You impudent creeter, you think because I am from the country, and
Josiah haint with me, that you can impose upon me. Talk to me, will
you, about my wantin’ a cart load of vittles? I should be glad,” says I
in a sarcastic tone, “I should be glad to get somethin’ a little more
nourishin’ than a three tined fork and a towel to eat, but I don’t seem
to run much chance of gettin’ on it here.”
Before he had time to say anything, J. Beans’es ex-wife came up, and
said somethin’ to me about lookin’ at “Bill the Fair.” I looked down on
the table, and noticed then for the first time that there was a piece of
poetry layin’ there, seemin’ly cut out of some newspaper, I see that she
wanted me to read it, but I told her, “That I wasn’t much of a hand for
poetry anyway, and Betsey Bobbet wrote so much that it made me fairly
sick of it,” and besides, says I, “I have left my specks up stairs, I
forgot ’em till I got most down here.”
But jest then I happened to think, mebby she had wrote it herself, I
don’t want to hurt nobody’s feelin’s, and says I, in a pleasant tone,
“I presume “Bill the Fair,” is a good piece of poetry, and if you haint
no objection, I will take it home with me, and put it into Tirzah Ann’s
scrap book.” She started off before I fairly got through speakin’ and
I folded up the poetry and put it into my pocket, and in a minute’s
time back she came with some first rate vittles. She knows what I like
jest as well as I do, havin’ lived with us a spell, as I said, when she
first went to grass. She knows jest what a case I am for store tea; but
she asked me what kind of tea I wanted, and I spoke right out before I
thought,
“Anything but sage tea, I can’t bear that.”
But then I happened to think I see they was all a drinkin’ coffee round
me, I knew they was by the smell. And I thought mebby from her speakin’
to me in that way that she meant to give me a little hint that Miss Aster
was out of store tea, and says I, kinder loud for she had started off.
“If Miss Aster is short on it for store tea, she needn’t fuss for me, she
needn’t borry any on my account, I can drink sage tea if I set out to.”
But I thought to myself, that I had rather have brought a drawin’ of tea
in my pocket clear from Jonesville, than to have gone without it; while I
was jest thinkin’ this, Jonothan Beans’es ex-wife came back with a first
rate cup of tea, strong enough to bear up a egg.