CHAPTER XVIII.

WESTWARD HO!

In the month of June, 1871, Miss Anthony and I went to California,

holding suffrage meetings in many of the chief cities from New York to

San Francisco, where we arrived about the middle of July, in time to

experience the dry, dusty season.

We tarried, on the way, one week in Salt Lake City. It was at the time

of the Godby secession, when several hundred Mormons abjured that

portion of the faith of their fathers which authorized polygamy. A

decision had just been rendered by the United States Supreme Court

declaring the first wife and her children the only legal heirs. Whether

this decision hastened the secession I do not know; however, it gave us

the advantage of hearing all the arguments for and against the system.

Those who were opposed to it said it made slaves of men. To support four

wives and twenty children was a severe strain on any husband. The women

who believed in polygamy had much to say in its favor, especially in

regard to the sacredness of motherhood during the period of pregnancy

and lactation; a lesson of respect for that period being religiously

taught all Mormons.

We were very thankful for the privilege granted us of speaking to the

women alone in the smaller Tabernacle. Our meeting opened at two o'clock

and lasted until seven, giving us five hours of uninterrupted

conversation. Judge McKeon had informed me of the recent decisions and

the legal aspects of the questions, which he urged me to present to them

fully and frankly, as no one had had such an opportunity before to speak

to Mormon women alone. So I made the most of my privilege. I gave a

brief history of the marriage institution in all times and countries, of

the matriarchate, when the mother was the head of the family and owned

the property and children; of the patriarchate, when man reigned supreme

and woman was enslaved; of polyandry, polygamy, monogamy, and

prostitution. We had a full and free discussion of every phase of the

question, and we all agreed that we were still far from having reached

the ideal position for woman in marriage, however satisfied man might be

with his various experiments. Though the Mormon women, like all others,

stoutly defend their own religion, yet they are no more satisfied than

any other sect. All women are dissatisfied with their position as

inferiors, and their dissatisfaction increases in exact ratio with their

intelligence and development.

After this convocation the doors of the Tabernacle were closed to our

ministrations, as we thought they would be, but we had crowded an

immense amount of science, philosophy, history, and general reflections

into the five hours of such free talk as those women had never heard

before. As the seceders had just built a new hall, we held meetings

there every day, discussing all the vital issues of the hour; the Mormon

men and women taking an active part.

We attended the Fourth of July celebration, and saw the immense

Tabernacle filled to its utmost capacity. The various States of the

Union were represented by young girls, gayly dressed, carrying beautiful

flags and banners. When that immense multitude joined in our national

songs, and the deep-toned organ filled the vast dome the music was very

impressive, and the spirit of patriotism manifested throughout was deep

and sincere.

As I stood among these simple people, so earnest in making their

experiment in religion and social life, and remembered all the

persecutions they had suffered and all they had accomplished in that

desolate, far-off region, where they had, indeed, made "the wilderness

blossom like the rose," I appreciated, as never before, the danger of

intermeddling with the religious ideas of any people. Their faith finds

abundant authority in the Bible, in the example of God's chosen people.

When learned ecclesiastics teach the people that they can safely take

that book as the guide of their lives, they must expect them to follow

the letter and the specific teachings that lie on the surface. The

ordinary mind does not generalize nor see that the same principles of

conduct will not do for all periods and latitudes. When women understand

that governments and religions are human inventions; that Bibles,

prayerbooks, catechisms, and encyclical letters are all emanations from

the brain of man, they will no longer be oppressed by the injunctions

that come to them with the divine authority of "Thus saith the Lord."

That thoroughly democratic gathering in the Tabernacle impressed me more

than any other Fourth of July celebration I ever attended. As most of

the Mormon families keep no servants, mothers must take their children

wherever they go--to churches, theatres, concerts, and military

reviews--everywhere and anywhere. Hence the low, pensive wail of the

individual baby, combining in large numbers, becomes a deep monotone,

like the waves of the sea, a sort of violoncello accompaniment to all

their holiday performances. It was rather trying to me at first to have

my glowing periods punctuated with a rhythmic wail from all sides of the

hall; but as soon as I saw that it did not distract my hearers, I simply

raised my voice, and, with a little added vehemence, fairly rivaled the

babies. Commenting on this trial, to one of the theatrical performers,

he replied: "It is bad enough for you, but alas! imagine me in a tender

death scene, when the most profound stillness is indispensable, having

my last gasp, my farewell message to loved ones, accentuated with the

joyful crowings or impatient complainings of fifty babies." I noticed in

the Tabernacle that the miseries of the infantile host were in a measure

mitigated by constant draughts of cold water, borne around in buckets by

four old men.

The question of the most profound interest to us at that time, in the

Mormon experiment, was the exercise of the suffrage by women. Emeline B.

Wells, wife of the Mayor of the city, writing to a Washington

convention, in 1894, said of the many complications growing out of

various bills before Congress to rob women of this right:

"Women have voted in Utah fourteen years, but, because of the

little word 'male' that still stands upon the statutes, no woman is

eligible to any office of emolument or trust. In three successive

legislatures, bills have been passed, providing that the word

'male' be erased; but, each time, the Governor of the Territory,

who has absolute veto power, has refused his signature. Yet women

attend primary meetings in the various precincts and are chosen as

delegates. They are also members of county and territorial central

committees, and are thus gaining practical political experience,

and preparing themselves for positions of trust.

"In 1882 a convention was held to frame a constitution to be

submitted to the people and presented to the Congress of the United

States. Women were delegates to this convention, and took part in

all its deliberations, and were appointed to act on committees with

equal privileges. It is the first instance on record, I think,

where women have been members and taken an active part in a

constitutional convention.

"Much has been said and written, and justly, too, of suffrage for

women in Wyoming; but, in my humble opinion, had Utah stood on the

same ground as Wyoming, and women been eligible to office, as they

are in that Territory, they would, ere this, have been elected to

the legislative Assembly of Utah.

"It is currently reported that Mormon women vote as they are told

by their husbands. I most emphatically deny the assertion. All

Mormon women vote who are privileged to register. Every girl born

here, as soon as she is twenty-one years old, registers, and

considers it as much a duty as to say her prayers. Our women vote

with the same freedom that characterizes any class of people in the

most conscientious acts of their lives."

These various questions were happily solved in 1895, when Utah became a

State. Its Constitution gives women the right to vote on all questions,

and makes them eligible to any office.

The journey over the Rocky Mountains was more interesting and wonderful

than I had imagined. A heavy shower the morning we reached the alkali

plains made the trip through that region, where travelers suffer so

much, quite endurable. Although we reached California in its hot, dry

season, we found the atmosphere in San Francisco delightful, fanned with

the gentle breezes of the Pacific, cooled with the waters of its

magnificent harbor. The Golden Gate does indeed open to the eye of the

traveler one of the most beautiful harbors in the world.

Friends had engaged for us a suite of apartments at the Grand Hotel,

then just opened. Our rooms were constantly decked with fresh flowers,

which our "suffrage children," as they called themselves, brought us

from day to day. So many brought tokens of their good will--in fact, all

our visitors came with offerings of fruits and flowers--that not only

our apartments, but the public tables were crowded with rare and

beautiful specimens of all varieties. We spoke every night, to crowded

houses, on all phases of the woman question, and had a succession of

visitors during the day. In fact, for one week, we had a perfect

ovation. As Senator Stanford and his wife were at the same hotel, we had

many pleasant interviews with them.

While in San Francisco we had many delightful sails in the harbor and

drives to the seashore and for miles along the beach. We spent several

hours at the little Ocean House, watching the gambols of the celebrated

seals. These, like the big trees, were named after distinguished

statesmen. One very black fellow was named Charles Sumner, in honor of

his love of the black race; another, with a little squint in his eye,

was called Ben Butler; a stout, rotund specimen that seemed to take life

philosophically, was named Senator Davis of Illinois; a very belligerent

one, who appeared determined to crowd his confrères into the sea, was

called Secretary Stanton. Grant and Lincoln, on a higher ledge of the

rocks, were complacently observing the gambols of the rest.

California was on the eve of an important election, and John A. Bingham

of Ohio and Senator Cole were stumping the State for the Republican

party. At several points we had the use of their great tents for our

audiences, and of such of their able arguments as applied to woman. As

Mr. Bingham's great speech was on the Thirteenth, Fourteenth, and

Fifteenth Amendments, every principle he laid down literally

enfranchised the women of the nation. I met the Ohio statesman one

morning at breakfast, after hearing him the night before. I told him his

logic must compel him to advocate woman suffrage. With a most cynical

smile he said "he was not the puppet of logic, but the slave of

practical politics."

We met most of our suffrage coadjutors in different parts of California.

I spent a few days with Mrs. Elizabeth B. Schenck, one of the earliest

pioneers in the suffrage movement. She was a cultivated, noble woman,

and her little cottage was a gem of beauty and comfort, surrounded with

beautiful gardens and a hedge of fish-geraniums over ten feet high,

covered with scarlet flowers. It seemed altogether more like a fairy

bower than a human habitation. The windmills all over California, for

pumping water, make a very pretty feature in the landscape, as well as

an important one, as people are obliged to irrigate their gardens

during the dry season. In August the hills are as brown as ours in

December.

Here, too, I first met Senator Sargent's family, and visited them in

Sacramento City, where we had a suffrage meeting in the evening and one

for women alone next day. At a similar meeting in San Francisco six

hundred women were present in Platt's Hall. We discussed marriage,

maternity, and social life in general. Supposing none but women were

present, as all were dressed in feminine costume, the audience were

quite free in their questions, and I equally so in my answers. To our

astonishment, the next morning, a verbatim report of all that was said

appeared in one of the leading papers, with most respectful comments. As

I always wrote and read carefully what I had to say on such delicate

subjects, the language was well chosen and the presentation of facts and

philosophy quite unobjectionable; hence, the information being as

important for men as for women, I did not regret the publication. During

the day a committee of three gentlemen called to know if I would give a

lecture to men alone. As I had no lecture prepared, I declined, with the

promise to do so the next time I visited California. The idea was novel,

but I think women could do much good in that way.

My readers may be sure that such enterprising travelers as Miss Anthony

and myself visited all the wonders, saw the geysers, big trees, the

Yosemite Valley, and the immense mountain ranges, piled one above

another, until they seemed to make a giant pathway from earth to heaven.

We drove down the mountain sides with Fox, the celebrated whip; sixteen

people in an open carriage drawn by six horses, down, down, down, as

fast as we could go. I expected to be dashed to pieces, but we safely

descended in one hour, heights we had taken three to climb. Fox held a

steady rein, and seemed as calm as if we were trotting on a level,

though any accident, such as a hot axle, a stumbling horse, or a break

in the harness would have sent us down the mountain side, two thousand

feet, to inevitable destruction. He had many amusing anecdotes to tell

of Horace Greeley's trip to the Geysers. The distinguished journalist

was wholly unprepared for the race down the mountains and begged Fox to

hold up. Sitting in front he made several efforts to seize the lines.

But Fox assured him that was the only possible way they could descend in

safety, as the horses could guide the stage, but they could not hold it.

At Stockton we met a party of friends just returning from the Yosemite,

who gave us much valuable information for the journey. Among other

things, I was advised to write to Mr. Hutchins, the chief authority

there, to have a good, strong horse in readiness to take me down the

steep and narrow path into the valley. We took the same driver and

carriage which our friends had found trustworthy, and started early in

the morning. The dust and heat made the day's journey very wearisome,

but the prospect of seeing the wonderful valley made all hardships of

little consequence. Quite a large party were waiting to mount their

donkeys and mules when we arrived. One of the attendants, a man about as

thin as a stair rod, asked me if I was the lady who had ordered a strong

horse; I being the stoutest of the party, he readily arrived at that

conclusion, so my steed was promptly produced. But I knew enough of

horses and riding to see at a glance that he was a failure, with his low

withers and high haunches, for descending steep mountains. In addition

to his forward pitch, his back was immensely broad. Miss Anthony and I

decided to ride astride and had suits made for that purpose; but alas!

my steed was so broad that I could not reach the stirrups, and the

moment we began to descend, I felt as if I were going over his head. So

I fell behind, and, when the party had all gone forward, I dismounted,

though my slender guide assured me there was no danger, he "had been up

and down a thousand times." But, as I had never been at all, his

repeated experiences did not inspire me with courage. I decided to walk.

That, the guide said, was impossible. "Well," said I, by way of

compromise, "I will walk as far as I can, and when I reach the

impossible, I will try that ill-constructed beast. I cannot see what you

men were thinking of when you selected such an animal for this journey."

And so we went slowly down, arguing the point whether it were better to

ride or walk; to trust one's own legs, or, by chance, be precipitated

thousands of feet down the mountain side.

It was a hot August day; the sun, in the zenith, shining with full

power. My blood was at boiling heat with exercise and vexation.

Alternately sliding and walking, catching hold of rocks and twigs,

drinking at every rivulet, covered with dust, dripping with

perspiration, skirts, gloves, and shoes in tatters, for four long hours

I struggled down to the end, when I laid myself out on the grass, and

fell asleep, perfectly exhausted, having sent the guide to tell Mr.

Hutchins that I had reached the valley, and, as I could neither ride nor

walk, to send a wheelbarrow, or four men with a blanket to transport me

to the hotel. That very day the Mariposa Company had brought the first

carriage into the valley, which, in due time, was sent to my relief.

Miss Anthony, who, with a nice little Mexican pony and narrow saddle,

had made her descent with grace and dignity, welcomed me on the steps of

the hotel, and laughed immoderately at my helpless plight.

As hour after hour had passed, she said, there had been a general

wonderment as to what had become of me; "but did you ever see such

magnificent scenery?" "Alas!" I replied, "I have been in no mood for

scenery. I have been constantly watching my hands and feet lest I should

come to grief." The next day I was too stiff and sore to move a finger.

However, in due time I awoke to the glory and grandeur of that wonderful

valley, of which no descriptions nor paintings can give the least idea.

With Sunset Cox, the leading Democratic statesman, and his wife, we had

many pleasant excursions through the valley, and chats, during the

evening, on the piazza. There was a constant succession of people going

and coming, even in that far-off region, and all had their adventures to

relate. But none quite equaled my experiences.

We spent a day in the Calaveras Grove, rested beneath the "big trees,"

and rode on horseback through the fallen trunk of one of them. Some

vandals sawed off one of the most magnificent specimens twenty feet

above the ground, and, on this the owners of the hotel built a little

octagonal chapel. The polished wood, with bark for a border, made a very

pretty floor. Here they often had Sunday services, as it held about one

hundred people. Here, too, we discussed the suffrage question, amid

these majestic trees that had battled with the winds two thousand

years, and had probably never before listened to such rebellion as we

preached to the daughters of earth that day.

Here, again, we found our distinguished statesmen immortalized, each

with his namesake among these stately trees. We asked our guide if there

were any not yet appropriated, might we name them after women. As he

readily consented, we wrote on cards the names of a dozen leading women,

and tacked them on their respective trees. Whether Lucretia Mott, Lucy

Stone, Phoebe Couzins, and Anna Dickinson still retain their identity,

and answer when called by the goddess Sylvia in that majestic grove, I

know not. Twenty-five years have rolled by since then, and a new

generation of visitors and guides may have left no trace of our work

behind them. But we whispered our hopes and aspirations to the trees, to

be wafted to the powers above, and we left them indelibly pictured on

the walls of the little chapel, and for more mortal eyes we scattered

leaflets wherever we went, and made all our pleasure trips so many

propaganda for woman's enfranchisement.

Returning from California I made the journey straight through from San

Francisco to New York. Though a long trip to make without a break, yet I

enjoyed every moment, as I found most charming companions in Bishop

Janes and his daughter. The Bishop being very liberal in his ideas, we

discussed the various theologies, and all phases of the woman question.

I shall never forget those pleasant conversations as we sat outside on

the platform, day after day, and in the soft moonlight late at night. We

took up the thread of our debate each morning where we had dropped it

the night before. The Bishop told me about the resolution to take the

word "obey" from the marriage ceremony which he introduced, two years

before, into the Methodist General Conference and carried with but

little opposition. All praise to the Methodist Church! When our girls

are educated into a proper self-respect and laudable pride of sex, they

will scout all these old barbarisms of the past that point in any way to

the subject condition of women in either the State, the Church, or the

home. Until the other sects follow her example, I hope our girls will

insist on having their conjugal knots all tied by Methodist bishops.

The Episcopal marriage service not only still clings to the word "obey,"

but it has a most humiliating ceremony in giving the bride away. I was

never more struck with its odious and ludicrous features than on once

seeing a tall, queenly-looking woman, magnificently arrayed, married by

one of the tiniest priests that ever donned a surplice and gown, given

away by the smallest guardian that ever watched a woman's fortunes, to

the feeblest, bluest-looking little groom that ever placed a wedding

ring on bridal finger. Seeing these Lilliputians around her, I thought,

when the little priest said, "Who gives this woman to this man," that

she would take the responsibility and say, "I do," but no! there she

stood, calm, serene, as if it were no affair of hers, while the little

guardian, placing her hand in that of the little groom, said, "I do."

Thus was this stately woman bandied about by these three puny men, all

of whom she might have gathered up in her arms and borne off to their

respective places of abode.

But women are gradually waking up to the degradation of these

ceremonies. Not long since, at a wedding in high life, a beautiful girl

of eighteen was struck dumb at the word "obey." Three times the priest

pronounced it with emphasis and holy unction, each time slower, louder,

than before. Though the magnificent parlors were crowded, a breathless

silence reigned. Father, mother, and groom were in agony. The bride,

with downcast eyes, stood speechless. At length the priest slowly closed

his book and said, "The ceremony is at an end." One imploring word from

the groom, and a faint "obey" was heard in the solemn stillness. The

priest unclasped his book and the knot was tied. The congratulations,

feast, and all, went on as though there had been no break in the

proceedings, but the lesson was remembered, and many a rebel made by

that short pause.

I think all these reverend gentlemen who insist on the word "obey" in

the marriage service should be removed for a clear violation of the

Thirteenth Amendment to the Federal Constitution, which says there shall

be neither slavery nor involuntary servitude within the United States.

As I gave these experiences to Bishop Janes he laughed heartily, and

asked me to repeat them to each newcomer. Our little debating society

was the center of attraction. One gentleman asked me if our woman

suffrage conventions were as entertaining. I told him yes; that there

were no meetings in Washington so interesting and so well attended as

ours.

As I had some woman-suffrage literature in my valise, I distributed

leaflets to all earnest souls who plied me with questions. Like all

other things, it requires great discretion in sowing leaflets, lest you

expose yourself to a rebuff. I never offer one to a man with a small

head and high heels on his boots, with his chin in the air, because I

know, in the nature of things, that he will be jealous of superior

women; nor to a woman whose mouth has the "prunes and prisms"

expression, for I know she will say, "I have all the rights I want."

Going up to London one day, a few years later, I noticed a saintly

sister, belonging to the Salvation Army, timidly offering some leaflets

to several persons on board; all coolly declined to receive them. Having

had much experience in the joys and sorrows of propagandism, I put out

my hand and asked her to give them to me. I thanked her and read them

before reaching London. It did me no harm and her much good in thinking

that she might have planted a new idea in my mind. Whatever is given to

us freely, I think, in common politeness, we should accept graciously.

While I was enjoying once more the comforts of home, on the blue hills

of Jersey, Miss Anthony was lighting the fires of liberty on the

mountain tops of Oregon and Washington Territory. All through the months

of October, November, and December, 1871, she was jolting about in

stages, over rough roads, speaking in every hamlet where a schoolhouse

was to be found, and scattering our breezy leaflets to the four winds of

heaven.

From 1869 to 1873 Miss Anthony and I made several trips through Iowa,

Missouri, Illinois, and Nebraska, holding meetings at most of the chief

towns; I speaking in the afternoons to women alone on "Marriage and

Maternity." As Miss Anthony had other pressing engagements in Kansas and

Nebraska, I went alone to Texas, speaking in Dallas, Sherman, and

Houston, where I was delayed two weeks by floods and thus prevented

from going to Austin, Galveston, and some points in Louisiana, where I

was advertised to lecture. In fact I lost all my appointments for a

month. However, there was a fine hotel in Houston and many pleasant

people, among whom I made some valuable acquaintances. Beside several

public meetings, I had parlor talks and scattered leaflets, so that my

time was not lost.

As the floods had upset my plans for the winter, I went straight from

Houston to New York over the Iron Mountain Railroad. I anticipated a

rather solitary trip; but, fortunately, I met General Baird, whom I

knew, and some other army officers, who had been down on the Mexican

border to settle some troubles in the "free zone." We amused ourselves

on the long journey with whist and woman suffrage discussions. We

noticed a dyspeptic-looking clergyman, evidently of a bilious

temperament, eying us very steadily and disapprovingly the first day,

and in a quiet way we warned each other that, in due time, he would give

us a sermon on the sin of card playing.

Sitting alone, early next morning, he seated himself by my side, and

asked me if I would allow him to express his opinion on card playing. I

said "Oh, yes! I fully believe in free speech." "Well," said he, "I

never touch cards. I think they are an invention of the devil to lead

unwary souls from all serious thought of the stern duties of life and

the realities of eternity! I was sorry to see you, with your white hair,

probably near the end of your earthly career, playing cards and talking

with those reckless army officers, who delight in killing their

fellow-beings. No! I do not believe in war or card playing; such things

do not prepare the soul for heaven." "Well," said I, "you are quite

right, with your views, to abjure the society of army officers and all

games of cards. You, no doubt, enjoy your own thoughts and the book you

are reading, more than you would the conversation of those gentlemen and

a game of whist. We must regulate our conduct by our own highest ideal.

While I deplore the necessity of war, yet I know in our Army many of the

noblest types of manhood, whose acquaintance I prize most highly. I

enjoy all games, too, from chess down to dominoes. There is so much that

is sad and stern in life that we need sometimes to lay down its burdens

and indulge in innocent amusements. Thus, you see, what is wise from my

standpoint is unwise from yours. I am sorry that you repudiate all

amusements, as they contribute to the health of body and soul. You are

sorry that I do not think as you do and regulate my life accordingly.

You are sure that you are right. I am equally sure that I am. Hence

there is nothing to be done in either case but to let each other alone,

and wait for the slow process of evolution to give to each of us a

higher standard." Just then one of the officers asked me if I was ready

for a game of whist, and I excused myself from further discussion. I met

many of those dolorous saints in my travels, who spent so much thought

on eternity and saving their souls that they lost all the joys of time,

as well as those sweet virtues of courtesy and charity that might best

fit them for good works on earth and happiness in heaven.

In the spring I went to Nebraska, and Miss Anthony and I again made a

Western tour, sometimes together and sometimes by different routes. A

constitutional convention was in session in Lincoln, and it was

proposed to submit an amendment to strike the word "male" from the

Constitution. Nebraska became a State in March, 1867, and took "Equality

before the law" as her motto. Her Territorial legislature had discussed,

many times, proposed liberal legislation for women, and her State

legislature had twice considered propositions for woman's

enfranchisement. I had a valise with me containing Hon. Benjamin F.

Butler's minority reports as a member of the Judiciary Committee of the

United States House of Representatives, in favor of woman's right to

vote under the Fourteenth Amendment. As we were crossing the Platte

River, in transferring the baggage to the boat, my valise fell into the

river. My heart stood still at the thought of such a fate for all those

able arguments. After the great General had been in hot water all his

life, it was grievous to think of any of his lucubrations perishing in

cold water at last. Fortunately they were rescued. On reaching Lincoln I

was escorted to the home of the Governor, where I spread the documents

in the sunshine, and they were soon ready to be distributed among the

members of the constitutional convention.

After I had addressed the convention, some of the members called on me

to discuss the points of my speech. All the gentlemen were serious and

respectful with one exception. A man with an unusually small head,

diminutive form, and crooked legs tried, at my expense, to be witty and

facetious. During a brief pause in the conversation he brought his chair

directly before me and said, in a mocking tone, "Don't you think that

the best thing a woman can do is to perform well her part in the role of

wife and mother? My wife has presented me with eight beautiful

children; is not this a better life-work than that of exercising the

right of suffrage?"

I had had my eye on this man during the whole interview, and saw that

the other members were annoyed at his behavior. I decided, when the

opportune moment arrived, to give him an answer not soon to be

forgotten; so I promptly replied to his question, as I slowly viewed him

from head to foot, "I have met few men, in my life, worth repeating

eight times." The members burst into a roar of laughter, and one of

them, clapping him on the shoulder, said: "There, sonny, you have read

and spelled; you better go." This scene was heralded in all the Nebraska

papers, and, wherever the little man went, he was asked why Mrs. Stanton

thought he was not worth repeating eight times.

During my stay in Lincoln there was a celebration of the opening of some

railroad. An immense crowd from miles about assembled on this occasion.

The collation was spread and speeches were made in the open air. The men

congratulated each other on the wonderful progress the State had made

since it became an organized Territory in 1854. There was not the

slightest reference, at first, to the women. One speaker said: "This

State was settled by three brothers, John, James, and Joseph, and from

them have sprung the great concourse of people that greet us here

to-day." I turned, and asked the Governor if all these people had

sprung, Minerva-like, from the brains of John, James, and Joseph. He

urged me to put that question to the speaker; so, in one of his eloquent

pauses, I propounded the query, which was greeted with loud and

prolonged cheers, to the evident satisfaction of the women present. The

next speaker took good care to give the due meed of praise to Ann, Jane,

and Mary, and to every mention of the mothers of Nebraska the crowd

heartily responded.

In toasting "the women of Nebraska," at the collation, I said: "Here's

to the mothers, who came hither by long, tedious journeys, closely

packed with restless children in emigrant wagons, cooking the meals by

day, and nursing the babies by night, while the men slept. Leaving

comfortable homes in the East, they endured all the hardships of pioneer

life, suffered, with the men, the attacks of the Dakota Indians and the

constant apprehension of savage raids, of prairie fires, and the

devastating locusts. Man's trials, his fears, his losses, all fell on

woman with double force; yet history is silent concerning the part woman

performed in the frontier life of the early settlers. Men make no

mention of her heroism and divine patience; they take no thought of the

mental or physical agonies women endure in the perils of maternity,

ofttimes without nurse or physician in the supreme hour of their need,

going, as every mother does, to the very gates of death in giving life

to an immortal being!"

Traveling all over these Western States in the early days, seeing the

privations women suffered, and listening to the tales of sorrow at the

fireside, I wondered that men could ever forget the debt of gratitude

they owed to their mothers, or fail to commemorate their part in the

growth of a great people. Yet the men of Nebraska have twice defeated

the woman suffrage amendment.

In 1874 Michigan was the point of interest to all those who had taken