CHAPTER XIX.

THE SPIRIT OF '76.

The year 1876 was one of intense excitement and laborious activity

throughout the country. The anticipation of the centennial birthday of

the Republic, to be celebrated in Philadelphia, stirred the patriotism

of the people to the highest point of enthusiasm. As each State was to

be represented in the great exhibition, local pride added another

element to the public interest. Then, too, everyone who could possibly

afford the journey was making busy preparations to spend the Fourth of

July, the natal day of the Republic, mid the scenes where the

Declaration of Independence was issued in 1776, the Government

inaugurated, and the first national councils were held. Those interested

in women's political rights decided to make the Fourth a woman's day,

and to celebrate the occasion, in their various localities, by

delivering orations and reading their own declaration of rights, with

dinners and picnics in the town halls or groves, as most convenient. But

many from every State in the Union made their arrangements to spend the

historic period in Philadelphia. Owing, also, to the large number of

foreigners who came over to join in the festivities, that city was

crammed to its utmost capacity. With the crowd and excessive heat,

comfort was everywhere sacrificed to curiosity.

The enthusiasm throughout the country had given a fresh impulse to the

lyceum bureaus. Like the ferryboats in New York harbor, running hither

and thither, crossing each other's tracks, the whole list of lecturers

were on the wing, flying to every town and city from San Francisco to

New York. As soon as a new railroad ran through a village of five

hundred inhabitants that could boast a schoolhouse, a church, or a

hotel, and one enterprising man or woman, a course of lectures was at

once inaugurated as a part of the winter's entertainments.

On one occasion I was invited, by mistake, to a little town to lecture

the same evening when the Christy Minstrels were to perform. It was

arranged, as the town had only one hall, that I should speak from seven

to eight o'clock and the minstrels should have the remainder of the

time. One may readily see that, with the minstrels in anticipation, a

lecture on any serious question would occupy but a small place in the

hearts of the people in a town where they seldom had entertainments of

any kind. All the time I was speaking there was a running to and fro

behind the scenes, where the minstrels were transforming themselves with

paints and curly wigs into Africans, and laughing at each other's jests.

As it was a warm evening, and the windows were open, the hilarity of the

boys in the street added to the general din. Under such circumstances it

was difficult to preserve my equilibrium. I felt like laughing at my own

comical predicament, and I decided to make my address a medley of

anecdotes and stories, like a string of beads, held together by a fine

thread of argument and illustration. The moment the hand of the clock

pointed at eight o'clock the band struck up, thus announcing that the

happy hour for the minstrels had come. Those of my audience who wished

to stay were offered seats at half price; those who did not, slipped

out, and the crowd rushed in, soon packing the house to its utmost

capacity. I stayed, and enjoyed the performance of the minstrels more

than I had my own.

As the lyceum season lasted from October to June, I was late in reaching

Philadelphia. Miss Anthony and Mrs. Gage had already been through the

agony of finding appropriate headquarters for the National Suffrage

Association. I found them pleasantly situated on the lower floor of No.

1431 Chestnut Street, with the work for the coming month clearly mapped

out. As it was the year for nominating candidates for the presidency of

the United States, the Republicans and Democrats were about to hold

their great' conventions. Hence letters were to be written to them

recommending a woman suffrage plank in their platforms, and asking seats

for women in the conventions, with the privilege of being heard in their

own behalf. On these letters our united wisdom was concentrated, and

twenty thousand copies of each were published.

Then it was thought pre-eminently proper that a Woman's Declaration of

Rights should be issued. Days and nights were spent over that document.

After many twists from our analytical tweezers, with a critical

consideration of every word and sentence, it was at last, by a consensus

of the competent, pronounced very good. Thousands were ordered to be

printed, and were folded, put in envelopes, stamped, directed, and

scattered. Miss Anthony, Mrs. Gage, and I worked sixteen hours, day and

night, pressing everyone who came in, into the service, and late at

night carrying immense bundles to be mailed. With meetings, receptions,

and a succession of visitors, all of whom we plied with woman suffrage

literature, we felt we had accomplished a great educational work.

Among the most enjoyable experiences at our headquarters were the

frequent visits of our beloved Lucretia Mott, who used to come from her

country home bringing us eggs, cold chickens, and fine Oolong tea. As

she had presented us with a little black teapot that, like Mercury's

mysterious pitcher of milk, filled itself for every coming guest, we

often improvised luncheons with a few friends. At parting, Lucretia

always made a contribution to our depleted treasury. Here we had many

prolonged discussions as to the part we should take, on the Fourth of

July, in the public celebration. We thought it would be fitting for us

to read our Declaration of Rights immediately after that of the Fathers

was read, as an impeachment of them and their male descendants for their

injustice and oppression. Ours contained as many counts, and quite as

important, as those against King George in 1776. Accordingly, we applied

to the authorities to allow us seats on the platform and a place in the

programme of the public celebration, which was to be held in the

historic old Independence Hall. As General Hawley was in charge of the

arrangements for the day, I wrote him as follows:

"1431 Chestnut Street, July 1, 1876.

"General Hawley.

"_Honored Sir_: As President of the National Woman's Suffrage

Association, I am authorized to ask you for tickets to the

platform, at Independence Hall, for the celebration on the Fourth

of July. We should like to have seats for at least one

representative woman from each State. We also ask your permission

to read our Declaration of Rights immediately after the reading of

the Declaration of Independence of the Fathers is finished.

Although these are small favors to ask as representatives of

one-half of the nation, yet we shall be under great obligations to

you if granted.

"Respectfully Yours,

"Elizabeth Cady Stanton."

To this I received the following reply:

"U.S.C.C. Headquarters, July 2.

"Mrs. Elizabeth Cady Stanton.

"_Dear Madam_: I send you, with pleasure, half a dozen cards of

invitation. As the platform is already crowded, it is impossible to

reserve the number of seats you desire. I regret to say it is also

impossible for us to make any change in the programme at this late

hour. We are crowded for time to carry out what is already

proposed.

"Yours Very Respectfully,

"Joseph R. Hawley,

"President, U.S.C.C."

With this rebuff, Mrs. Mott and I decided that we would not accept the

offered seats, but would be ready to open our own convention called for

that day, at the First Unitarian church, where the Rev. William H.

Furness had preached for fifty years. But some of our younger coadjutors

decided that they would occupy the seats and present our Declaration of

Rights. They said truly, women will be taxed to pay the expenses of

this celebration, and we have as good a right to that platform and to

the ears of the people as the men have, and we will be heard.

That historic Fourth of July dawned at last, one of the most oppressive

days of that heated season. Susan B. Anthony, Matilda Joslyn Gage, Sara

Andrews Spencer, Lillie Devereux Blake, and Phoebe W. Couzins made their

way through the crowds under the broiling sun of Independence Square,

carrying the Woman's Declaration of Rights. This Declaration had been

handsomely engrossed by one of their number, and signed by the oldest

and most prominent advocates of woman's enfranchisement. Their tickets

of admission proved an "open sesame" through the military barriers, and,

a few moments before the opening of the ceremonies, these women found

themselves within the precincts from which most of their sex were

excluded.

The Declaration of 1776 was read by Richard Henry Lee of Virginia, about

whose family clusters so much historic fame. The moment he finished

reading was determined upon as the appropriate time for the presentation

of the Woman's Declaration. Not quite sure how their approach might be

met, not quite certain if, at this final moment, they would be permitted

to reach the presiding officer, those ladies arose and made their way

down the aisle. The bustle of preparation for the Brazilian hymn covered

their advance. The foreign guests and the military and civil officers

who filled the space directly in front of the speaker's stand,

courteously made way, while Miss Anthony, in fitting words, presented

the Declaration to the presiding officer. Senator Ferry's face paled as,

bowing low, with no word he received the Declaration, which thus became

part of the day's proceedings. The ladies turned, scattering printed

copies as they deliberately walked down the platform. On every side

eager hands were outstretched, men stood on seats and asked for them,

while General Hawley, thus defied and beaten in his audacious denial to

women of the right to present their Declaration, shouted, "Order,

order!"

Passing out, these ladies made their way to a platform, erected for the

musicians, in front of Independence Hall. Here, under the shadow of

Washington's statue, back of them the old bell that proclaimed "liberty

to all the land and all the inhabitants thereof," they took their

places, and, to a listening, applauding crowd, Miss Anthony read the

Woman's Declaration. During the reading of the Declaration, Mrs. Gage

stood beside Miss Anthony and held an umbrella over her head, to shelter

her friend from the intense heat of the noonday sun. And thus in the

same hour, on opposite sides of old Independence Hall, did the men and

women express their opinions on the great principles proclaimed on the

natal day of the Republic. The Declaration was handsomely framed, and

now hangs in the Vice President's room in the Capitol at Washington.

These heroic ladies then hurried from Independence Hall to the church,

already crowded with an expectant audience, to whom they gave a full

report of the morning's proceedings. The Hutchinsons of worldwide fame

were present in their happiest vein, interspersing the speeches with

appropriate songs and felicitous remarks. For five long hours on that

hot midsummer day a crowded audience, many standing, listened with

profound interest and reluctantly dispersed at last, all agreeing that

it was one of the most impressive and enthusiastic meetings they had

ever attended.

All through our Civil War the slaves on the Southern plantations had an

abiding faith that the terrible conflict would result in freedom for

their race. Just so through all the busy preparations of the Centennial,

the women of the nation felt sure that the great national celebration

could not pass without the concession of some new liberties to them.

Hence they pressed their claims at every point, at the Fourth of July

celebration in the exposition buildings, and in the Republican and

Democratic nominating conventions; hoping to get a plank in the

platforms of both the great political parties.

The Woman's Pavilion upon the centennial grounds was an afterthought, as

theologians claim woman herself to have been. The women of the country,

after having contributed nearly one hundred thousand dollars to the

centennial stock, found there had been no provision made for the

separate exhibition of their work. The centennial board, of which Mrs.

Gillespie was president, then decided to raise funds for the erection of

a separate building, to be known as the Woman's Pavilion. It covered an

acre of ground, and was erected at an expense of thirty thousand

dollars--a small sum in comparison with the money which had been raised

by women and expended on the other buildings, not to speak of the State

and national appropriations, which the taxes levied on them had largely

helped to swell.

The Pavilion was no true exhibit of woman's art. Few women are, as yet,

owners of the business which their industry largely makes remunerative.

Cotton factories, in which thousands of women work, are owned by men.

The shoe business, in some branches of which women are doing more than

half the work, is under the ownership of men. Rich embroideries from

India, rugs of downy softness from Turkey, the muslin of Decca,

anciently known as "The Woven Wind," the pottery and majolica ware of P.

Pipsen's widow, the cartridges and envelopes of Uncle Sam, Waltham

watches, whose finest mechanical work is done by women, and ten thousand

other industries found no place in the pavilion. Said United States

Commissioner Meeker of Colorado, "Woman's work comprises three-fourths

of the exposition; it is scattered through every building; take it away,

and there would be no exposition."

But this pavilion rendered one good service to woman in showing her

capabilities as an engineer. The boiler, which furnished the force for

running its work, was under the charge of a young Canadian girl, Miss

Allison, who, from childhood, had loved machinery, spending much time in

the large saw and grist mills of her father, run by engines of two and

three hundred horse-power, which she sometimes managed for amusement.

When her name was proposed for running the pavilion machinery, it caused

much opposition. It was said that the committee would, some day, find

the pavilion blown to atoms; that the woman engineer would spend her

time reading novels instead of watching the steam gauge; that the idea

was impracticable and should not be thought of. But Miss Allison soon

proved her capabilities and the falseness of these prophecies by taking

her place in the engine room and managing its workings with perfect

ease. Six power looms, on which women wove carpets, webbing, silks,

etc., were run by this engine. At a later period the printing of _The

New Century for Woman_, a paper published by the centennial commission

in the woman's building, was done by its means. Miss Allison declared

the work to be more cleanly, more pleasant, and infinitely less

fatiguing than cooking over a kitchen stove. "Since I have been

compelled to earn my own living," she said, "I have never been engaged

in work I like so well. Teaching school is much harder, and one is not

paid so well." She expressed her confidence in her ability to manage the

engines of an ocean steamer, and said that there were thousands of small

engines in use in various parts of the country, and no reason existed

why women should not be employed to manage them,--following the

profession of engineer as a regular business,--an engine requiring far

less attention than is given by a nursemaid or a mother to a child.

But to have made the Woman's Pavilion grandly historic, upon its walls

should have been hung the yearly protest of Harriet K. Hunt against

taxation without representation; the legal papers served upon the Smith

sisters when, for their refusal to pay taxes while unrepresented, their

Alderney cows were seized and sold; the papers issued by the city of

Worcester for the forced sale of the house and lands of Abby Kelly

Foster, the veteran abolitionist, because she refused to pay taxes,

giving the same reason our ancestors gave when they resisted taxation; a

model of Bunker Hill monument, its foundation laid by Lafayette in 1825,

but which remained unfinished nearly twenty years, until the famous

German danseuse, Fanny Ellsler, gave the proceeds of a public

performance for that purpose. With these should have been exhibited

framed copies of all the laws bearing unjustly upon women--those which

rob her of her name, her earnings, her property, her children, her

person; also the legal papers in the case of Susan B. Anthony, who was

tried and fined for claiming her right to vote under the Fourteenth

Amendment, and the decision of Mr. Justice Miller in the case of Myra

Bradwell, denying national protection for woman's civil rights; and the

later decision of Chief Justice Waite of the United States Supreme Court

against Virginia L. Minor, denying women national protection for their

political rights; decisions in favor of State rights which imperil the

liberties not only of all women, but of every white man in the nation.

Woman's most fitting contributions to the Centennial Exposition would

have been these protests, laws, and decisions, which show her political

slavery. But all this was left for rooms outside of the centennial

grounds, upon Chestnut Street, where the National Woman's Suffrage

Association hoisted its flag, made its protests, and wrote the

Declaration of Rights of the women of the United States.

To many thoughtful people it seemed captious and unreasonable for women

to complain of injustice in this free land, amidst such universal

rejoicings. When the majority of women are seemingly happy, it is

natural to suppose that the discontent of the minority is the result of

their unfortunate individual idiosyncrasies, and not of adverse

influences in established conditions. But the history of the world shows

that the vast majority, in every generation, passively accept the

conditions into which they are born, while those who demanded larger

liberties are ever a small, ostracized minority, whose claims are

ridiculed and ignored. From our standpoint we would honor any Chinese

woman who claimed the right to her feet and powers of locomotion; the

Hindoo widows who refused to ascend the funeral pyre of their husbands;

the Turkish women who threw off their masks and veils and left the

harem; the Mormon women who abjured their faith and demanded monogamic

relations. Why not equally honor the intelligent minority of American

women who protest against the artificial disabilities by which their

freedom is limited and their development arrested? That only a few,

under any circumstances, protest against the injustice of

long-established laws and customs, does not disprove the fact of the

oppressions, while the satisfaction of the many, if real, only proves

their apathy and deeper degradation. That a majority of the women of the

United States accept, without protest, the disabilities which grow out

of their disfranchisement is simply an evidence of their ignorance and

cowardice, while the minority who demand a higher political status

clearly prove their superior intelligence and wisdom.

At the close of the Forty-seventh Congress we made two new demands:

First, for a special committee to consider all questions in regard to

the civil and political rights of women. We naturally asked the

question, As Congress has a special committee on the rights of Indians,

why not on those of women? Are not women, as a factor in civilization,

of more importance than Indians? Secondly, we asked for a room, in the

Capitol, where our committee could meet, undisturbed, whenever they saw

fit. Though these points were debated a long time, our demands were

acceded to at last. We now have our special committee, and our room,

with "Woman Suffrage" in gilt letters, over the door. In our struggle

to achieve this, while our champion, the senior Senator from

Massachusetts, stood up bravely in the discussion, the opposition not

only ridiculed the special demand, but all attempts to secure the civil

and political rights of women. As an example of the arguments of the

opposition, I give what the Senator from Missouri said. It is a fair

specimen of all that was produced on that side of the debate. Mr. Vest's

poetical flights are most inspiring:

"The Senate now has forty-one committees, with a small army of

messengers and clerks, one-half of whom, without exaggeration, are

literally without employment. I shall not pretend to specify the

committees of this body which have not one single bill, resolution,

or proposition of any sort pending before them, and have not had

for months. But, Mr. President, out of all committees without

business, and habitually without business, in this body, there is

one that, beyond any question, could take jurisdiction of this

matter and do it ample justice. I refer to that most respectable

and antique institution, the Committee on Revolutionary Claims. For

thirty years it has been without business. For thirty long years

the placid surface of that parliamentary sea has been without one

single ripple. If the Senator from Massachusetts desires a tribunal

for a calm, judicial equilibrium and examination--a tribunal far

from the 'madding crowd's ignoble strife'--a tribunal eminently

respectable, dignified and unique; why not send this question to

the Committee on Revolutionary Claims? It is eminently proper that

this subject should go to that committee because, if there is any

revolutionary claim in this country, it is that of woman suffrage.

(Laughter.) It revolutionizes society; it revolutionizes religion;

it revolutionizes the Constitution and laws; and it revolutionizes

the opinions of those so old-fashioned among us as to believe that

the legitimate and proper sphere of woman is the family circle, as

wife and mother, and not as politician and voter--those of us who

are proud to believe that

"Woman's noblest station is retreat:

Her fairest virtues fly from public sight;

Domestic worth--that shuns too strong a light.

"Before that Committee on Revolutionary Claims why could not this

most revolutionary of all claims receive immediate and ample

attention? More than that, as I said before, if there is any

tribunal that could give undivided time and dignified attention, is

it not this committee? If there is one peaceful haven of rest,

never disturbed by any profane bill or resolution of any sort, it

is the Committee on Revolutionary Claims. It is, in parliamentary

life, described by that ecstatic verse in Watts'

hymn--

"There shall I bathe my wearied soul

In seas of endless rest.

And not one wave of trouble roll

Across my peaceful breast.

"By all natural laws, stagnation breeds disease and death, and what

could stir up this most venerable and respectable institution more

than an application of the strong-minded, with short hair and

shorter skirts, invading its dignified realm and elucidating all

the excellences of female suffrage. Moreover, if these ladies could

ever succeed in the providence of God in obtaining a report from

that committee, it would end this question forever; for the public

at large and myself included, in view of that miracle of female

blandishment and female influence, would surrender at once, and

female suffrage would become constitutional and lawful. Sir, I

insist upon it that, in deference to this committee, in deference

to the fact that it needs this sort of regimen and medicine, this

whole subject should be so referred."

This gives a very fair idea of the character of the arguments produced

by our opponents, from the inauguration of the movement. But, as there

are no arguments in a republican government in favor of an aristocracy

of sex, ridicule was really the only available weapon. After declaring

"that no just government can be formed without the consent of the

governed," "that taxation without representation is tyranny," it is

difficult to see on what basis one-half the people are disfranchised.