The Story of a Pioneer
Anna Howard Shaw

Part 5 out of 6

lofty discussions that were constantly going on, and
the varied characteristics of our leaders cropped up
in amusing fashion. Mrs. Stanton, for example, was
rarely accurate in giving figures or dates, while Miss
Anthony was always very exact in such matters.
She frequently corrected Mrs. Stanton's statements,
and Mrs. Stanton usually took the interruption in
the best possible spirit, promptly admitting that
``Aunt Susan'' knew best. On one occasion I re-
call, however, she held fast to her opinion that she
was right as to the month in which a certain inci-
dent had occurred.

``No, Susan,'' she insisted, ``you're wrong for
once. I remember perfectly when that happened,
for it was at the time I was beginning to wean

Aunt Susan, though somewhat staggered by the
force of this testimony, still maintained that Mrs.
Stanton must be mistaken, whereupon the latter
repeated, in exasperation, ``I tell you it happened
when I was weaning Harriet.'' And she added,
scornfully, ``What event have you got to reckon

Miss Anthony meekly subsided.

Mrs. Stanton had wonderful blue eyes, which
held to the end of her life an expression of eternal
youth. During our conventions she usually took
a little nap in the afternoon, and when she awoke
her blue eyes always had an expression of pleased
and innocent surprise, as if she were gazing on
the world for the first time--the round, unwinking,
interested look a baby's eyes have when something
attractive is held up before them.

Let me give in a paragraph, before I swing off into
the bypaths that always allure me, the consecutive
suffrage events of the past quarter of a century.
Having done this, I can dwell on each as casually
as I choose, for it is possible to describe only a few
incidents here and there; and I shall not be depart-
ing from the story of my life, for my life had become
merged in the suffrage cause.

Of the preliminary suffrage campaigns in Kansas,
made in company with ``Aunt Susan,'' I have al-
ready written, and it remains only to say that dur-
ing the second Kansas campaign yellow was adopted
as the suffrage color. In 1890, '92, and '93 we again
worked in Kansas and in South Dakota, with such
indefatigable and brilliant speakers as Mrs. Catt
(to whose efforts also were largely due the winning
of Colorado in '93), Mrs. Laura Johns of Kansas,
Mrs. Julia Nelson, Henry B. Blackwell, Dr. Helen
V. Putnam of Dakota, Mrs. Emma Smith DeVoe,
Rev. Olympia Browne of Wisconsin, and Dr. Mary
Seymour Howell of New York. In '94, '95, and '96
special efforts were devoted to Idaho, Utah, Cali-
fornia, and Washington, and from then on our
campaigns were waged steadily in the Western

The Colorado victory gave us two full suffrage
states, for in 1869 the Territory of Wyoming had en-
franchised women under very interesting conditions,
not now generally remembered. The achievement
was due to the influence of one woman, Esther
Morris, a pioneer who was as good a neighbor as
she was a suffragist. In those early days, in homes
far from physicians and surgeons, the women cared
for one another in sickness, and Esther Morris, as it
happened, once took full and skilful charge of a
neighbor during the difficult birth of the latter's
child. She had done the same thing for many other
women, but this woman's husband was especially
grateful. He was also a member of the Legislature,
and he told Mrs. Morris that if there was any
measure she wished put through for the women of
the territory he would be glad to introduce it.
She immediately took him at his word by asking
him to introduce a bill enfranchising women, and
he promptly did so.

The Legislature was Democratic, and it pounced
upon the measure as a huge joke. With the amiable
purpose of embarrassing the Governor of the ter-
ritory, who was a Republican and had been appointed
by the President, the members passed the bill and
put it up to him to veto. To their combined horror
and amazement, the young Governor did nothing
of the kind. He had come, as it happened, from
Salem, Ohio, one of the first towns in the United
States in which a suffrage convention was held.
There, as a boy, he had heard Susan B. Anthony
make a speech, and he had carried into the years
the impression it made upon him. He signed that
bill; and, as the Legislature could not get a two-
thirds vote to kill it, the disgusted members had to
make the best of the matter. The following year
a Democrat introduced a bill to repeal the measure,
but already public sentiment had changed and he
was laughed down. After that no further effort
was ever made to take the ballot away from the
women of Wyoming.

When the territory applied for statehood, it was
feared that the woman-suffrage clause in the con-
stitution might injure its chance of admission, and
the women sent this telegram to Joseph M. Carey:

``Drop us if you must. We can trust the men of
Wyoming to enfranchise us after our territory be-
comes a state.''

Mr. Carey discussed this telegram with the other
men who were urging upon Congress the admission
of their territory, and the following reply went

``We may stay out of the Union a hundred years,
but we will come in with our women.''

There is great inspiration in those two messages--
and a great lesson, as well.

In 1894 we conducted a campaign in New York,
when an effort was made to secure a clause to en-
franchise women in the new state constitution; and
for the first time in the history of the woman-suf-
frage movement many of the influential women in
the state and city of New York took an active part
in the work. Miss Anthony was, as always, our
leader and greatest inspiration. Mrs. John Brooks
Greenleaf was state president, and Miss Mary
Anthony was the most active worker in the Roches-
ter headquarters. Mrs. Lily Devereaux Blake had
charge of the campaign in New York City, and Mrs.
Marianna Chapman looked after the Brooklyn sec-
tion, while a most stimulating sign of the times
was the organization of a committee of New York
women of wealth and social influence, who estab-
lished their headquarters at Sherry's. Among these
were Mrs. Josephine Shaw Lowell, Mrs. Joseph H.
Choate, Dr. Mary Putnam Jacobi, Mrs. J. Warren
Goddard, and Mrs. Robert Abbe. Miss Anthony,
then in her seventy-fifth year, spoke in every county
of the state sixty in all. I spoke in forty, and Mrs.
Catt, as always, made a superb record. Miss Har-
riet May Mills, a graduate of Cornell, and Miss Mary
G. Hay, did admirable organization work in the dif-
ferent counties. Our disappointment over the re-
sult was greatly soothed by the fact that only two
years later both Idaho and Utah swung into line as
full suffrage states, though California, in which we
had labored with equal zeal, waited fifteen years

Among these campaigns, and overlapping them,
were our annual conventions--each of which I at-
tended from 1888 on--and the national and inter-
national councils, to a number of which, also, I have
given preliminary mention. When Susan B. An-
thony died in 1906, four American states had granted
suffrage to woman. At the time I write--1914--the
result of the American women's work for suffrage
may be briefly tabulated thus:



Number of
State Year Won Electoral Votes
Wyoming 1869 3
Colorado 1893 6
Idaho 1896 4
Utah 1896 4
Washington 1910 7
California 1911 13
Arizona 1912 3
Kansas 1912 10
Oregon 1912 5
Alaska 1913 --
Nevada 1914 3
Montana 1914 4

Number of
State Year Won Electoral Votes

Illinois 1913 29


Goes to of Elec-
State House Senate Voters toral Votes
Iowa 81-26 31-15 1916 13
Massachusetts 169-39 34-2 1915 18
New Jersey 49-4 15-3 1915 14
New York 125-5 40-2 1915 45
North Dakota 77-29 31-19 1916 5
Pennsylvania 131-70 26-22 1915 38

To tabulate the wonderful work done by the
conventions and councils is not possible, but a con-
secutive list of the meetings would run like this:

First National Convention, Washington, D.C., 1887.
First International Council of Women, Washington, D.C., 1888.
National Suffrage Convention, Washington, D.C., 1889.
National Suffrage Convention, Washington, D.C., 1890.
National Suffrage Convention, Washington, D.C., 1891.
National Suffrage Convention, Washington, D.C., 1892.
National Suffrage Convention, Washington, D.C., 1893.
International Council, Chicago, 1893.
National Suffrage Convention, Washington, D.C., 1894.
National Suffrage Convention, Atlanta, Ga., 1895.
National Suffrage Convention, Washington, D.C., 1896.
National Suffrage Convention, Des Moines, Iowa, 1897.
National Suffrage Convention, Washington, D.C., 1898.
National Suffrage Convention, Grand Rapids, Mich., 1899.
International Council, London, England, 1899.
National Suffrage Convention, Washington, D.C., 1900.
National Suffrage Convention, Minneapolis, Minn., 1901.
National Suffrage Convention, Washington, D.C., 1902.
National Suffrage Convention, New Orleans, La., 1903.
National Suffrage Convention, Washington, D.C., 1904.
International Council of Women, Berlin, Germany, 1904.
Formation of Intern'l Suffrage Alliance, Berlin, Germany, 1904.
National Suffrage Convention, Portland, Oregon, 1905.
National Suffrage Convention, Baltimore, Md., 1906.
International Suffrage Alliance, Copenhagen, Denmark, 1906.
National Suffrage Convention, Chicago, III., 1907.
International Suffrage Alliance, Amsterdam, Holland, 1908.
National Suffrage Convention, Buffalo, N. Y., 1908.
New York Headquarters established, 1909.
National Suffrage Convention, Seattle, Wash., 1909.
International Suffrage Alliance, London, England, 1909.
National Suffrage Convention, Washington, D.C., 1910.
International Council, Genoa, Italy, 1911.
National Suffrage Convention, Louisville, Ky., 1911.
International Suffrage Alliance, Stockholm, Sweden, 1911.
National Suffrage Convention, Philadelphia, Pa., 1912.
International Council, The Hague, Holland, 1913
National Suffrage Convention, Washington, D.C.; 1913.
International Suffrage Alliance, Budapest, Hungary, 1913.
National Suffrage Convention, Nashville, Tenn., 1914.
International Council, Rome, Italy, 1914.

The winning of the suffrage states, the work in the
states not yet won, the conventions, gatherings, and
international councils in which women of every
nation have come together, have all combined to
make this quarter of a century the most brilliant
period for women in the history of the world. I
have set forth the record baldly and without com-
ment, because the bare facts are far more eloquent
than words. It must not be forgotten, too, that these
great achievements of the progressive women of
to-day have been accomplished against the opposi-
tion of a large number of their own sex--who, while
they are out in the world's arena fighting against
progress for their sisters, still shatter the ear-drum
with their incongruous war-cry, ``Woman's place
is in the home!''
Of our South Dakota campaign in 1890 there re-
mains only one incident which should have a place
here: We were attending the Republican state
nominating convention at Mitchell--Miss Anthony,
Mrs. Catt, other leaders, and myself--having been
told that it would be at once the largest and the
most interesting gathering ever held in the state
as it proved to be. All the leading politicians of the
state were there, and in the wake of the white men
had come tribes of Indians with their camp outfits,
their wives and their children--the groups forming
a picturesque circle of tents and tepees around the
town. It was a great occasion for them, an Indian
powwow, for by the law all Indians who had lands
in severalty were to be permitted to vote the fol-
lowing year. They were present, therefore, to
study the ways of the white man, and an edifying
exhibition of these was promptly offered them.

The crowd was so great that it was only through
the courtesy of Major Pickler, a member of Con-
gress and a devoted believer in suffrage, that Miss
Anthony, Mrs. Catt, and the rest of us were able to
secure passes to the convention, and when we
reached the hall we were escorted to the last row of
seats on the crowded platform. As the space be-
tween us and the speakers was filled by rows upon
rows of men, as well as by the band and their in-
struments, we could see very little that took place.
Some of our friends pointed out this condition to the
local committee and asked that we be given seats
on the floor, but received the reply that there was
``absolutely no room on the floor except for dele-
gates and distinguished visitors.'' Our persistent
friends then suggested that at least a front seat
should be given to Miss Anthony, who certainly
came under the head of a ``distinguished visitor'';
but this was not done--probably because a large
number of the best seats were filled by Russian la-
borers wearing badges inscribed ``Against Woman
Suffrage and Susan B. Anthony.'' We remained,
perforce, in our rear seats, finding such interest as
we could in the back view of hundreds of heads.

Just before the convention was called to order it
was announced that a delegation of influential In-
dians was waiting outside, and a motion to invite
the red men into the hall was made and carried with
great enthusiasm. A committee of leading citizens
was appointed to act as escort, and these gentlemen
filed out, returning a few moments later with a
party of Indian warriors in full war regalia, even
to their gay blankets, their feathered head-dresses,
and their paint. When they appeared the band
struck up a stirring march of welcome, and the en-
tire audience cheered while the Indians, flanked by
the admiring committee, stalked solemnly down the
aisle and were given seats of honor directly in front
of the platform.

All we could see of them were the brilliant feathers
of their war-bonnets, but we got the full effect of
their reception in the music and the cheers. I dared
not look at Miss Anthony during this remarkable
scene, and she, craning her venerable neck to get a
glimpse of the incident from her obscure corner,
made no comment to me; but I knew what she was
thinking. The following year these Indians would
have votes. Courtesy, therefore, must be shown
them. But the women did not matter, the politi-
cians reasoned, for even if they were enfranchised
they would never support the element represented
at that convention. It was not surprising that,
notwithstanding our hard work, we did not win
the state, though all the conditions had seemed
most favorable; for the state was new, the men
and women were working side by side in the fields,
and there was discontent in the ranks of the political

After the election, when we analyzed the vote
county by county, we discovered that in every county
whose residents were principally Americans the
amendment was carried, whereas in all counties
populated largely by foreigners it was lost. In cer-
tain counties--those inhabited by Russian Jews--
the vote was almost solidly against us, and this not-
withstanding the fact that the wives of these Rus-
sian voters were doing a man's work on their farms
in addition to the usual women's work in their
homes. The fact that our Cause could be defeated
by ignorant laborers newly come to our country was
a humiliating one to accept; and we realized more
forcibly than ever before the difficulty of the task
we had assumed--a task far beyond any ever under-
taken by a body of men in the history of democratic
government throughout the world. We not only
had to bring American men back to a belief in the
fundamental principles of republican government,
but we had also to educate ignorant immigrants,
as well as our own Indians, whose degree of civiliza-
tion was indicated by their war-paint and the
flaunting feathers of their head-dresses.

The Kansas campaign, which Miss Anthony, Mrs.
Catt, Mrs. Johns, and I conducted in 1894, held a
special interest, due to the Populist movement.
There were so many problems before the people--
prohibition, free silver, and the Populist propaganda
--that we found ourselves involved in the bitterest
campaign ever fought out in the state. Our desire,
of course, was to get the indorsement of the differ-
ent political parties and religious bodies, We suc-
ceeded in obtaining that of three out of four of the
Methodist Episcopal conferences--the Congrega-
tional, the Epworth League, and the Christian En-
deavor League--as well as that of the State Teachers'
Association, the Woman's Christian Temperance
Union, and various other religious and philanthropic
societies. To obtain the indorsement of the polit-
ical parties was much more difficult, and we were
facing conditions in which partial success was worse
than complete failure. It had long been an un-
written law before it became a written law in our
National Association that we must not take partisan
action or line up with any one political party. It
was highly important, therefore, that either all
parties should support us or that none should.

The Populist convention was held in Topeka be-
fore either the Democratic or Republican convention,
and after two days of vigorous fighting, led by Mrs.
Anna Diggs and other prominent Populist women,
a suffrage plank was added to the platform. The
Populist party invited me, as a minister, to open
the convention with prayer. This was an innova-
tion, and served as a wedge for the admission of
women representatives of the Suffrage Association
to address the convention. We all did so, Miss
Anthony speaking first, Mrs. Catt second, and I
last; after which, for the first time in history, the
Doxology was sung at a political convention.

At the Democratic convention we made the same
appeal, and were refused. Instead of indorsing us,
the Democrats put an anti-suffrage plank in their
platform--but this, as the party had little standing
in Kansas, probably did us more good than harm.
Trouble came thick and fast, however, when the
Republicans, the dominant party in the state, held
their convention; and a mighty struggle began over
the admission of a suffrage plank. There was a
Woman's Republican Club in Kansas, which held
its convention in Topeka at the same time the
Republicans were holding theirs. There was also
a Mrs. Judith Ellen Foster, who, by stirring up op-
position in this Republican Club against the in-
sertion of a suffrage plank, caused a serious split in
the convention. Miss Anthony, Mrs. Catt, and I,
of course, urged the Republican women to stand by
their sex, and to give their support to the Republi-
cans only on condition that the latter added suffrage
to their platform. At no time, and in no field of
work, have I ever seen a more bitter conflict in prog-
ress than that which raged for two days during this
Republican women's convention. Liquor-dealers,
joint-keepers, ``boot-leggers,'' and all the lawless
element of Kansas swung into line at a special con-
vention held under the auspices of the Liquor
League of Kansas City, and cast their united weight
against suffrage by threatening to deny their votes
to any candidate or political party favoring our
Cause. The Republican women's convention finally
adjourned with nothing accomplished except the
passing of a resolution mildly requesting the Re-
publican party to indorse woman suffrage. The
result was, of course, that it was not indorsed by
the Republican convention, and that it was defeated
at the following election.

It was at the time of these campaigns that I was
elected Vice-President of the National Association
and Lecturer at Large, and the latter office brought
in its train a glittering variety of experiences. On
one occasion an episode occurred which ``Aunt
Susan'' never afterward wearied of describing.
There was a wreck somewhere on the road on which
I was to travel to meet a lecture engagement, and
the trains going my way were not running. Look-
ing up the track, however, I saw a train coming
from the opposite direction. I at once grasped my
hand-luggage and started for it.

``Wait! Wait!'' cried Miss Anthony. ``That
train's going the wrong way!''

``At least it's going SOMEWHERE!'' I replied, tersely,
as the train stopped, and I climbed the steps.

Looking back when the train had started again,
I saw ``Aunt Susan'' standing in the same spot on
the platform and staring after it with incredulous
eyes; but I was right, for I discovered that by going
up into another state I could get a train which
would take me to my destination in time for the
lecture that night. It was a fine illustration of my
pet theory that if one intends to get somewhere it
is better to start, even in the wrong direction, than
to stand still.

Again and again in our work we had occasion to
marvel over men's lack of understanding of the
views of women, even of those nearest and dearest to
them; and we had an especially striking illustra-
tion of this at one of our hearings in Washington.
A certain distinguished gentleman (we will call him
Mr. H----) was chairman of the Judiciary, and after
we had said what we wished to say, he remarked:

``Your arguments are logical. Your cause is just.
The trouble is that women don't want suffrage.
My wife doesn't want it. I don't know a single
woman who does want it.''

As it happened for this unfortunate gentleman,
his wife was present at the hearing and sitting beside
Miss Anthony. She listened to his words with sur-
prise, and then whispered to ``Aunt Susan'':

``How CAN he say that? _I_ want suffrage, and I've
told him so a hundred times in the last twenty

``Tell him again NOW,'' urged Miss Anthony.
``Here's your chance to impress it on his memory.''

``Here!'' gasped the wife. ``Oh, I wouldn't

``Then may I tell him?''

``Why--yes! He can think what he pleases, but
he has no right to publicly misrepresent me.''

The assent, hesitatingly begun, finished on a sud-
den note of firmness. Miss Anthony stood up.

``It may interest Mr. H----,'' she said, ``to know
that his wife DOES wish to vote, and that for twenty
years she has wished to vote, and has often told him
so, though he has evidently forgotten it. She is
here beside me, and has just made this explana-

Mr. H---- stammered and hesitated, and finally
decided to laugh. But there was no mirth in the
sound he made, and I am afraid his wife had a bad
quarter of an hour when they met a little later in
the privacy of their home.

Among other duties that fell to my lot at this
period were numerous suffrage debates with promi-
nent opponents of the Cause. I have already re-
ferred to the debate in Kansas with Senator Ingalls.
Equaling this in importance was a bout with Dr.
Buckley, the distinguished Methodist debater, which
had been arranged for us at Chautauqua by Bishop
Vincent of the Methodist Church. The bishop was
not a believer in suffrage, nor was he one of my
admirers. I had once aroused his ire by replying
to a sermon he had delivered on ``God's Women,''
and by proving, to my own satisfaction at least,
that the women he thought were God's women had
done very little, whereas the work of the world had
been done by those he believed were not ``God's
Women.'' There was considerable interest, there-
fore, in the Buckley-Shaw debate he had arranged;
we all knew he expected Dr. Buckley to wipe out
that old score, and I was determined to make it as
difficult as possible for the distinguished gentleman
to do so. We held the debate on two succeeding
days, I speaking one afternoon and Dr. Buckley
replying the following day. On the evening before
I spoke, however, Dr. Buckley made an indiscreet
remark, which, blown about Chautauqua on the
light breeze of gossip, was generally regarded as both
unchivalrous and unfair.

As the hall in which we were to speak was enor-
mous, he declared that one of two things would cer-
tainly happen. Either I would scream in order to
be heard by my great audience, or I would be un-
able to make myself heard at all. If I screamed it
would be a powerful argument against women as
public speakers; if I could not be heard, it would be
an even better argument. In either case, he sum-
med up, I was doomed to failure. Following out
this theory, he posted men in the extreme rear of
the great hall on the day of my lecture, to report to
him whether my words reached them, while he him-
self graciously occupied a front seat. Bishop Vin-
cent's antagonistic feeling was so strong, however,
that though, as the presiding officer of the occasion,
he introduced me to the audience, he did not wait
to hear my speech, but immediately left the hall--
and this little slight added to the public's interest
in the debate. It was felt that the two gentlemen
were not quite ``playing fair,'' and the champions
of the Cause were especially enthusiastic in their
efforts to make up for these failures in courtesy.
My friends turned out in force to hear the lecture,
and on the breast of every one of them flamed the
yellow bow that stood for suffrage, giving to the
vast hall something of the effect of a field of yellow
tulips in full bloom.

When Dr. Buckley rose to reply the next day
these friends were again awaiting him with an equal-
ly jocund display of the suffrage color, and this did
not add to his serenity. During his remarks he
made the serious mistake of losing his temper; and,
unfortunately for him, he directed his wrath toward
a very old man who had thoughtlessly applauded by
pounding on the floor with his cane when Dr.
Buckley quoted a point I had made. The doctor
leaned forward and shook his fist at him.

``Think she's right, do you?'' he asked.

``Yes,'' admitted the venerable citizen, briskly,
though a little startled by the manner of the ques-

``Old man,'' shouted Dr. Buckley, ``I'll make you
take that back if you've got a grain of sense in your

The insult cost him his audience. When he
realized this he lost all his self-possession, and, as
the Buffalo Courier put it the next day, ``went up
and down the platform raving like a Billingsgate
fishwife.'' He lost the debate, and the supply of
yellow ribbon left in the surrounding counties was
purchased that night to be used in the suffrage
celebration that followed. My friends still refer to
the occasion as ``the day we wiped up the earth
with Dr. Buckley''; but I do not deserve the im-
plied tribute, for Dr. Buckley would have lost his
case without a word from me. What really gave
me some satisfaction, however, was the respective
degree of freshness with which he and I emerged
from our combat. After my speech Miss Anthony
and I were given a reception, and stood for hours
shaking hands with hundreds of men and women.
Later in the evening we had a dinner and another
reception, which, lasting, as they did, until midnight,
kept us from our repose. Dr. Buckley, poor gentle-
man, had to be taken to his hotel immediately after
his speech, given a hot bath, rubbed down, and put
tenderly to bed; and not even the sympathetic
heart of Susan B. Anthony yearned over him when
she heard of his exhaustion.

It was also at Chautauqua, by the way, though a
number of years earlier, that I had my much mis-
quoted encounter with the minister who deplored
the fashion I followed in those days of wearing my
hair short. This young man, who was rather a
pompous person, saw fit to take me to task at a
table where a number of us were dining together.

``Miss Shaw,'' he said, abruptly, ``I have been
asked very often why you wear your hair short,
and I have not been able to explain. Of course''--
this kindly--'' I know there is some good reason. I
ventured to advance the theory that you have been
ill and that your hair has fallen out. Is that it?''

``No,'' I told him. ``There is a reason, as you
suggest. But it is not that one.''

``Then why--'' he insisted.

``I am rather sensitive about it,'' I explained.
``I don't know that I care to discuss the subject.''

The young minister looked pained. ``But among
friends--'' he protested.

``True,'' I conceded. ``Well, then, among friends,
I will admit frankly that it is a birthmark. I was
born with short hair.''

That was the last time my short hair was criticized
in my presence, but the young minister was right
in his disapproval and I was wrong, as I subsequently
realized. A few years later I let my hair grow long,
for I had learned that no woman in public life can
afford to make herself conspicuous by any eccen-
tricity of dress or appearance. If she does so she
suffers for it herself, which may not disturb her, and
to a greater or less degree she injures the cause she
represents, which should disturb her very much.



It is not generally known that the meeting of
the International Council of Women held in
Chicago during the World's Fair was suggested by
Miss Anthony, as was also the appointment of the
Exposition's ``Board of Lady Managers.'' ``Aunt
Susan'' kept her name in the background, that she
might not array against these projects the opposi-
tion of those prejudiced against woman suffrage.
We both spoke at the meetings, however, as I have
already explained, and one of our most chastening
experiences occurred on ``Actress Night.'' There
was a great demand for tickets for this occasion, as
every one seemed anxious to know what kind of
speeches our leading women of the stage would make;
and the programme offered such magic names as
Helena Modjeska, Julia Marlowe, Georgia Cayvan,
Clara Morris, and others of equal appeal. The hall
was soon filled, and to keep out the increasing throng
the doors were locked and the waiting crowd was
directed to a second hall for an overflow meeting.

As it happened, Miss Anthony and I were among
the earliest arrivals at the main hall. It was the
first evening we had been free to do exactly as we
pleased, and we were both in high spirits, looking
forward to the speeches, congratulating each other
on the good seats we had been given on the plat-
form, and rallying the speakers on their stage fright;
for, much to our amusement, we had found them all
in mortal terror of their audience. Georgia Cayvan,
for example, was so nervous that she had to be
strengthened with hot milk before she could speak,
and Julia Marlowe admitted freely that her knees
were giving way beneath her. They really had
something of an ordeal before them, for it was de-
cided that each actress must speak twice going
immediately from the hall to the overflow meeting
and repeating there the speech she had just made.
But in the mean time some one had to hold the im-
patient audience in the second hall, and as it was a
duty every one else promptly repudiated, a row of
suddenly imploring faces turned toward Miss An-
thony and me. I admit that we responded to the
appeal with great reluctance. We were SO com-
fortable where we were--and we were also deeply
interested in the first intimate glimpse we were
having of these stars in the dramatic sky. We saw
our duty, however, and with deep sighs we rose and
departed for the second hall, where a glance at the
waiting throng did not add to our pleasure in the
prospect before us.

When I walked upon the stage I found myself
facing an actually hostile audience. They had come
to look at and listen to the actresses who had been
promised them, and they thought they were being
deprived of that privilege by an interloper. Never
before had I gazed out on a mass of such unresponsive
faces or looked into so many angry eyes. They
were exchanging views on their wrongs, and the gen-
eral buzz of conversation continued when I appeared.
For some moments I stood looking at them, my
hands behind my back. If I had tried to speak they
would undoubtedly have gone on talking; my si-
lence attracted their attention and they began to
wonder what I intended to do. When they had
stopped whispering and moving about, I spoke
to them with the frankness of an overburdened

``I think,'' I said, slowly and distinctly, ``that you
are the most disagreeable audience I ever faced in
my life.''

They gasped and stared, almost open-mouthed in
their surprise.

``Never,'' I went on, ``have I seen a gathering of
people turn such ugly looks upon a speaker who has
sacrificed her own enjoyment to come and talk to
them. Do you think I want to talk to you?'' I de-
manded, warming to my subject. ``I certainly do
not. Neither does Miss Anthony want to talk to
you, and the lady who spoke to you a few moments
ago, and whom you treated so rudely, did not wish
to be here. We would all much prefer to be in the
other hall, listening to the speakers from our com-
fortable seats on the stage. To entertain you we
gave up our places and came here simply because
the committee begged us to do so. I have only one
thing more to say. If you care to listen to me
courteously I am willing to waste time on you; but
don't imagine that I will stand here and wait while
you criticize the management.''

By this time I felt as if I had a child across my
knee to whom I was administering maternal chastise-
ment, and the uneasiness of my audience underlined
the impression. They listened rather sulkily at first;
then a few of the best-natured among them laughed,
and the laugh grew and developed into applause.
The experience had done them good, and they were
a chastened band when Clara Morris appeared, and
I gladly yielded the floor to her.

All the actresses who spoke that night delivered
admirable addresses, but no one equaled Madame
Modjeska, who delivered exquisitely a speech writ-
ten, not by herself, but by a friend and country-
woman, on the condition of Polish women under
the regime of Russia. We were all charmed as we
listened, but none of us dreamed what that address
would mean to Modjeska. It resulted in her banish-
ment from Poland, her native land, which she was
never again permitted to enter. But though she
paid so heavy a price for the revelation, I do not
think she ever really regretted having given to
America the facts in that speech.

During this same period I embarked upon a high
adventure. I had always longed for a home, and
my heart had always been loyal to Cape Cod. Now
I decided to have a home at Wianno, across the Cape
from my old parish at East Dennis. Deep-seated
as my home-making aspiration had been, it was
realized largely as the result of chance. A special
hobby of mine has always been auction sales. I
dearly love to drop into auction-rooms while sales
are in progress, and bid up to the danger-point,
taking care to stop just in time to let some one else
get the offered article. But of course I sometimes
failed to stop at the psychological moment, and the
result was a sudden realization that, in the course
of the years, I had accumulated an extraordinary
number of articles for which I had no shelter and
no possible use.

The crown jewel of the collection was a bedroom
set I had picked up in Philadelphia. Usually,
cautious friends accompanied me on my auction-
room expeditions and restrained my ardor; but this
time I got away alone and found myself bidding
at the sale of a solid bog-wood bedroom set which
had been exhibited as a show-piece at the World's
Fair, and was now, in the words of the auctioneer,
``going for a song.'' I sang the song. I offered
twenty dollars, thirty dollars, forty dollars, and
other excited voices drowned mine with higher bids.
It was very thrilling. I offered fifty dollars, and
there was a horrible silence, broken at last by the
auctioneer's final, ``Going, going, GONE!'' I was mis-
tress of the bog-wood bedroom set--a set wholly
out of harmony with everything else I possessed,
and so huge and massive that two men were re-
quired to lift the head-board alone. Like many of
the previous treasures I had acquired, this was a
white elephant; but, unlike some of them, it was
worth more than I had paid for it. I was offered
sixty dollars for one piece alone, but I coldly refused
to sell it, though the tribute to my judgment warmed
my heart. I had not the faintest idea what to do
with the set, however, and at last I confided my
dilemma to my friend, Mrs. Ellen Dietrick, who
sagely advised me to build a house for it. The idea
intrigued me. The bog-wood furniture needed a
home, and so did I.

The result of our talk was that Mrs. Dietrick
promised to select a lot for me at Wianno, where she
herself lived, and even promised to supervise the
building of my cottage, and to attend to all the other
details connected with it. Thus put, the temptation
was irresistible. Besides Mrs. Dietrick, many other
delightful friends lived at Wianno--the Garrisons,
the Chases of Rhode Island, the Wymans, the Wel-
lingtons--a most charming community. I gave Mrs.
Dietrick full authority to use her judgment in every
detail connected with the undertaking, and the
cottage was built. Having put her hand to this
plow of friendship, Mrs. Dietrick did the work with
characteristic thoroughness. I did not even visit
Wianno to look at my land. She selected it, bought
it, engaged a woman architect--Lois Howe of
Boston--and followed the latter's work from be-
ginning to end. The only stipulation I made was
that the cottage must be far up on the beach, out of
sight of everybody--really in the woods; and this
was easily met, for along that coast the trees came
almost to the water's edge.

The cottage was a great success, and for many
years I spent my vacations there, filling the place with
young people. From the time of my sister Mary's
death I had had the general oversight of her two
daughters, Lola and Grace, as well as of Nicolas
and Eleanor, the two motherless daughters of my
brother John. They were all with me every sum-
mer in the new home, together with Lucy Anthony,
her sister and brother, Mrs. Rachel Foster Avery,
and other friends. We had special fishing costumes
made, and wore them much of the time. My nieces
wore knickerbockers, and I found vast content-
ment in short, heavy skirts over bloomers. We
lived out of doors, boating, fishing, and clamming
all day long, and, as in my early pioneer days in
Michigan, my part of the work was in the open. I
chopped all the wood, kept the fires going, and
looked after the grounds.

Rumors of our care-free and unconventional life
began to circulate, and presently our Eden was in-
vaded by the only serpent I have ever found in the
newspaper world--a girl reporter from Boston. She
telegraphed that she was coming to see us; and
though, when she came, we had been warned of her
propensities and received her in conventional attire,
formally entertaining her with tea on the veranda,
she went away and gave free play to a hectic fancy.
She wrote a sensational full-page article for a Sun-
day newspaper, illustrated with pictures showing us
all in knickerbockers. In this striking work of art
I carried a fish net and pole and wore a handkerchief
tied over my head. The article, which was headed
THE ADAMLESS EDEN, was almost libelous, and I
admit that for a long time it dimmed our enjoy-
ment of our beloved retreat. Then, gradually, my
old friends died, Mrs. Dietrick among the first;
others moved away; and the character of the entire
region changed. It became fashionable, privacy
was no longer to be found there, and we ceased to
visit it. For five years I have not even seen the

In 1908 I built the house I now occupy (in Moylan,
Pennsylvania), which is the realization of a desire
I have always had--to build on a tract which had a
stream, a grove of trees, great boulders and rocks,
and a hill site for the house with a broad outlook,
and a railroad station conveniently near. The
friend who finally found the place for me had begun
his quest with the pessimistic remark that I would
better wait for it until I got to Paradise; but two
years later he telegraphed me that he had discovered
it on this planet, and he was right. I have only
eight acres of land, but no one could ask a more ideal
site for a cottage; and on the place is my beloved
forest, including a grove of three hundred firs.
From every country I have visited I have brought
back a tiny tree for this little forest, and now it
is as full of memories as of beauty.

To the surprise of my neighbors, I built my house
with its back toward the public road, facing the
valley and the stream. ``But you will never see
anybody go by,'' they protested. I answered that
the one person in the house who was necessarily in-
terested in passers-by was my maid, and she could see
them perfectly from the kitchen, which faced the
road. I enjoy my views from the broad veranda
that overlooks the valley, the stream, and the
country for miles around.

Every suffragist I have ever met has been a
lover of home; and only the conviction that she is
fighting for her home, her children, for other women,
or for all of these, has sustained her in her public
work. Looking back on many campaign experi-
ences, I am forced to admit that it is not always the
privations we endure which make us think most
tenderly of home. Often we are more overcome
by the attentions of well-meaning friends. As an
example of this I recall an incident of one Oregon
campaign. I was to speak in a small city in the
southern part of the state, and on reaching the
station, hot, tired, and covered with the grime
of a midsummer journey, I found awaiting me a
delegation of citizens, a brass-band, and a white
carriage drawn by a pair of beautiful white horses.
In this carriage, and devotedly escorted by the citi-
zens and the band, the latter playing its hardest, I
was driven to the City Hall and there met by the
mayor, who delivered an address, after which I was
crowned with a laurel wreath. Subsequently, with
this wreath still resting upon my perspiring brow, I
was again driven through the streets of the city;
and if ever a woman felt that her place was in the
home and longed to be in her place, I felt it that day.

An almost equally trying occasion had San Fran-
cisco for its setting. The city had arranged a Fourth
of July celebration, at which Miss Anthony and I
were to speak. Here we rode in a carriage deco-
rated with flowers--yellow roses--while just in front
of us was the mayor in a carriage gorgeously fes-
tooned with purple blossoms. Behind us, for more
than a mile, stretched a procession of uniformed
policemen, soldiers, and citizens, while the sidewalks
were lined with men and women whose enthusiastic
greetings came to Miss Anthony from every side.
She was enchanted over the whole experience, for
to her it meant, as always, not a personal tribute,
but a triumph of the Cause. But I sat by her side
acutely miserable; for across my shoulders and
breast had been draped a huge sash with the word
``Orator'' emblazoned on it, and this was further
embellished by a striking rosette with streamers
which hung nearly to the bottom of my gown. It
is almost unnecessary to add that this remarkable
decoration was furnished by a committee of men, and
was also worn by all the men speakers of the day.
Possibly I was overheated by the sash, or by the
emotions the sash aroused in me, for I was stricken
with pneumonia the following day and experienced
my first serious illness, from which, however, I soon

On our way to California in 1895 Miss Anthony
and I spent a day at Cheyenne, Wyoming, as the
guests of Senator and Mrs. Carey, who gave a dinner
for us. At the table I asked Senator Carey what he
considered the best result of the enfranchisement of
Wyoming women, and even after the lapse of twenty
years I am able to give his reply almost word for
word, for it impressed me deeply at the time and I
have since quoted it again and again.

``There have been many good results,'' he said,
``but the one I consider above all the others is the
great change for the better in the character of our
candidates for office. Consider this for a moment:
Since our women have voted there has never been
an embezzlement of public funds, or a scandalous
misuse of public funds, or a disgraceful condition of
graft. I attribute the better character of our public
officials almost entirely to the votes of the women.''

``Those are inspiring facts,'' I conceded, ``but
let us be just. There are three men in Wyoming
to every woman, and no candidate for office could
be elected unless the men voted for him, too. Why,
then, don't they deserve as much credit for his
election as the women?''

``Because,'' explained Senator Carey, promptly,
``women are politically an uncertain factor. We
can go among men and learn beforehand how they
are going to vote, but we can't do that with women;
they keep us guessing. In the old days, when we
went into the caucus we knew what resolutions put
into our platforms would win the votes of the ranch-
men, what would win the miners, what would win
the men of different nationalities; but we did not
know how to win the votes of the women until we
began to nominate our candidates. Then we im-
mediately discovered that if the Democrats nomi-
nated a man of immoral character for office, the
women voted for his Republican opponent, and we
learned our first big lesson--that whatever a candi-
date's other qualifications for office may be, he must
first of all have a clean record. In the old days,
when we nominated a candidate we asked, `Can he
hold the saloon vote?' Now we ask, `Can he hold
the women's vote?' Instead of bidding down to
the saloon, we bid up to the home.''

Following the dinner there was a large public
meeting, at which Miss Anthony and I were to speak.
Mrs. Jenkins, who was president of the Suffrage
Association of the state, presided and introduced us
to the assemblage. Then she added: ``I have intro-
duced you ladies to your audience. Now I would
like to introduce your audience to you.'' She be-
gan with the two Senators and the member of Con-
gress, then introduced the Governor, the Lieutenant-
Governor, the state Superintendent of Education,
and numerous city and state officials. As she went
on Miss Anthony grew more and more excited, and
when the introductions were over, she said: ``This is
the first time I have ever seen an audience assembled
for woman suffrage made up of the public officials
of a state. No one can ever persuade me now that
men respect women without political power as much
as they respect women who have it; for certainly
in no other state in the Union would it be possible
to gather so many public officials under one roof to
listen to the addresses of women.''

The following spring we again went West, with
Mrs. Catt, Lucy Anthony, Miss Hay and Miss
Sweet, her secretary, to carry on the Pacific coast
campaign of '96, arranged by Mrs. Cooper and her
daughter Harriet, of Oakland--both women of re-
markable executive ability. Headquarters were se-
cured in San Francisco, and Miss Hay was put in
charge, associated with a large group of California
women. It was the second time in the history of
campaigns--the first being in New York--that all
the money to carry on the work was raised by the
people of the state.

The last days of the campaign were extremely
interesting, and one of their important events was
that the Hon. Thomas Reed, then Speaker of the
House of Representatives, for the first time came
out publicly for suffrage. Mr. Reed had often ex-
pressed himself privately as in favor of the Cause--
but he had never made a public statement for us.
At Oakland, one day, the indefatigable and irresisti-
ble ``Aunt Susan'' caught him off his guard by per-
suading his daughter, Kitty Reed, who was his idol,
to ask him to say just one word in favor of our
amendment. When he arose we did not know
whether he had promised what she asked, and as
his speech progressed our hearts sank lower and
lower, for all he said was remote from our Cause.
But he ended with these words:

``There is an amendment of the constitution
pending, granting suffrage to women. The women
of California ought to have suffrage. The men of
California ought to give it to them--and the next
speaker, Dr. Shaw, will tell you why.''

The word was spoken. And though it was not a
very strong word, it came from a strong man, and
therefore helped us.

Election day, as usual, brought its surprises and
revelations. Mrs. Cooper asked her Chinese cook
how the Chinese were voting--i. e., the native-born
Chinamen who were entitled to vote--and he re-
plied, blithely, ``All Chinamen vote for Billy McKee
and `NO' to women!'' It is an interesting fact that
every Chinese vote was cast against us.

All day we went from one to another of the polling-
places, and I shall always remember the picture of
Miss Anthony and the wife of Senator Sargent wan-
dering around the polls arm in arm at eleven o'clock
at night, their tired faces taking on lines of deeper
depression with every minute; for the count was
against us. However, we made a fairly good show-
ing. When the final counts came in we found that
we had won the state from the north down to Oak-
land, and from the south up to San Francisco; but
there was not a sufficient majority to overcome the
adverse votes of San Francisco and Oakland. With
more than 230,000 votes cast, we were defeated by
only 10,000 majority. In San Francisco the saloon
element and the most aristocratic section of the
city made an equal showing against us, while the
section occupied by the middle working-class was
largely in favor of our amendment. I dwell es-
pecially on this campaign, partly because such splen-
did work was done by the women of California, and
also because, during the same election, Utah and
Idaho granted full suffrage to women. This gave
us four suffrage states--Wyoming, Colorado, Utah,
and Idaho--and we prepared for future struggles
with very hopeful hearts.

It was during this California campaign, by the
way, that I unwittingly caused much embarrass-
ment to a worthy young man. At a mass-meeting
held in San Francisco, Rabbi Vorsanger, who was not
in favor of suffrage for women, advanced the heart-
ening theory that in a thousand years more they
might possibly be ready for it. After a thousand
years of education for women, of physically de-
veloped women, of uncorseted women, he said, we
might have the ideal woman, and could then begin
to talk about freedom for her.

When the rabbi sat down there was a shout from
the audience for me to answer him, but all I said
was that the ideal woman would be rather lonely, as
it would certainly take another thousand years to
develop an ideal man capable of being a mate for
her. On the following night Prof. Howard Griggs,
of Stanford University, made a speech on the modern
woman--a speech so admirably thought out and
delivered that we were all delighted with it. When
he had finished the audience again called on me, and
I rose and proceeded to make what my friends frank-
ly called ``the worst break'' of my experience.
Rabbi Vorsanger's ideal woman was still in my
mind, and I had been rather hard on the men in
my reply to the rabbi the night before; so now I
hastened to give this clever young man his full due.
I said that though the rabbi thought it would take
a thousand years to make an ideal woman, I believed
that, after all, it might not take as long to make the
ideal man. We had something very near it in a
speaker who could reveal such ability, such chivalry,
and such breadth of view as Professor Griggs had
just shown that he possessed.

That night I slept the sleep of the just and the
well-meaning, and it was fortunate I did, for the
morning newspapers had a surprise for me that
called for steady nerves and a sense of humor. Across
the front page of every one of them ran startling
head-lines to this effect:
The Prospects Are That She Will
Remain in California

Professor Griggs was young enough to be my son,
and he was already married and the father of two
beautiful children; but these facts were not per-
mitted to interfere with the free play of fancy in
journalistic minds. For a week the newspapers
were filled with all sorts of articles, caricatures, and
editorials on my ideal man, which caused me much
annoyance and some amusement, while they plunged
Professor Griggs into an abysmal gloom. In the
end, however, the experience proved an excellent
one for him, for the publicity attending his speech
made him decide to take up lecturing as a profession,
which he eventually did with great success. But
neither of us has yet heard the last of the Ideal Man
episode. Only a few years ago, on his return to
California after a long absence, one of the leading
Sunday newspapers of the state heralded Professor
Griggs's arrival by publishing a full-page article
bearing his photograph and mine and this flam-
boyant heading:

And Dr. Shaw's Ideal Man Became the
Idol of American Women and
Earns $30,000 a Year

We had other unusual experiences in California,
and the display of affluence on every side was not
the least impressive of them. In one town, after
a heavy rain, I remember seeing a number of little
boys scraping the dirt from the gutters, washing it,
and finding tiny nuggets of gold. We learned that
these boys sometimes made two or three dollars a
day in this way, and that the streets of the town--
I think it was Marysville--contained so much gold
that a syndicate offered to level the whole town and
repave the streets in return for the right to wash out
the gold. This sounds like the kind of thing Ameri-
cans tell to trustful visitors from foreign lands, but
it is quite true.
Nuggets, indeed, were so numerous that at one
of our meetings, when we were taking up a collec-
tion, I cheerfully suggested that our audience drop
a few into the box, as we had not had a nugget since
we reached the state. There were no nuggets in the
subsequent collection, but there was a note which
read: ``If Dr. Shaw will accept a gold nugget, I will
see that she does not leave town without one.'' I
read this aloud, and added, ``I have never refused
a gold nugget in my life.''

The following day brought me a pin made of a
very beautiful gold nugget, and a few days later
another Californian produced a cluster of smaller
nuggets which he had washed out of a panful of
earth and insisted on my accepting half of them. I
was not accustomed to this sort of generosity, but
it was characteristic of the spirit of the state. No-
where else, during our campaign experiences, were
we so royally treated in every way. As a single
example among many, I may mention that Mrs.
Leland Stanford once happened to be on a train
with us and to meet Miss Anthony. As a result of
this chance encounter she gave our whole party
passes on all the lines of the Southern Pacific Rail-
road, for use during the entire campaign. Similar
generosity was shown us on every side, and the ques-
tion of finance did not burden us from the beginning
to the end of the California work.

In our Utah and Idaho campaigns we had also our
full share of new experiences, and of these perhaps
the most memorable to me was the sermon I preached
in the Mormon Tabernacle at Salt Lake City.
Before I left New York the Mormon women had sent
me the invitation to preach this sermon, and when I
reached Salt Lake City and the so-called ``Gentile''
women heard of the plan, they at once invited me
to preach to the ``Gentiles'' on the evening of the
same Sunday, in the Salt Lake City Opera House.

On the morning of the sermon I approached the
Mormon Tabernacle with much more trepidation
than I usually experienced before entering a pulpit.
I was not sure what particular kind of trouble I
would get into, but I had an abysmal suspicion
that trouble of some sort lay in wait for me, and I
shivered in the anticipation of it. Fortunately, my
anxiety was not long drawn out. I arrived only a few
moments before the hour fixed for the sermon, and
found the congregation already assembled and the
Tabernacle filled with the beautiful music of the great
organ. On the platform, to which I was escorted
by several leading dignitaries of the church, was the
characteristic Mormon arrangement of seats. The
first row was occupied by the deacons, and in the
center of these was the pulpit from which the deacons
preach. Above these seats was a second row, oc-
cupied by ordained elders, and there they too had
their own pulpit. The third row was occupied by,
the bishops and the highest dignitaries of the church,
with the pulpit from which the bishops preach; and
behind them all, an effective human frieze, was the
really wonderful Mormon choir.

As I am an ordained elder in my church, I oc-
cupied the pulpit in the middle row of seats, with the
deacons below me and the bishops just behind.
Scattered among the congregation were hundreds of
``Gentiles'' ready to leap mentally upon any con-
cession I might make to the Mormon faith; while
the Mormons were equally on the alert for any
implied criticism of them and their church. The
problem of preaching a sermon which should offer
some appeal to both classes, without offending either,
was a perplexing one, and I solved it to the best of
my ability by delivering a sermon I had once given
in my own church to my own people. When I had
finished I was wholly uncertain of its effect, but at
the end of the services one of the bishops leaned
toward me from his place in the rear, and, to my
mingled horror and amusement, offered me this
tribute, ``That is one of the best Mormon sermons
ever preached in this Tabernacle.''

I thanked him, but inwardly I was aghast. What
had I said to give him such an impression? I racked
my brain, but could recall nothing that justified it.
I passed the day in a state of nervous apprehension,
fully expecting some frank criticism from the ``Gen-
tiles'' on the score of having delivered a Mormon
sermon to ingratiate myself into the favor of the
Mormons and secure their votes for the constitu-
tional amendment. But nothing of the kind was
said. That evening, after the sermon to the ``Gen-
tiles,'' a reception was given to our party, and I
drew my first deep breath when the wife of a well-
known clergyman came to me and introduced her-
self in these words:

``My husband could not come here to-night, but
he heard your sermon this morning. He asked me
to tell you how glad he was that under such unusual
conditions you held so firmly to the teachings of

The next day I was still more reassured. A re-
ception was given us at the home of one of Brigham
Young's daughters, and the receiving-line was
graced by the presiding elder of the Methodist
Episcopal Church. He was a bluff and jovial gen-
tleman, and when he took my hand he said, warmly,
``Well, Sister Shaw, you certainly gave our Mormon
friends the biggest dose of Methodism yesterday
that they ever got in their lives.''

After this experience I reminded myself again
that what Frances Willard so frequently said is true;
All truth is our truth when it has reached our hearts;
we merely rechristen it according to our individual

During the visit I had an interesting conversation
with a number of the younger Mormon women. I
was to leave the city on a midnight train, and about
twenty of them, including four daughters of Brig-
ham Young, came to my hotel to remain with me
until it was time to go to the station. They filled
the room, sitting around in school-girl fashion on the
floor and even on the bed. It was an unusual op-
portunity to learn some things I wished to know, and
I could not resist it.

``There are some questions I would like to ask
you,'' I began, ``and one or two of them may seem
impertinent. But they won't be asked in that
spirit--and please don't answer any that embarrass

They exchanged glances, and then told me to
ask as many questions as I wished.

``First of all,'' I said, ``I would like to know the
real attitude toward polygamy of the present gen-
eration of Mormon women. Do you all believe
in it?''

They assured me that they did.

``How many of you,'' I then asked, ``are polyga-
mous wives?''

There was not one in the group.
``But,'' I insisted, ``if you really believe in polyg-
amy, why is it that some of your husbands have
not taken more than one wife?''

There was a moment of silence, while each woman
looked around as if waiting for another to answer.
At last one of them said, slowly:

``In my case, I alone was to blame. For years I
could not force myself to consent to my husband's
taking another wife, though I tried hard. By the
time I had overcome my objection the law was
passed prohibiting polygamy.''

A second member of the group hastened to tell
her story. She had had a similar spiritual struggle,
and just as she reached the point where she was
willing to have her husband take another wife, he
died. And now the room was filled with eager
voices. Four or five women were telling at once
that they, too, had been reluctant in the beginning,
and that when they had reached the point of consent
this, that, or another cause had kept the husbands
from marrying again. They were all so passion-
ately in earnest that they stared at me in puzzled
wonder when I broke into the sudden laughter I
could not restrain.

``What fortunate women you all were!'' I ex-
claimed, teasingly. ``Not one of you arrived at the
point of consenting to the presence of a second wife
in your home until it was impossible for your hus-
band to take her.''

They flushed a little at that, and then laughed
with me; but they did not defend themselves against
the tacit charge, and I turned the conversation into
less personal channels. I learned that many of the
Mormon young men were marrying girls outside of
the Church, and that two sons of a leading Mormon
elder had married and were living very happily with
Catholic girls.

At this time the Mormon candidate for Congress
(a man named Roberts) was a bitter opponent of
woman suffrage. The Mormon women begged me
to challenge him to a debate on the subject, which
I did, but Mr. Roberts declined the challenge. The
ground of his refusal, which he made public through
the newspapers, was chastening to my spirit. He
explained that he would not debate with me because
he was not willing to lower himself to the intellectual
plane of a woman.



In 1900 Miss Anthony, then over eighty, decided
that she must resign the presidency of our Nation-
al Association, and the question of the successor she
would choose became an important one. It was
conceded that there were only two candidates in
her mind--Mrs. Carrie Chapman Catt and myself--
and for several months we gave the suffrage world
the unusual spectacle of rivals vigorously pushing
each other's claims. Miss Anthony was devoted
to us both, and I think the choice was a hard one
for her to make. On the one hand, I had been
vice-president at large and her almost constant
companion for twelve years, and she had grown ac-
customed to think of me as her successor. On the
other hand, Mrs. Catt had been chairman of the
organization committee, and through her splendid
executive ability had built up our organization in
many states. From Miss Anthony down, we all
recognized her steadily growing powers; she had,
moreover, abundant means, which I had not.

In my mind there was no question of her superior
qualification for the presidency. She seemed to me
the logical and indeed the only possible successor
to Miss Anthony; and I told ``Aunt Susan'' so with
all the eloquence I could command, while simul-
taneously Mrs. Catt was pouring into Miss Anthony's
other ear a series of impassioned tributes to me. It
was an unusual situation and a very pleasant one,
and it had two excellent results: it simplified ``Aunt
Susan's'' problem by eliminating the element of per-
sonal ambition, and it led to her eventual choice
of Mrs. Catt as her successor.

I will admit here for the first time that in urging
Mrs. Catt's fitness for the office I made the greatest
sacrifice of my life. My highest ambition had been
to succeed Miss Anthony, for no one who knew her
as I did could underestimate the honor of being
chosen by her to carry on her work.

At the convention in Washington that year she
formally refused the nomination for re-election, as
we had all expected, and then, on being urged to
choose her own successor, she stepped forward to
do so. It was a difficult hour, for her fiery soul re-
sented the limitations imposed by her worn-out
body, and to such a worker the most poignant ex-
perience in life is to be forced to lay down one's
work at the command of old age. On this she
touched briefly, but in a trembling voice; and then,
in furtherance of the understanding between the
three of us, she presented the name of Mrs. Catt to
the convention with all the pride and hope a mother
could feel in the presentation of a daughter.

Her faith was fully justified. Mrs. Catt made
an admirable president, and during every moment
of the four years she held the office she had Miss
Anthony's whole-hearted and enthusiastic support,
while I, too, in my continued office of vice-president,
did my utmost to help her in every way. In 1904,
however, Mrs. Catt was elected president of the
International Suffrage Alliance, as I have mentioned
before, and that same year she resigned the presi-
dency of our National Association, as her health
was not equal to the strain of carrying the two

Miss Anthony immediately urged me to accept
the presidency of the National Association, which
I was now most unwilling to do; I had lost my
ambition to be president, and there were other rea-
sons, into which I need not go again, why I felt that
I could not accept the post. At last, however, Miss
Anthony actually commanded me to take the place,
and there was nothing to do but obey her. She was
then eighty-four, and, as it proved, within two years
of her death. It was no time for me to rebel against
her wishes; but I yielded with the heaviest heart
I have ever carried, and after my election to the
presidency at the national convention in Washing-
ton I left the stage, went into a dark corner of the
wings, and for the first time since my girlhood ``cried
myself sick.''

In the work I now took up I found myself much
alone. Mrs. Catt was really ill, and the strength
of ``Aunt Susan'' must be saved in every way.
Neither could give me much help, though each
did all she should have done, and more. Mrs.
Catt, whose husband had recently died, was in a
deeply despondent frame of mind, and seemed to
feel that the future was hopelessly dark. My own
panacea for grief is work, and it seemed to me that
both physically and mentally she would be helped
by a wise combination of travel and effort. During
my lifetime I have cherished two ambitions, and
only two: the first, as I have already confessed,
had been to succeed Miss Anthony as president of
our association; the second was to go around the
world, carrying the woman-suffrage ideal to every
country, and starting in each a suffrage society.
Long before the inception of the International Suf-
frage Alliance I had dreamed this dream; and,
though it had receded as I followed it through life,
I had never wholly lost sight of it. Now I realized
that for me it could never be more than a dream.
I could never hope to have enough money at my
disposal to carry it out, and it occurred to me that
if Mrs. Catt undertook it as president of the Inter-
national Suffrage Alliance the results would be of
the greatest benefit to the Cause and to her.

In my first visit to her after her husband's death
I suggested this plan, but she replied that it was
impossible for her to consider it. I did not lose
thought of it, however, and at the next International
Conference, held in Copenhagen in 1907, I suggested
to some of the delegates that we introduce the
matter as a resolution, asking Mrs. Catt to go
around the world in behalf of woman suffrage. They
approved the suggestion so heartily that I followed
it up with a speech setting forth the whole plan and
Mrs. Catt's peculiar fitness for the work. Several
months later Mrs. Catt and Dr. Aletta Jacobs, presi-
dent of the Holland Suffrage Association, started on
their world tour; and not until after they had gone
did I fully realize that the two great personal am-
bitions of my life had been realized, not by me, but
by another, and in each case with my enthusiastic

In 1904, following my election to the presidency,
a strong appeal came from the Board of Managers
of the exposition to be held in Portland, Oregon,
urging us to hold our next annual convention there
during the exposition. It was the first time an
important body of men had recognized us in this
manner, and we gladly responded. So strong a
political factor did the men of Oregon recognize us
to be that every political party in the state asked
to be represented on our platform; and one entire
evening of the convention was given over to the
representatives chosen by the various parties to
indorse the suffrage movement. Thus we began
in Oregon the good work we continued in 1906, and
of which we reaped the harvest in 1912.

Next to ``Suffrage Night,'' the most interesting
feature of the exposition to us was the unveiling of
the statue of Saccawagea, the young Indian girl
who led the Lewis and Clark expedition through the
dangerous passes of the mountain ranges of the
Northwest until they reached the Pacific coast.
This statue, presented to the exposition by the
women of Oregon, is the belated tribute of the state
to its most dauntless pioneer; and no one can look
upon the noble face of the young squaw, whose out-
stretched hand points to the ocean, without marvel-
ing over the ingratitude of the nation that ignored
her supreme service. To Saccawagea is due the
opening up of the entire western country. There
was no one to guide Lewis and Clark except this
Indian, who alone knew the way; and she led the
whole party, carrying her papoose on her back.
She was only sixteen, but she brought every man
safely through an experience of almost unparalleled
hardship and danger, nursing them in sickness and
setting them an example of unfaltering courage and
endurance, until she stood at last on the Pacific
coast, where her statue stands now, pointing to the
wide sweep of the Columbia River as it flows into
the sea.

This recognition by women is the only recognition
she ever received. Both Lewis and Clark were sin-
cerely grateful to her and warmly recommended her
to the government for reward; but the government
allowed her absolutely nothing, though each man
in the party she had led was given a large tract of
land. Tradition says that she was bitterly disap-
pointed, as well she might have been, and her Indian
brain must have been sadly puzzled. But she was
treated little worse than thousands of the white
pioneer women who have followed her; and standing:
there to-day on the bank of her river, she still seems
sorrowfully reflective over the strange ways of the
nation she so nobly served.

The Oregon campaign of 1906 was the carrying
out of one of Miss Anthony's dearest wishes, and we
who loved her set about this work soon after her
death. In the autumn preceding her passing, head-
quarters had been established in Oregon, and Miss
Laura Gregg had been placed in charge, with Miss
Gale Laughlin as her associate. As the money for
this effort was raised by the National Association,
it was decided, after some discussion, to let the
National Association develop the work in Oregon,
which was admittedly a hard state to carry and full
of possible difficulties which soon became actual

As a beginning, the Legislature had failed to sub-
mit an amendment; but as the initiative and referen-
dum was the law in Oregon, the amendment was sub-
mitted through initiative patent. The task of se-
curing the necessary signatures was not an easy one,
but at last a sufficient number of signatures were
secured and verified, and the authorities issued the
necessary proclamation for the vote, which was to
take place at a special election held on the 5th of
June. Our campaign work had been carried on as
extensively as possible, but the distances were great
and the workers few, and as a result of the strain
upon her Miss Gregg's health soon failed alarm-

All this was happening during Miss Anthony's
last illness, and it added greatly to our anxieties.

She instructed me to go to Oregon immediately
after her death and to take her sister Mary and
her niece Lucy with me, and we followed these
orders within a week of her funeral, arriving in
Portland on the third day of April. I had at-
tempted too much, however, and I proved it by
fainting as I got off the train, to the horror of
the friendly delegation waiting to receive us. The
Portland women took very tender care of me,
and in a few days I was ready for work, but we
found conditions even worse than we had expected.
Miss Gregg had collapsed utterly and was unable
to give us any information as to what had been done
or planned, and we had to make a new foundation.
Miss Laura Clay, who had been in the Portland work
for a few weeks, proved a tower of strength, and we
were soon aided further by Ida Porter Boyer, who
came on to take charge of the publicity department.
During the final six weeks of the campaign Alice
Stone Blackwell, of Boston, was also with us, while
Kate Gordon took under her special charge the or-
ganization of the city of Portland and the parlor-
meeting work. Miss Clay went into the state, where
Emma Smith DeVoe and other speakers were also
working, and I spent my time between the office
headquarters and ``the road,'' often working at my
desk until it was time to rush off and take a train
for some town where I was to hold a night meeting.
Miss Mary and Miss Lucy Anthony confined them-
selves to office-work in the Portland headquarters,
where they gave us very valuable assistance. I
have always believed that we would have carried
Oregon that year if the disaster of the California
earthquake had not occurred to divert the minds of
Western men from interest in anything save that
great catastrophe.

On election day it seemed as if the heavens had
opened to pour floods upon us. Never before or
since have I seen such incessant, relentless rain.
Nevertheless, the women of Portland turned out
in force, led by Mrs. Sarah Evans, president of the
Oregon State Federation of Women's Clubs, while
all day long Dr. Pohl took me in her automobile
from one polling-place to another. At each we found
representative women patiently enduring the drench-
ing rain while they tried to persuade men to vote for
us. We distributed sandwiches, courage, and in-
spiration among them, and tried to cheer in the same
way the women watchers, whose appointment we
had secured that year for the first time. Two women
had been admitted to every polling-place--but the
way in which we had been able to secure their pres-
ence throws a high-light on the difficulties we were
meeting. We had to persuade men candidates to
select these women as watchers; and the only men
who allowed themselves to be persuaded were those
running on minority tickets and hopeless of election
--the prohibitionists, the socialists, and the candi-
dates of the labor party.

The result of the election taught us several things.
We had been told that all the prohibitionists and
socialists would vote for us. Instead, we discovered
that the percentage of votes for woman suffrage was
about the same in every party, and that whenever
the voter had cast a straight vote, without inde-
pendence enough to ``scratch'' his ticket, that vote
was usually against us. On the other hand, when
the ticket was ``scratched'' the vote was usually in
our favor, whatever political party the man be-
longed to.

Another interesting discovery was that the early
morning vote was favorable to our Cause the vote
cast by working-men on their way to their employ-
ment. During the middle of the forenoon and after-
noon, when the idle class was at the polls, the vote
ran against us. The late vote, cast as men were
returning from their work, was again largely in our
favor--and we drew some conclusions from this.

Also, for the first time in the history of any cam-
paign, the anti-suffragists had organized against us.
Portland held a small body of women with anti-
suffrage sentiments, and there were others in the
state who formed themselves into an anti-suffrage
society and carried on a more or less active warfare.
In this campaign, for the first time, obscene cards
directed against the suffragists were circulated at
the polls; and while I certainly do not accuse the
Oregon anti-suffragists of circulating them, it is a
fact that the cards were distributed as coming from
the anti-suffragists--undoubtedly by some vicious
element among the men which had its own good rea-
son for opposing us. The ``antis'' also suffered in
this campaign from the ``pernicious activity'' of
their spokesman--a lawyer with an unenviable
reputation. After the campaign was over this man
declared that it had cost the opponents of our
measure $300,000.

In 1907 Mrs. O. H. P. Belmont began to show an
interest in suffrage work, and through the influence
of several leaders in the movement, notably that of
Mrs. Ida Husted Harper, she decided to assist in
the establishment of national headquarters in the
State of New York. For a long time the associa-
tion's headquarters had been in Warren, Ohio, the
home of Mrs. Harriet Taylor Upton, then national
treasurer, and it was felt that their removal to a
larger city would have a great influence in develop-
ing the work. In 1909 Mrs. Belmont attended as
a delegate the meeting of the International Suffrage
Alliance in London, and her interest in the Cause
deepened. She became convinced that the head-
quarters of the association should be in New York
City, and at our Seattle convention that same year
I presented to the delegates her generous offer to
pay the rent and maintain a press department for
two years, on condition that our national head-
quarters were established in New York.

This proposition was most gratefully accepted,
and we promptly secured headquarters in one of
the most desirable buildings on Fifth Avenue. The
wisdom of the change was demonstrated at once by
the extraordinary growth of the work. During our
last year in Warren, for example, the proceeds from
the sale of our literature were between $1,200 and
$1,300. During the first year in New York our
returns from such sales were between $13,000 and
$14,000, and an equal growth was evident in our
other departments.

At the end of two years Mrs. Belmont ceased to
support the press department or to pay the rent,
but her timely aid had put us on our feet, and we
were able to continue our splendid progress and to
meet our expenses.

The special event of 1908 was the successful com-
pletion of the fund President M. Carey Thomas of
Bryn Mawr and Miss Mary Garrett had promised in
1906 to raise for the Cause. For some time after Miss
Anthony's death nothing more was said of this, but
I knew those two indefatigable friends were not idle,
and ``Aunt Susan'' had died in the blessed conviction
that their success was certain. In 1907 I received a
letter from Miss Thomas telling me that the project
was progressing; and later she sent an outline of
her plan, which was to ask a certain number of
wealthy persons to give five hundred dollars a year
each for a term of years. In all, a fund of $60,000
was to be raised, of which we were to have $12,000
a year for five years; $4,500 of the $12,000 was to
be paid in salaries to three active officers, and the
remaining $7,500 was to go toward the work of the
association. The entire fund was to be raised by
May 1, 1908, she added, or the plan would be

I was on a lecture tour in Ohio in April, 1908,
when one night, as I was starting for the hall where
the lecture was to be given, my telephone bell rang.
``Long distance wants you,'' the operator said, and
the next minute a voice I recognized as that of Miss
Thomas was offering congratulations. ``The last
dollar of the $60,000,'' she added, ``was pledged at
four o'clock this afternoon.''

I was so overcome by the news that I dropped the
receiver and shook in a violent nervous attack,
and this trembling continued throughout my lecture.
It had not seemed possible that such a burden could
be lifted from my shoulders; $7,500 a year would
greatly aid our work, and $4,500 a year, even though
divided among three officers, would be a most wel-
come help to each. As subsequently arranged,
the salaries did not come to us through the National
Association treasury; they were paid directly by
Miss Thomas and Miss Garrett as custodians of the
fund. So it is quite correct to say that no salaries
have ever been paid by the National Association to
its officers.

Three years later, in 1911, another glorious sur-
prise came to me in a very innocent-looking letter.
It was one of many in a heavy mail, and I opened it
absent-mindedly, for the day had been problem-filled.

The writer stated very simply that she wished
to put a large amount into my hands to invest,
to draw on, and to use for the Cause as I saw fit.
The matter was to be a secret between us, and she
wished no subsequent accounting, as she had entire
faith in my ability to put the money to the best
possible use.

The proposition rather dazed me, but I rallied my
forces and replied that I was infinitely grateful, but
that the amount she mentioned was a large one and I
would much prefer to share the responsibility of dis-
bursing it. Could she not select one more person, at
least, to share the secret and act with me? She re-
plied, telling me to make the selection, if I insisted on
having a confidante, and I sent her the names of Miss
Thomas and Miss Garrett, suggesting that as Miss
Thomas had done so much of the work in con-
nection with the $60,000 fund, Miss Garrett might
be willing to accept the detail work of this fund.
My friend replied that either of these ladies would
be perfectly satisfactory to her. She knew them
both, she said, and I was to arrange the matter as I
chose, as it rested wholly in my hands.

I used this money in subsequent state campaigns,
and I am very sure that to it was largely due the
winning of Arizona, Kansas, and Oregon in 1912,
and of Montana and Nevada in 1914. It enabled
us for the first time to establish headquarters, se-
cure an office force, and engage campaign speakers.
I also spent some of it in the states we lost then
but will win later--Ohio, Wisconsin, and Michigan--
using in all more than fifteen thousand dollars. In
September, 1913, I received another check from the
same friend, showing that she at least was satisfied
with the results we had achieved.

``It goes to you with my love,'' she wrote, ``and
my earnest hopes for further success--not the least
of this a crowning of your faithful, earnest, splendid
work for our beloved Cause. How blessed it is that
you are our president and leader!''

I had talked to this woman only twice in my life,
and I had not seen her for years when her first check
came; so her confidence in me was an even greater
gift than her royal donation toward our Cause.



The interval between the winning of Idaho and
Utah in 1896 and that of Washington in 1910
seemed very long to lovers of the Cause. We were
working as hard as ever--harder, indeed, for the
opposition against us was growing stronger as our
opponents realized what triumphant woman suf-
frage would mean to the underworld, the grafters,
and the whited sepulchers in public office. But in
1910 we were cheered by our Washington victory,
followed the next year by the winning of California.
Then, with our splendid banner year of 1912 came
the winning of three states--Arizona, Kansas, and
Oregon--preceded by a campaign so full of vim and
interest that it must have its brief chronicle here.

To begin, we conducted in 1912 the largest num-
ber of campaigns we had ever undertaken, working
in six states in which constitutional amendments
were pending--Ohio, Michigan, Wisconsin, Oregon,
Arizona, and Kansas. Personally, I began my work
in Ohio in August, with the modest aspiration of
speaking in each of the principal towns in every one
of these states. In Michigan I had the invaluable
assistance of Mrs. Lawrence Lewis, of Philadelphia,
and I visited at this time the region of my old home,
greatly changed since the days of my girlhood, and
talked to the old friends and neighbors who had
turned out in force to welcome me. They showed
their further interest in the most satisfactory way,
by carrying the amendment in their part of the

At least four and five speeches a day were expected,
and as usual we traveled in every sort of conveyance,
from freight-cars to eighty horse-power French auto-
mobiles. In Eau Clair, Wisconsin, I spoke at the
races immediately after the passing of a procession
of cattle. At the end of the procession rode a wom-
an in an ox-cart, to represent pioneer days. She
wore a calico gown and a sunbonnet, and drove her
ox-team with genuine skill; and the last touch to
the picture she made was furnished by the presence
of a beautiful biplane which whirred lightly in the
air above her. The obvious comparison was too
good to ignore, so I told my hearers that their women
to-day were still riding in ox-teams while the men
soared in the air, and that women's work in the
world's service could be properly done only when
they too were allowed to fly.

In Oregon we were joined by Miss Lucy Anthony.
There, at Pendleton, I spoke during the great
``round up,'' holding the meeting at night on the
street, in which thousands of horsemen--cowboys,
Indians, and ranchmen--were riding up and down,
blowing horns, shouting, and singing. It seemed
impossible to interest an audience under such con-
ditions, but evidently the men liked variety, for
when we began to speak they quieted down and
closed around us until we had an audience that filled
the streets in every direction and as far as our voices
could reach. Never have we had more courteous or
enthusiastic listeners than those wild and happy
horsemen. Best of all, they not only cheered our
sentiments, but they followed up their cheers with
their votes. I spoke from an automobile, and when
I had finished one of the cowboys rode close to me
and asked for my New York address. ``You will
hear from me later,'' he said, when he had made a
note of it. In time I received a great linen banner,
on which he had made a superb pen-and-ink sketch
of himself and his horse, and in every corner sketches
of scenes in the different states where women voted,
together with drawings of all the details of cowboy
equipment. Over these were drawn the words:


The banner hangs to-day in the National Head-

In California Mr. Edwards presented me with the
money to purchase the diamond in Miss Anthony's
flag pin representing the victory of his state the
preceding year; and in Arizona one of the high-


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