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WOMEN IN AMERICAN HISTORY

By

GRACE HUMPHREY

AUTHOR OF

Illinois — The Story of the Prairie State • . • .

INDIANAPOLIS

THE BOBBS-MERRILL COMPANY PUBLISHERS

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TK ,'ORK

PUBLIC LIBRARY

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T!LDEN M'lftNS

PRESS OF

BRAUNWORTH & CO.

BOOK MANUFACTURERS

BROOKLYN, N. Y.

CONTENTS

CHAPTER

I POCAHONTAS .1

II ANNE HUTCHINSON 18

III BETSY Ross 30

IV MARY LINDLEY MURRAY 40

V MOLLY PITCHER 47

VI MARTHA WASHINGTON 55

VII JEMIMA JOHNSON 72

VIII SACAJAWEA 80

IX DOLLY MADISON 101

X LUCRETIA MOTT 115

. « • « •

XI HARRIET BEEC-tfKR STOV>E. . .' . . 132

XII JULIA WARD HOWE 154

XIII MARY A. LIVERMORE 164

XIV BARBARA FRITCHIE 179

XV CLARA BARTON 189

EPILOGUE 207

BIBLIOGRAPHY 211

INDEX ... . 219

1 I «

WOMEN IN AMERICAN HISTORY

Women in American History

CHAPTER I

POCAHONTAS I595-I6I7

NE cold stormy day, more than three hun-

O

dred years ago, a group of Indians was sit- ting around the fire in a "long house" on the James River in Virginia. Warriors and young braves, squaws and maidens, were listening to stories, while the children played about boisterously. Some of them were wrestling, some racing with dogs, and others turning somersaults in the long narrow passageway.

Suddenly the deerskin curtains parted and in dashed an Indian runner. He spied the chief at the far end of the room near the fire and started toward him; but one of the children, a little girl named Mataoka, who was turning hand- springs, collided with him and knocked him down. A little girl she was, ten or eleven years old, with

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WOMEN IN AMERICAN HISTORY

swarthy skin, black eyes and long straight hair, like all the other Indian girls; but she was distinguished among the group, for she was the daughter of the chief.

"Child," said her father, "in your rough play you have knocked down your brother, the runner who has come with some message. That is not play for a girl. Why will you be such a little tomboy ?"

At this all the Indians present took up the word tomboy and repeated it in the guttural Al- gonquin speech — pocahuntas, pocahnntas. And that nickname stayed with her all her life long.

"I have news," said the runner, when he could get his breath. "I have great news," and he paused dramatically. "The white captain is caught!"

What an excitement this created in the long house! Warriors and squaws crowded around the tired runner, eager to have the details of his story — how two hundred Indians, with the chief's brother at their head, had watched from behind the trees as the white captain, with an Indian guide, left his two men in the boat and went

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POCAHONTAS

ashore; how stealthily they lay in wait to attack him, in the heart of the deep woods ; how they shot their arrows thick and fast, when the right moment came, till they saw the white captain seize the Indian and use him as a shield, while he slowly made his way back toward the boat ; how the In- dians were afraid they would lose their prey after all, but fortune favored them when the white man stumbled into a bog and was held fast by the slip- pery ground and the icy water ; and how, after he was nearly dead with the cold and had thrown away his arms, they took him prisoner. At first, said the runner, the braves wanted to kill him, but later thought it would be a better plan to lead him to the village where the whole tribe could rejoice in this triumph.

All this Pocahontas, the little daughter of the great chief Powhatan, heard, and was deeply in- terested. For the plucky captain had saved his life by a device that was almost an Indian trick. So you may be sure she was there, the next day, when the noted prisoner was brought in. She \vas very proud of her father, who ruled over a league of nearly forty tribes, numbering some eight

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thousand people, as she looked up at him, sitting in state on a raised platform, dressed in raccoon skins, with all the tails left on, and wear- ing his splendid crown of red feathers. Proud, too, she was to be his favorite daughter.

At the council Mataoka listened while the In- dians told how the prisoner had shot at their men, one of whom had since died. She was heavy- hearted when she learned the verdict, "Then he too must die — that is the Indian custom!" She watched while some young braves brought in two great stones and placed them in front of Powhatan. She saw them seize the prisoner, drag him before her father, force him down until his head was on the stones, and then tie his hands and feet. And all the time her heart went out to him, so fair, so friendly, so fine a man he was!

Meanwhile John Smith, the white captain, not understanding what the Indians were saying, could only guess at his fate. He had often been near to death, in his adventurous life, and he thought now of some of his narrow escapes — of his fighting days in the Low Countries, in the Holy

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POCAHONTAS

Land against the Turks, and that wonderful day when he met the three Turkish champions in single combat, came out victorious, and was given a coat of arms. He thought of the times he had been robbed and shipwrecked, captured by Barbary pi- rates and sold into slavery. Yes, he had been close to death before. Would some providence save him this time?

No, there were only forbidding looks on the swarthy faces around him, glances of hatred, contempt, of triumph. Smith, from his position on the ground, saw the chief motion to the execu- tioners, who brought in their great war clubs. Now they swung them up over their shoulders and stood ready for the word of command. Pow- hatan had opened his lips to speak when suddenly there was a commotion in the group as a little figure darted past the platform, slipped through deterring hands, and flung herself on the helpless prisoner.

No girl's g^ame now was the little tomboy play- ing, as she took John Smith's head in her arms and with her own body shielded him from death. The executioners stopped, uncertain what to do,

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for they were fond of the chief's daughter and would not harm a hair of her head. With flash- ing eyes she waved them back and pleaded with the stern Powhatan to spare the white captain's life.

At once there was a scene of the wildest com- motion. There were shouts and threats and many cries of "Kill! Kill!" for the Indians feared the power of these newcomers and longed to drive them from the land. But the little Pocahontas was a chief's daughter and stood for her rights. Let them grant this enemy his life and adopt him into their tribe; for what harm had he done them? They ought to be friends. And she had her way. Powhatan raised his hand and when the clamor ceased, he spoke to the warriors who set the plucky paleface free.

Mataoka smiled upon him and gave him many a look of wondering curiosity. Smith presented her with some trifling gifts and asked her name. Now it was the Indian custom never to tell a name to a stranger, lest it give him some magic harmful influence, so Powhatan replied that his daughter's name was Pocahontas.

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This story is questioned by some historians be- cause Smith did not include it in his first pub- lished account of the Virginia colony, nor yet in the second, though he did praise the Indian girl. In a letter he sent to the English queen, years later, bespeaking for her the royal favor, he tells how Pocahontas saved his life and the colony as well.

True or not, Pocahontas and Smith became warm friends and the kind-hearted little Indian girl was loyal and faithful to the settlement at Jamestown, and saved the colony more than once. Frequently she would go with her brothers, or some of her Indian attendants, carrying corn or venison to the people who were in danger of starving — you remember how improvident those first colonists were, and how badly their affairs were managed ? Once she hid a messenger whom the savages planned to kill; she saved the life of a captured English boy; three times she stole cautiously into Jamestown and warned her new friends of threatened attacks ; and she told Smith himself of a trap laid to surprise him, while his party waited for promised provisions.

"Great cheer (corn) will be sent you by and

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by," she whispered, "but my father Powhatan and all the power he can make will come afterward, if the braves that bring the corn do not kill you when you are at supper. Hurry away! No, no," she added, refusing a compass he offered her, "I can no take. Indians see it. Powhatan kill me. If know I tell you, I am but dead."

As quietly as she had come through the forest she slipped away, while the Englishmen, ready for the attack, returned in safety to Jamestown.

In the autumn of 1609, tired of the endless quarreling and dissension in the colony, and sorely wounded by an explosion of gunpowder, Smith went back to England. Then Pocahontas made no more visits to Jamestown. Finally word came that Smith was dead and the little Indian girl grieved deeply. After this all friendship be- tween the red men and the whites ceased. The settlers were often greedy and selfish, frequently breaking their promises to the Indians who soon came to distrust, then to fear and at last to hate them.

A British soldier, Captain Argall, half pirate and half trader, thought of a fine plan to per-

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snade Powhatan, who was trying to starve the British out, to keep the peace. This was to get Pocahontas into their power, and the old chief would do anything to ransom her. Now the maid was visiting old Chief Japazaws and his wife on the Potomac River. And so Captain Argall won them to his scheme by promising them a wonder- ful copper kettle if they succeeded, and threaten- ing them if they failed. The squaw was to bring Pocahontas aboard his ship, lying at anchor in the Potomac.

As they walked along the river bank the old woman said she had seen the English ships three times before, with their great sails like white wings, but she had never been aboard, and oh ! how much she wanted to go ! Wouldn't her hus- band take her?

"No, no," he said sternly.

And when she continued to beg, he threat- ened to beat her — all part of the plan! Poca- hontas with her tender heart was moved to pity and offered to go with her, if Japazaws would consent, which he did but only on condition that he accompany them. So the three of them paddled

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out to the ship, where they were well entertained and invited to a merry supper; after which the Indians with the precious kettle went ashore while Pocahontas was kept a prisoner.

A message was sent to Powhatan that his de- light and his darling, Pocahontas, was a captive there at Jamestown and would only be released if he sent back all the Englishmen he held, all the tools and guns and swords he had taken or stolen, and a large amount of corn as a ransom. The maid had a long wait, for the chief made no reply for three months, torn between affection for his daughter and desire for the weapons; and then he sent back only seven Englishmen and a few guns. So the crafty Argall continued to hold her prisoner.

Perhaps she liked the little town better than the smoky long house of her tribe, for she was treated with the greatest friendliness. From the very first she had been warm and cordial to the strangers. Now, an innocent, interesting pris- oner, she was honored and petted. Pocahontas had grown to be a woman and had learned the ways of English people. One of the settlers,

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POCAHONTAS

Master John Rolfe, who is described in the old records as "an honest and discreet gentleman of good behaviour," fell in love with her, for she was gentle and generous, pretty and graceful, al- together captivating — and she loved him in return.

Rolfe consulted Governor Dale about this mar- riage and gained his approval. Powhatan also consented and sent his brother to give the bride away, and his two sons and several chiefs of the tribe to be present at the wedding.

In the little church at Jamestown, Pocahontas was baptized and christened Rebecca. And early in April, 1614, she and John Rolfe were married there. The whole colony went to the cere- mony, for everybody was interested in the little hostage, and hoped great things from this union — peace with the tribes of red men, and plenty of trade — with Pocahontas as the bond to cement their friendship. They must all have re- joiced when a year later her little son was born, and felt saddened when the family moved out to Bermuda Hundred, a new plantation on the James River where Rolfe raised the first tobacco in Vir- ginia.

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WOMEN IN AMERICAN HISTORY

Here her husband and Governor Dale and the local minister devoted themselves to teaching her English and the Christian religion. She was eager to learn, for she liked civilized life, though the English customs were in great contrast to the Indian ways. In a short time Pocahontas became so well educated that she had no desire to return to her father. Then she had the greatest affection for her husband, and she dearly loved her son.

When they had been married two years they started to England — Governor Dale, Pocahontas and Rolfe, the baby Thomas, and an old Indian named Tomocomo, whom Powhatan sent as a special guard for his daughter. If life in the colony seemed strange to the forest maid, what must this voyage have been? The great extent of the sea, the many ships, were a marvel to her. At Plymouth the governor of the town came to the wharf to bid her welcome to England. Her journey to London was almost a royal progress.

Everywhere she was received with great honor, as a foreign princess. She was entertained at banquets and receptions. She went to the thea- ters. She was present at Twelfth Night when

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POCAHONTAS

Ben Jonson's masque was played; with Lady Delaware she was presented to the king and queen, who welcomed her with pomp and cere- mony. She carried herself as though she were the daughter of a king, and among all the ladies of the court none was a greater favorite, for her dark beauty and gentle modest ways won all

hearts.

The greatest excitement followed the travelers. Everybody was curious to see Pocahontas. Bishops and great lords and ladies drove in their coaches to call upon her. And in compliment to this princess from the new world many inns and taverns were called "La Belle Sauvage," a name you will still find on old swinging signs in London Town.

The shrewd old chief, Tomocomo, with his ta\vny skin and shining black hair, dressed in his war feathers and Indian robes, attracted almost as much attention. Powhatan had told him to count the men he saw in England, that the tribe might know the strength of their friends — or enemies? He had given Tomocomo a bundle of sticks where- on he should make a notch for each man he saw.

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WOMEN IN AMERICAN HISTORY

Long before the party reached London every stick was notched closely, and with' an Indian grunt of disgust which meant "My arithmetic fails me!" Tomocomo gave it up and threw away his sticks.

John Smith had again been adventuring and exploring but now, returning to England, he heard every one talking of Pocahontas. Remembering old times and all he owed his little friend, he at once went to visit her. When Smith appeared she was greatly moved and for a long time could not speak. At last she said, "They told me you were dead!"

She reproached him for calling her the formal "Lady Rebecca" and asked why he didn't call her his child, as he used to do?

"But," said Smith, "the king has commanded that you be treated as a princess !"

Pocahontas, as before, had her way, and the two good friends sat down for a long talk of the old days in Virginia, and all that had happened since their separation.

Though she was so petted in England Poca- hontas did not really belong there. More and more her thoughts turned toward home. She

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POCAHONTAS

wearied of crowded London and longed for the forest again. Every day she would stand by the window, looking toward the west where Vir- ginia and her early life lay. She thought much of the old days, of the changes that had come to her and to her people, with the appearance of the fair-haired stranger and his Englishmen. Rolfe grew alarmed at her evident home-sickness, and feared she would fall ill with longing. But they must wait till the ship at Gravesend took on her supplies for the long trip to America, and was loaded with the many cases being sent to Virginia.

At last, word came that all was ready and sail- ors were sent to take them aboard. But though she had set her face to the west, Pocahontas was not to return to America. A sudden weakness over- came her, gently she fell asleep, and at twenty- two in a foreign land, she died and was buried in the little church at Gravesend.

Her son Thomas was educated in England by his uncle, a London merchant. But when he was grown he returned to Virginia, and among his descendants were many families of that state,

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WOMEN IN AMERICAN HISTORY

proud to claim as their ancestor the tomboy Pocahontas. One of them was William Henry Harrison, president of the United States ; another John Randolph, of Roanoke, a man famous in his day, for many years a member of Congress in House and Senate. When he rose to speak there, his flashing black eyes and jet-black hair, his brown parchment-like face seamed with a thou- sand small wrinkles, his lean figure, with long arms and long bony forefinger, his bursts of bril- liant oratory, would remind people of his forebears, and they would say, "Yes, Ran- dolph boasts of the blood of Pocahontas in his veins." Years later, in our own century, another descendant, Edith Boiling Wilson, became mis- tress of the White House, the first lady in the land.

Pocahontas is the first woman who made history in our country. Her story is full of romance, of adventure, of gentleness and daring courage. Far more she did than save Smith's life; for it was through her friendship with the English that the colony was supplied with food. It was her mar- riage that made possible, as long as Powhatan

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lived, peace between the two peoples. It was she, said John Smith, who saved Virginia from famine, confusion and death.

CHAPTER II

ANNE HUTCHINSON 1590-1643

ANNE MARBURY was an English girl who lived in Lincolnshire, near the town of Bos- ton. Her father was a Puritan minister, preach- ing there and in London. In Lincolnshire Anne passed her girlhood, doubtless hearing a great deal of theological controversy and religious discussion, for this was the time of the Puritan revolt in England, and of great religious excite- ment. Naturally intelligent and earnest, her men- tal powers were aroused and quickened.

At an early age she married William Hutchin- son, "a very honest and peaceable man of good estate." And in 1634 with her husband and children she journeyed to America — the outcome of the Reverend John Cotton's leaving England because of his persecution by the bishops. Anne Hutchinson had been one of his most ardent dis- ciples in the church at old Boston, and was now to sit under him in the new Boston.

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It was a pleasant voyage of seven weeks, in the good ship Griff en. There were over a hun- dred passengers, among them two ministers, so you may be sure there were sermons and prayers and religious discussions all during the crossing. Indeed Mistress Anne Hutchinson was so out- spoken in her doctrines that, when they landed, one of these ministers reported her to the govern- or as holding dangerous beliefs. Though her husband \vas accepted at once, the colony leaders took a week's time to look into her liberal views, and then examined her rigorously before admit- ting her to membership in the church.

For Massachusetts, you remember, was settled by Puritans who had met persecution in England, and had braved the dangers of the long voyage and the greater dangers of hunger and illness in a new land, in order to worship God in their own way. In accomplishing this they became as intol- erant as those from whom they had fled. Indeed there was a far closer relation of church and state in Massachusetts than in England. The only liberty the fathers allowed was the liberty to believe just as they believed. They were right,

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WOMEN IN AMERICAN HISTORY

others were wrong, and on this theory they regu- lated everything, both religious and civil.

Until their own house could be built, Mistress Anne Hutchinson and some of the children lived at the Reverend Cotton's ; and for the three years the family remained in Boston, their home was across the street from John Winthrop's. Al- most immediately this house became the social center of the town and Anne Hutchinson had a leading place among the three hundred inhabi- tants and the fast friendship of the brilliant young Englishman, Sir Harry Vane, then serving a term as governor of the colony. The women loved her for her goodness of heart, her cheerful neighbor- liness, her great skill in nursing. Both men and women welcomed her intellectual and magnetic personality. She had a vigorous mind, a daunt- less courage, a natural gift for leadership; she was capable, energetic, amiable.

And there was another reason why the women liked her. The colonists had two church services on Sunday, with sermons sometimes three hours long; Thursday lectures, and a Saturday night meeting. There was also during the week re-

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ANNE HUTCHINSON

ligious discussion for the men. Mrs. Hutchinson started meetings for women — a new departure, for never before had women met for independent thought and action. At first this won high ap- proval. The women — forty, sixty, sometimes eighty of them, even a hundred, for they came from near-by towns as well as from Boston homes — were soon holding regular meetings to review the sermons of the Sunday before, with Mistress Anne's comment and interpretation.

"All the faithful embraced her conference," a contemporary record describes the gatherings, "and blessed God for her fruitful discourses."

But from a review of the sermons to discussion and criticism of them and the ministers as well was a short step. It soon began to be said that Anne Hutchinson cast reproaches on those who preached "a covenant by works" instead of the "covenant by grace" in which she fervently be- lieved. Such freedom of speech could not be tol- erated by the good Puritans, and a theological dis- pute arose which threatened the very life of the colony. There were two parties, grace and works. Politics became a matter of Hutchinson opinions,

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for political lines and religious lines coincided ex- actly. Indeed there was no separation of church and state; the leaders of one controlled the policy of the other.

From the beginning of the colony the preachers had had an unlimited influence. Now they com- plained that "more resort to Mrs. Hutchinson for council about matters of conscience than to any minister in the country." Moreover this grace and works difficulty was carried into every phase of life. Some people turned their backs con- temptuously and walked out of meeting when a preacher not under a* covenant of grace entered the pulpit Others interrupted the services with questions of controversy. Indeed it was carried so far that when the Pequot Indians became ag- gressive and dangerous and it was necessary to send troops against them, the Boston soldiers re- fused to be mustered into service, because the chaplain, drawn by lot, preached a covenant of works, and they disagreed with his Sunday ser- mon! The whole town of Boston, the whole colony of Massachusetts, church and state, were set in commotion and turmoil. This theological

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quarrel was a stumbling block in the way of all progress.

The ministers so freely criticized were embit- tered and determined to call Mistress Hutchinson and her doctrines to account. So they summoned a synod, all the clergymen and magistrates of Massachusetts, who met in Cambridge for full three weeks, discussing some eighty-two opinions which they condemned — some as dangerous, some blasphemous, some erroneous, and all unsafe. The women's meetings were forbidden as "dis- orderly and without rule."

Forbidden to speak in public Anne Hutchinson continued to hold meetings in her own house. Roger Williams, who was shortly to feel the full displeasure of the Puritan leaders, said that in view of her usefulness as a nurse and a neighbor, she ought to be allowed to speak when she chose and to say what she wished, ''because if it be a lie, it will die of itself ; and if it be truth, we ought to know it."

The authorities in Massachusetts were in con- stant dread of losing their charter, which was especially endangered by reports of disorderly

WOMEN IN AMERICAN HISTORY

proceedings. And certainly nothing had pro- voked so much disorder and sedition as the course taken by Mistress Anne. Both politically and re- ligiously they felt it a duty to suppress her party. So in October, 1637, she was brought to trial before the General Court of Massachusetts, sitting in the meeting-house in Cambridge.

"Mrs. Hutchinson," said Winthrop, presiding, "you are called here as one of those that have troubled the peace of the commonwealth and the churches here. . . . You have maintained a meeting and an assembly in your house that hath been condemned by the general assembly as a thing not tolerable nor comely in the sight of God nor fitting for your sex, and notwithstanding that was cried down you have continued the same. Therefore we have thought good to send for you to understand how things are, that if you be in an erroneous way we may reduce you that so you may become a profitable member here among us, otherwise if you be obstinate in your course that then the court may take such course that you may trouble us no further."

This trial was at once a civil, judicial and ecclesiastical process, lasting through two long weary days. Extremely tiring and exhausting must have been the examination, for the deputy-

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ANNE HUTCHINSON

governor complained that they would all be sick from fasting! The forty-three men who tried her were like an English court of High Commission, almost like the Inquisition. For Anne Hutchin- son had no lawyer. They even kept her standing until she almost fell from fatigue, before they allowed her to answer seated.

Governor and deputy, magistrates and judges were arrayed against her. They examined and cross-examined her. They badgered and insulted and sneered at her. They browbeat and silenced her witnesses, in absolute disregard of fair play. Only one man of them all defended her, saying with spirit, There is no law of God that she has broken, nor any law of the country, and she deserves no censure."

They found it no easy thing to make her trap herself. Their fine theological distinctions were familiar ground to her. She had a ready grasp of scriptural authority, and wonderful skill in using her intellectual power to prove her spiritual posi- tion. With the ability and clearness of a trained advocate she conducted her case, showing tact and judgment and self-reliance, and always with the

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demeanor of a lady. What Winthrop described as her ''nimble wit and voluble tongue" never de- serted her, though she was hard pressed by the keenest minds of the colony.

When they failed to prove, her women's meet- ings opposed to the Bible, they fell back on the argument of their authority and said, "We are your judges, and not you ours, and we must compel you to it."

When she answered to some of their questions, "That's matter of conscience, sir," stern Governor Winthrop replied, 'Your conscience you must keep, or it must be kept for you."

It was the deputy-governor who summed the whole matter up:

"About three years ago we were all in peace. Mrs. Hutchinson from that time she came hath made a disturbance. . . . She hath vented divers of her strange opinions and hath made parties. . . . She in particular hath dispar- aged all our ministers. . . . Why this is not to be suffered, and therefore being driven to the foundation and it being found that Mrs. Hutchin- son . . . hath been the cause of what is fal- len out, why we must take away the foundation and the building will fall."

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The result of the trial might have been an- nounced before it opened. Read how the court record finishes :

"Governor Winthrop : The Court hath already declared itself satisfied concerning the things you hear, and concerning the troublesomeness of her spirit, and the danger of her course amongst us, which is not to be suffered. Therefore if it be the mind of the Court that Mrs. Hutchinson, for these things that appear before us, is unfit for our society, and if it be the mind of the Court that she shall be banished out of our liberties, and im- prisoned till she be sent away, let them hold up their hands."

All but three held up their hands.

"Governor Winthrop: Mrs. Hutchinson, you hear the sentence of the Court. It is that you are banished from out our jurisdiction as being a woman not fit for our society, and you are to be imprisoned till the Court send you away.

"Mrs. Hutchinson: I desire to know where- fore I am banished.

"Governor Winthrop: Say no more. The Court knows wherefore, and is satisfied."

Semi-imprisonment Mistress Anne had all that winter, in the house of a man in Roxbury whose brother was one of her most bitter enemies. She

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was sent up to Boston to be admonished by the elders of the church ; and when she refused to sign an absolute retraction of her opinions, and would not promise to hold any more meetings, she was excommunicated.

The sentence of banishment was carried out in March of 1638. To the sorrow of many of the colonists, William Hutchinson went with his wife. He refused their invitations to remain, saying, "For I am more dearly tied to my wife than to the church. . . . And I do think her a saint and servant of God." With husband and children and seventy friends Mistress Anne went to Rhode Island where Roger Williams offered the party a friendly refuge. From the Indians they bought an island, for ten coats, twenty hoes, and forty fathoms of white wampum ; and lived there until ,1642 when William Hutchinson died.

Hearing a rumor that Massachusetts was trying to extend her control over Rhode Island, the set- tlers left for a new site in the Dutch colony to- the west. A year later a friendly Indian one morning visited Anne Hutchinson's1 house. Seeing that the family was defenseless he returned that night

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ANNE HUTCHINSON

with others of his tribe, killed the sixteen mem- bers of the household and set fire to the buildings.

When Governor Winthrop heard of this mas- sacre he declared that "the bare arm of God displayed itself in her death." Ministers in Massa- chusetts announced it a divine judgment support- ing their verdict. One of them wrote, "God's hand is more apparently seen herein to pick out this woful woman to make her and those belong- ing to her an unheard-of heavy example above others." But Mistress Anne's friends charged the guilt of her murder upon the colony and de- clared it was the judgment of the Lord on Mas- sachusetts.

An able woman, clever, brilliant, possibly in- discreet in her criticism of the ministers, Anne Hutchinson's life was a strange mixture of con- secration and conflict, of kindliness and conten- tion, with a tragic end. She wras fighting the first battle in a long series to be fought out in America • — for religious toleration and for freedom of thought and speech, for liberty of conscience, for a true democracy in religion.

I

CHAPTER III

BETSY ROSS 1752-1836

N 1752 the eighth child was born in the Quaker family of Griscom in Philadelphia, and was named Elizabeth. Nine other children came after her, so with a total of sixteen brothers- and sisters you may be sure she never had much opportunity to be lonely. Perhaps the large number of children is the explanation for her being ap- prenticed at Webster's, the leading upholstery es- tablishment in the city. There Elizabeth became acquainted with John Ross, one of her fellow- apprentices; their friendship grew to love, and when she was twenty-one they were married. Now John Ross was the son of an Episcopal clergyman and because of that fact Elizabeth was "disowned" by the Friends for her marriage.

Soon afterward they left Webster's and opened a little upholstery shop of their own, in a two- story house on Arch Street — a quaint little house that was old then, for it was built of bricks that

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BETSY ROSS

came over to America as ballast in one of William Perm's v-_ els. It is still standing, in a good state of preservation, and very little changed from the old days, with its wide doors, big cupboards, narrow stairs and tiny window-panes. The front room was the shop, where Elizabeth and John waited on customers ; and next to this was the back parlor.

Now Elizabeth Ross was not only an energetic and trained upholsterer, she was also the most skilful needlewoman in Philadelphia, and had a great reputation for embroidering and darning. There was a story current of a young lady visiting in the city, who wanted an elaborately embroid- ered frock mended. She was directed to take it to Mistress Betsy Ross. And the owner said, when it was finished, that the darning was the handsomest part of the gown ! Considerable ar- tistic skill had Betsy, too, for she could draw free- hand, very rapidly and accurately, the complicated designs used in those days for quilting. Withal she was a thoroughly efficient housekeeper.

The happiness of the Ross family was not to last long. The spirit of liberty was awakening

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WOMEN IN AMERICAN HISTORY

among the colonists, the spirit of resistance to the demands of the mother country. In common with many patriotic women, Betsy Ross saw her husband march away for military service. With several other young men he was guarding cannon balls and artillery stores on one of the city wharves along the Delaware River, when he re- ceived a serious injury, from the effects of which he died in January, 1776, after long and anxious nursing on the part of his young wife. He was buried in the Christ Church burying-ground ; and in that historic old Philadelphia church you can still see the Ross pew, marked with the Stars and Stripes.

There was Betsy Ross, a widow at twenty- four. She determined to maintain herself independently, if possible, and to continue alone the upholstery business they had developed together. About five months after her husband's death, some time between the twenty-second of May and the fifth of June, she was one day working in the shop when three gentlemen called.

The first was General Washington, in Phila- delphia for a few days to consult the Continental

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Congress. Mistress Ross had frequently seen him, for the story is that he had visited her shop more than once, to have her embroider the rufiles for his shirts, an important branch of fine hand- sewing in those days. With him was Robert Morris, to go down in history as the treasurer and financier of the Revolution ; and her husband's uncle, Colonel George Ross, a signer of the Dec- laration of Independence.

These gentlemen had come to consult her. She knew, of course, how the various banners carried by troops from the different colonies, as well as by different regiments, had caused confusion and might mean danger. It was time to do away with the pine tree flag, the beaver flag, the rattlesnake flag, the hope flag, the silver crescent flag, the anchor flag, the liberty tree flag, and all the rest of them, and have a single standard for the Amer- ican army. Betsy Ross had heard, too, of the Cambridge flag, often called the grand union flag, which Washington had raised the New Year's day before, a flag half English, half American, with thirteen red and white stripes, and the crosses of St. George and St. Andrew. But since the first

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WOMEN IN AMERICAN HISTORY

of the year events had moved rapidly and the desire for separation from England had become steadily stronger. A new flag was needed, to show the growing spirit of Americanism — which was soon to crystallize on the fourth of July.

All this Betsy Ross knew, as a good patriot would. And she could not have been greatly surprised when General Washington said they had come to consult her about a national flag.

"Can you make a flag?" he asked.

Modestly and with some diffidence she replied, "I don't know, sir, but I can try."

Then in the little back parlor Washington showed her a rough sketch he had made — a square flag with thirteen stripes of red and white, and thirteen stars in the blue canton. He asked her opinion of the design. With unerring accuracy of eye she saw at once what was needed to make the flag more beautiful, more attractive. She sug- gested that the proportions be changed, so that the length would be a third more than the width ; that the thirteen stars should not be scattered irregularly over the canton, but grouped to form some design, say a circle or a star, or placed in

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BETSY ROSS

parallel rows; and lastly that a five-pointed star was more symmetrical than1 one with six points.

"But," asked Washington, "isn't it more diffi- cult to make?"

In answer practical Betsy Ross took up a piece of paper, folded it over, and with one clip of her scissors cleverly made a perfect star with five even points.

That was sufficient, and the general drew up his chair to her table and made another pencil sketch, embodying her three suggestions. The second sketch was copied and colored by a Philadelphia artist, \Yilliam Barrett, a painter of some note, who returned it to Mistress Ross. Meantime not knowing just how to make a flag, for it must be sewed in a particular way, she went to a shipping merchant, an old Scotchman who was a friend of Robert Morris, to borrow a ship's flag as a guide.

And in this way Betsy Ross made the first Stars and Stripes. To try the effect, the new flag was run up to the peak of one of the vessels in the Delaware River, the story goes, a ship commanded by Paul Jones; and the result was so pleasing

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that on the same day the flag was carried into Congress and approved. At the same time the Congress passed a resolution putting Paul Jones in command of the Ranger.

"The flag and I were born the same day and hour," Jones used to say. "We are twins, we can not be parted in life or death. So long as we can float, we shall float together. If we must sink we shall go down as one."

It was not until June 14, 1777,