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Tuesday, May 8, 2012

The Code of Handsome Lake

By Michael Keene
Copyright © 2012 by the author. All rights reserved.



Handsome Lake
In early June 1799, a young Seneca woman sat outside the door of her family’s home. She was waiting for her father to die. He had been sick for nearly four years and was now little but “yellow skin and dried bones.” Suddenly, she heard him call out “Niio” and then he burst out the door. He swayed and she stood quickly to catch him as he fell into her arms. She took him back to his bed. Then she dressed him in burial clothes and sent for his closest male relatives, Blacksnake and Cornplanter. By the time they arrived, it appeared that the old man was dead: There was no breathing, no heartbeat, and the body was cool to the touch.


But the man wasn’t dead. Blacksnake soon discovered a warm spot on the sick man’s chest. Then the man began breathing again. The warm spot grew bigger and bigger, as if life was returning to the man’s body bit by bit. After two hours, the man finally opened his eyes and began to speak. He described a journey he had taken while he lay there, unconscious. In this vision, he met with messengers who spoke to him of the problems of his people, and the proper way to deal with them. No one knew it yet, but the journey the man took while he lay there, somewhere between life and death, was the first of a series of visitations he would have from the messengers. They would inspire, over the sixteen years the man had remaining to him, an entire philosophy—a code of life and conduct—that would change the historical course of his people. In the end, Handsome Lake would become known as a great prophet and the savior of the Seneca Nation.

* * *

Handsome Lake (ca. 1735–1815) was born Hadawa’ko (Shaking Snow) in the Seneca village of Conewaugus, located on the Genesee River near present-day Avon. Very little is known of his parents or his early life. He was born into the Wolf clan, although he was eventually raised by the Turtle clan.

When he was born, the Seneca—indeed, the entire Iroquois Confederacy—was at the height of its power and prosperity. But the fortunes of the Indians fell precipitously during the eighteenth century, and over the course of his life Handsome Lake would be both witness to and victim of this social and cultural decline. It is fair to say that the summer afternoon when Handsome Lake lay apparently dying was the lowest point of his life, and perhaps that of the life of his people as well.

The Iroquois Confederacy had continuously existed since the fourteenth century. Its constitution—The Great Law of Peace, an orally transmitted document—is one of the oldest constitutions in the world. It described a federal union of five (later six) Indian nations: Mohawk, Onondaga, Seneca, Oneida, Cayuga, and Tuscarora. The document (which was finally put into writing in 1915 by Arthur C. Parker, an archeologist and Indian specialist who worked for the State Museum of New York) is often mentioned along with the likes of the Magna Charta in terms of the greatest political documents in history.

It provided a framework for working out problems between its nation-members and described political and social systems that were balanced and largely egalitarian. Iroquois society was matrilineal, meaning that land ownership and ancestry were determined by tracing heritage through the mother’s line. The Iroquois are sometimes referred to as “the people of the longhouse,” the translation from the nation’s own word (haudenosaunee) for itself. (The word “Iroquois” is an appellation of French missionaries, and represents the way they heard the term hiro kone, meaning “I have spoken.” It was a ritual expression with which Iroquois typically ended their orations.) The tribe’s term for itself is based on their primary form of social and family organization: The longhouse. Ranging from twenty-five to four hundred feet long, these narrow, rectangular structures housed entire clans, traced along the maternal line. The longhouses were divided into compartments, with a long central hall. Each family had its own personal space of about 6’x9’. The structure typically held twenty or more families. Each clan had its own name, typically an animal name.

There was no “state” religion—each tribe was free to celebrate its own religious rites and festivals. Civil affairs were separate from religious affairs. This is not to suggest that there was an Iroquois idyll before first contact with the Europeans. Rather, the Iroquois had a highly developed, highly functional political and social system that would be shattered by its intersection with the founding of the new American nation.

Initial contacts between Europeans and the Iroquois were generally positive and relations remained friendly and respectful through the mid-eighteenth century. Though our Thanksgiving notions of Native Americans and white settlers sitting down to celebrate the fall harvest with a meal (complete with a cornucopia on the table) may be somewhat simplistic, there is a kernel of truth in that image. Many settlers relied on trade with the Indians for survival, and freely adopted those Indian customs, ideas, and modes of living that made adaptation to the New World easier.

During the colonial era, Indian leaders and statesmen met as equals to diplomatically solve problems. Good trade relationships were critical to the prosperity of the colonies, and this provided powerful incentives to alleviate strains in relations. Many early Americans also plainly admired the Indians. For instance, Benjamin Franklin, who served as an Indian commissioner, studied the Indian way of life, published accounts of treaty negotiations, and cited the Iroquois model in his arguments about relations between the British and the colonies. Franklin stressed the fact that the individual nations of the Confederacy managed their own internal affairs without interference from the Grand Council.

Other founding fathers like Thomas Jefferson, John Adams, and George Washington were familiar with—and admiring of—the Iroquois’ federal form of government. Each nation was represented at the Confederate Council by one political leader and one war leader. The Confederacy included a system of checks and balances, with each nation holding veto power for certain actions. Each individual nation had a system for choosing its leaders, and there were impeachment provisions as well, ensuring that leaders governed in accordance with public consent. Much of this should be familiar to Americans, and for good reason: Historians have shown that the federal system of the U.S. government and the U.S. Constitution itself was patterned in part on the Iroquois system.

But the Iroquois system underwent a severe challenge with the outbreak of the American Revolution. Both the British and the Americans sought the allegiance—or at least the neutrality—of the Iroquois Confederacy. The Six Nations divided: Most Mohawk, Cayuga, Onondaga, and Seneca tribes chose to ally with the British, while most Oneida and Tuscarora tribes joined the American revolutionaries. In some sense, the American Revolution became a civil war for the Iroquois, and the divisions which precipitated the split would grow wider during the years of war, and go on to echo in internal Indian debates in the ensuing decades.

In particular, the results of the War of Independence would be disastrous for the Seneca, who not only chose the losing side, but stuck with it until the end. For instance, even after the British surrender at Saratoga, Loyalists and their Iroquois allies in upper New York continued to raid American settlements, as well as the villages of fellow Iroquois who had been allied with the revolutionaries. The Seneca chief Cornplanter led some of these raids, alongside Loyalist commanders, such John Butler (with whom “Indian” Allan served.)

In 1777 the Continental Congress, concerned that a major Indian war was imminent, decided to raise an army of 3,000 men to deal with the Indian problem on the frontier. Planning and preparations were slow, and it would take roughly another year to be brought to fruition. But the course of events during that year only hardened the resolve of the Americans. Indian–Loyalist attacks on settlers continued apace. There were some reprisals by American units already in the field, but the small number of available troops made it nearly impossible to offer an effective defense, or to thwart the ability of the Indians and Loyalists to mount attacks.

The turning point was a major Iroquois raid in November of 1778, when nearly 400 Indians, led by Cornplanter, launched on assault on a fort near Cherry Valley. The so-called Cherry Valley Massacre—in which approximately fifty soldiers and civilians died, with another eighty taken captive—forced the hand of the fledgling American government. General George Washington assigned Major General John Sullivan to lead the new force to deal with the Seneca.

The Sullivan Expedition, as this campaign would come to be known, was notorious for the toll it took on both sides. In the end, Colonel Sullivan had nearly 4,000 men at his command, and he drove them—and their horses—tirelessly. The village of Horseheads, in the Southern Tier of New York, acquired its name from an event during this campaign: The pack horses of Sullivan’s army, having hauled heavy military equipment for over 400 miles through difficult terrain, reached the end of their endurance in a little valley, and there the horses were slaughtered en masse. A few years later, horse skulls were arrayed along the trail by returning Native Americans, reportedly as a warning, or as a gesture of anger or defiance.

* * *

The devastation of the Sullivan Expedition created great hardship for more than 5,000 Iroquois refugees the following winter, and many starved or froze to death. And although General Washington was disappointed by what he perceived as the lack of a clear military verdict—there was only one major battle during the campaign—it nevertheless became clear in the long term that the victory of the new American nation over the Iroquois was complete. The infrastructure of the Iroquois Confederacy had been devastated. But the damage was much deeper and more long-lasting than physical losses. In the final analysis, the significance of the Sullivan Expedition is that it broke not only the means of the Iroquois Confederacy to defend its territory by making war, but its very will to do so. And as his nation’s will was broken, so was that of Handsome Lake. He, like so many of his compatriots, gave in to despair and to alcoholism.

Over the next decade, a series of treaties—with their predictable ex-post-facto claims and counter-claims—were executed, and while some small groups of Iroquois were moved onto reservations in the region, many more were moved to reservations in Canada and beyond the American frontier (which then meant west and north of Illinois, essentially.) After the Treaty of Paris was signed in 1783—formally ending the war between the British and the Americans—white settlers began moving west into New York, into areas made safe by the removal of Indians.

All of this led to critical issues for the Seneca, especially given the grim conditions on the reservations. The standard of living was abysmal, and there was rampant cultural and social breakdown: Alcoholism, domestic abuse, and the breakdown of families. There were accusations of witchcraft, as is so often the case in such conditions. Iroquois social structure was crumbling under reservation life and traditional religious practices were insufficient to meet the needs of the people. Until that summer day in 1799, it is perhaps fair to say that Handsome Lake had been as much a victim of these conditions as any other Seneca.

There is mysteriously (and frustratingly) little known about Handsome Lake’s life prior to his near-death experience and the visions that accompanied it. He was described by Buffalo Tom Jemison as a middle-sized man, slim, and unhealthy looking. He was a member of a noble family, though nothing is known about them (other than Cornplanter and Red Jacket.) Handsome Lake’s warrior name is unknown, as is the provenance of the name under which we know him. His name does appear on a 1794 treaty, but what role he might have played in the negotiations is unknown.

It is known, however, that after the loss of the bulk of Seneca lands in Genesee area, he went with members of his tribe to settlements on the Allegheny River. By many accounts, he was an alcoholic for some twenty years—and quite seriously ill, perhaps with the complications that often accompany end-stage alcoholism—for four years preceding the visions of 1799.

He was nursed in his illness by his married daughter and reportedly was able to do very little for himself. Some accounts suggest his bare-bones cabin was located quite close to the river, for he recalled hearing the drunken play—and fighting—of the raftsmen nearby. He thus had a long period of time in which he had little do but contemplate the effects of alcohol abuse, on his own life and on the lives of his tribesmen. In his Code, he refers again and again to the “demons” afflicting the Seneca, and alcohol is clearly the primary demon he has in mind.

On the summer afternoon when Handsome Lake woke from his coma, he immediately began describing his vision to the family and friends that had gathered in preparation for his funeral.

Handsome Lake said:

Never have I seen such a wondrous vision. I saw three men clothed in fine raiment, noble and commanding, cheeks painted red, only a few feathers in their bonnets. They had in one hand bows and arrows, in the other, huckleberry bushes and berries of every color.

The first messenger said: “He who created the world employed us to come to earth and go to the sick man and help him recover. Take these berries and eat of every color, for they will give you strength. Before noon, the people will gather at the council house and give you some early strawberries and they will make strawberry wine sweetened with sugar. They will drink the juice of the berry and thank the Great Spirit for your recovery.”

“When you are well, we will tell you how things ought to be upon the earth. For whatsoever you think is evil, is evil.”

And the second messenger said: “Behold! Look through the valley and between the two hills. Look between the sunrise and the noon. In that place, a man is buried who refused to obey the Great Spirit. He will never rise from that spot!”

“So now we say to you, proclaim the message we give you and tell it truly to all the people.”

And the third messenger said: “Now, the first thing has been finished and it remains for us to uncover all wickedness before you.”

And the first messenger said: “Now it time for our departure. We shall go on a journey. And then you will see the coming of the fourth messenger. And more: You will see the house of the punisher and the lands of the Great Spirit.”

* * *

In addition to telling Handsome Lake that he would recover, and why they appeared, the messengers clearly promised that they would return with more messages from the Great Spirit. This seemed to have had an immediate effect on Handsome Lake: He would proclaim that he was cured of his alcoholism on this day. And his life seems to have changed in another crucial respect: He had a new purpose in life, as a teacher and prophet. He began preaching what he called Gaiwiio (the good word), and his life from this day on would be dedicated to bringing the message of the Great Spirit (via the messengers) to the Seneca, and taking an active role in improving the lives of his people.

The dream vision of this June day was only the first—if most dramatic—of a series of three or four visitations Handsome Lake would have over the next few years. He would also be visited by the spirits of John the Baptist, as well as a number of Jesus’ disciples. The lessons Handsome Lake took from the visions would be compiled into The Code of Handsome Lake. The document (as taken down in translation) had some 15 sections, in the form of anecdotes which illustrated particular points. One example:

Now the Great Spirit ordained that people should live to an old age: He appointed that when a woman becomes old she should be without strength and unable to work. Now the Great Spirit says that it is a great wrong to be unkind to our grandmothers. The Great Spirit forbids unkindness to the old. We, the messengers, say it. The Great Spirit appointed it this way: He designed it so that an old woman should be as a child again and when she becomes so, the Creator wishes the grandchildren to help her; for only because she is, they are. Whosoever does right to the aged does right in the sight of the Creator.


For Handsome Lake, the first issue at hand was to condemn the use of the white man’s one’ga, meaning whiskey. Since first contact, alcohol abuse had made serious inroads in the life of his nation, threatening its very extinction. As Arthur C. Parker described the situation:

“The frauds which the Six Nations had suffered, the loss of land and of ancient seats had reduced them to poverty and disheartened them. The crushing blow of Sullivan's campaign was yet felt and the wounds then inflicted were fresh. The national order of the Confederacy was destroyed. Poverty, the sting of defeat, the loss of ancestral homes, the memory of broken promises, and the hostility of the white settlers all conspired to bring despair. There is not much energy in despairing nations who see themselves hopeless and alone, the greedy eyes of their conquerors fastened on the few acres that remain to them. It was little wonder that the Indian sought forgetfulness in the trader's rum.”

Many of the lessons in the Code address social or cultural problems, and impart what might be called middle-class values: Young people should marry, and be kind and faithful to one another, and good to their children. They should not gossip, or practice witchcraft, or drink alcohol. In all, the sentiments expressed are strikingly similar to the Biblical Ten Commandments. There is some evidence that Handsome Lake might have been familiar with the Bible: One story holds that his nephew Henry Obail (Abeal), who had been educated at a white institution in Philadelphia, took Handsome Lake up into the mountains and explained the Christian Bible to him. Handsome Lake might also have acquired some knowledge of the Bible from missionaries as well. At any rate, the Code, like the Bible, forbade drunkenness, witchcraft, and sexual promiscuity, wife beating, quarreling, and gambling.

But this is not to suggest that the Code wasn’t revolutionary in its own way, for not only did it come from a Seneca, but Handsome Lake addressed the internal social ills that he believed were destroying Seneca culture just as surely as the intrusion of the white man. He took on such taboo topics such as child sexual abuse, spousal abuse, adultery, divorce, and abortion. Significantly, Handsome Lake addressed the men in his society in the same way that some modern groups like Promise Keepers and Concerned Black Men call on the males of their communities to be good husbands and fathers.

Other parts of the Code dealt with the practicalities of life. In particular, Handsome Lake argued that the Seneca should give up the nomadic way of life and adopt an agricultural lifestyle. This is another example of his advocacy of what might be called middle-class values, even what would become the American dream: A farm, a home, and family. He advocated practical, orderly self-sufficiency and sober living.

It is clear that Handsome Lake was in critical ways a realist. He believed that the white man was here to stay, and that the Seneca could not survive and prosper by fighting the larger culture or falling into the trap of blaming the intruders for their conditions. This set him on a collision course with factions of his own community, as well as for openly discussing these difficult issues within the Seneca nation. This was a middle way: neither a capitulation to Christianity nor an unreasoning hold on the traditional past.

In fact, Handsome Lake’s message was a masterful blend of the old and new. In order to appreciate the effect that Handsome Lake had on his people, it is perhaps necessary to point out that the Iroquois of the Great Lakes region had always considered dreams to be a guide to their lives. Their dreams influenced many decisions, from where to hunt or fish to where and when to make war or undertake marriage. Dreaming was believed to be a period in which the individual was in contact with the sacred power, and messages received during that time were taken with utmost seriousness. To ignore these messages was to court illness, madness, or disaster. In fact, the Iroquois paid particular attention to dreams on the eve of big events, like war and hunting, and war parties were known to turn back if one of its members had an ominous dream.

For this reason, it may be fair to say that Handsome Lake’s followers took his dreams, or visions, as seriously as he did. His dreams also represented answers to questions they were facing that were as equally momentous as war and hunting—that is, issues of the life and death of the nation.

In 1802, Handsome Lake visited Washington, D.C. with a delegation of Seneca and Onondaga chiefs, and his work drew the attention of U.S. President Thomas Jefferson, who wrote a letter to Handsome Lake that concluded:

Go on then, brother, in the great reformation you have undertaken. Persuade our red brethren then to be sober, and to cultivate their lands; and their women to spin and weave for their families. You will soon see your women and children well fed and clothed, your men living happily in peace and plenty, and your numbers increasing from year to year. It will be a great glory to you to have been the instrument of so happy a change, and your children's children, from generation to generation, will repeat your name with love and gratitude forever. In all your enterprises for the good of your people, you may count with confidence on the aid and protection of the United States, and on the sincerity and zeal with which I am myself animated in the furthering of this humane work. You are our brethren of the same land; we wish your prosperity as brethren should do. Farewell.

This letter is a remarkable document, for it shows Thomas Jefferson’s respect for the Indians, and his willingness and hope of working with them to achieve peace and a good relationship. It also served as an endorsement of Handsome Lake’s activities and program, and copies of it were given to each of the Chiefs of the Six Nations.

* * *

Handsome Lake, like countless recovered addicts and social reformers, could sometimes be unreasoning and overzealous. This is particularly true when it came to the question of witchcraft among the Seneca.

By some accounts, Handsome Lake became obsessed with witch hunting and demanded confessions from those whom he suspected of witchcraft. There is evidence that some of those who refused to confess were killed, on his orders. His obsession nearly started a war with another tribe when he accused one its members of being a witch, and demanded that tribal leaders punish the young man. His obsessive hunting of witches began to cost him support among his people, and his popularity declined for a period.

According to one account, when he first arrived at Tonawanda, Handsome Lake was so discouraged that he was reluctant to talk about his visions and beliefs. Over time, however, people became friendlier, and he resumed his teachings. He was invited to visit the Onondaga and he accepted the invitation, although “according to his visions it necessitated the singing of his ‘third song,’ which meant that he would die.” But in another vision, the messengers said: "They have stretched out their hands, pleading for you to come and they are your own people at Onondaga."

So Handsome Lake and some followers started to walk to the Onondaga, and the numbers increased as they neared the destination, as people began to hear about his prediction of his own death. Handsome Lake had more visions along the way, each containing omens of his own death. He reportedly grew more and more depressed, even fearful. He was so distressed that upon arrival he was unable to address those who came to hear him saying, "I will soon go to my new home. Soon will I step into the new world, for there is a plain pathway before me leading there."

He then went to his cabin, attended by three persons, who swore to keep all the details of his death secret. On August 10, 1815, Handsome Lake "commenced his walk" over the path that had appeared before him. He was buried under a nearby council house, with impressive ceremonial rites. His tomb may still be seen there. It is marked by a granite monument erected by the Six Nations to Sedwa'gowa'ne: Our Great Teacher.

* * *

Despite Handsome Lake’s excesses and failings, he had a profound and lasting impact on the life of the Seneca, and of the entire Iroquois nation. As the noted Indian scholar Arthur C. Parker wrote, “Handsome Lake helped to give the Iroquois a social and cultural identity that drew on the best of their traditional past, yet allowed them to turn their attention to finding a new way to live within the larger nation in which they now found themselves.”

Handsome Lake's Code was so successful because it combined traditional Iroquois values and cultural forms with white and Christian values that allowed the Indians to adapt to their new circumstances. It emphasized practical strategies for survival without requiring the sacrifice of an Indian identity.

Handsome Lake’s teachings long outlived him. Beginning in the 1820s, it became traditional for the Code to be recited every September at Tonawanda, and biannually at other reservations in connection with the beginning of Six Nation meetings. The Code of Handsome Lake was eventually compiled and translated from interviews with descendants of Handsome Lake and published in 1913, ensuring that his teachings remain a part of Iroquois culture.



Reprinted from Michael Keene's book Folklore and Legends of Rochester, The Mystery of Hoodoo Corner.






Wednesday, April 11, 2012

1st New York Light Artillery - Battery E - “Wheeler’s Battery”

by Robert Yott
Copyright © 2012. All rights reserved by the author.

When southern forces fired upon Fort Sumter in April of 1861, response from the North was swift. Here in the Southern Tier, loyal citizens quickly answered the call and men represented Bath in 17 regiments.

The following incidents are of one such unit from Steuben County, the First New York Light Artillery, Battery E.



These units travelled to the “Elmira Rendezvous” for mustering into service, which was commanded by General Robert B. Van Valkenburgh. His Aide-de-Camp and Assistant-Adjutant General was Captain William Rumsey who resigned and was replaced by Captain Ira Davenport.

In early September, 1861, General Van Valkenburgh, who served as lieutenant with the “Bath Artillery” years before, called upon his former First Sergeant John Stocum, to recruit and command a battery for a regiment being formed in Elmira. In late September Stocum arrived in Elmira with 81 men. Charles Wheeler, who had relinquished his duties as principal of Haverling High School, arrived shortly thereafter with an additional 22 men.

Army regulation required all recruits be mustered in by an officer of the Regular Army. Battery E was mustered into service on October 7, 1861 by Captain Arthur T. Lee, Eighth US Regulars. Captain Guilford D. Bailey was commissioned Colonel and placed in command of the regiment; he was joined by Major David H. Van Valkenburgh, who transferred from Battery A. Officers were John Stocum, captain; Charles Wheeler and Robert H. Gansevoort, commissioned first and second lieutenant respectively.

On October 29 Battery E, consisting of 103 men, departed Elmira via the Northern Central and Baltimore & Ohio railroads for Washington, DC. They arrived at their camp of instruction located a mile and a half east of the Halls of Congress. Officers were required to attend schools of instruction in tactics and gunnery. Like many other officers, Captain Stocum and Lieutenant Gansevoort failed to qualify at the school.

In early January, 1862, Captain Stocum was officially relieved and replaced by newly promoted Captain Charles Wheeler. Adjutant Rumsey was made first lieutenant and Commissary Sergeant Edward H. Underhill was promoted to second lieutenant and replaced Lieutenant Gansevoort who had resigned.

One uncommon feature of the newly organized battery was the fact that they had hired a private company cook. The salary of the cook was raised by voluntary assessment of each enlisted man twenty-five cents a month. The officers made up any deficit. It is not known how long the battery enjoyed this fanciful fare but, while other companies supped on the salt pork and beans, these men enjoyed roast beef, baked ham, fried doughnuts and ginger-bread. It was also noted that these men suffered less from the effects of a poor diet.

On February 25, 1862, with ninety-five enlisted men and two officers present for duty out of the 103 original members, Battery E, or Wheeler’s Battery, was assigned to General William F. (Baldy) Smith’s Division, of the Fourth Corps, Army of the Potomac. Due to lack of sufficient strength, hopes for a six-gun battery (consistent with Union procedure) were abandoned. Instead, on March 1, Battery E received four 3-inch ordnance, rifled cannons and was incorporated into the Artillery Brigade. Included in this brigade were Battery F, Fifth United States Battery; the First New York Independent Battery (Cowan’s Battery) and the Third New York Independent Battery. Captain Romaine B. Ayres was the chief.

On March 10, the entire command headed for Alexandria, Va. where it set sail for Fort Monroe on the steamer “Agnes,” with their horses in tow aboard two schooners. At Hampton, Virginia, the brigade met with its first misfortune. To make room for the thousands of embarking troops the two horse-laden schooners were untethered and moved about so much so that apparently they became lost in the shuffle. It was not until March 27 when the artillery brigade finally landed at Fort Monroe. Thus, they began their march through the marsh and mud which would plague the Union troops throughout the Peninsula Campaign. With only half their horses ashore Wheeler’s Battery set out through the mud. The march was taking its toll on the horses but on April 5, the first gun section (two guns) was able to advance to a position near Confederate defenses at Yorktown.

On April 6, the second section had finally trudged its way through the mud and caught up with the first section and the four-gun battery was in place. It was on this day that the men of Battery E first “saw the elephant,” firing the first shots of the battle for Yorktown. Immediately, the enemy returned fire. During the barrage a round from the enemy’s 10-pounder Parrot passed through an ammunition chest of one of Wheeler’s guns. The shell exploded twenty-nine cannon cartridges and two case shots in one compartment and set fire to the packing tow of the other compartment.

Immediately, Sergeant David L. Smith and Artificer James H. Hickox of Bath grabbed buckets of water and began to douse the flames while Private William H. Kershner, also of Bath, pulled out with his bare hands burning embers, thus preventing the rest of the rounds from exploding. Miraculously, no one had been killed and General E. D. Keyes, commander of the Fourth Corps, mentioned the incident in his official report and added words of praise to the men of the Battery E.

After the engagement, the battery retired to a position opposite Confederate forces at Lee’s Mill two miles distant. On April 16, Wheeler’s Battery was called out and successfully silenced the Confederate artillery. The enemy was pouring a terrific barrage on the beleaguered Cowan’s Battery which had advanced in support of the Vermont Brigade.

For the next three weeks following the battle all was quiet. It was during this time that Wheeler’s Battery suffered its first casualty. William F. Payne of Bradford, who was never considered a very healthy specimen, died from the exposures of camp life.

The following weeks saw Smith’s Division advance on the retreating enemy with Wheeler’s Battery leading the artillery. It was General McClellan’s intention not to rush the advance as he was planning on racing up the York River and have his forces block the Confederates withdrawal at West Point. In defiance of orders, Smith, seeing an advantage in the terrain, quietly ordered Hancock’s Brigade and Cowan’s Battery to occupy an abandoned works which flanked Longstreet position at Fort Magruder.

With the works taken, Wheeler’s Battery and the Vermont Brigade were ordered forward to join Hancock and Cowan’s. General Keyes, having heard of the order, immediately set out to stop the movement. Wheeler’s Battery had set out at a gallop and could not be overtaken. The Vermont Brigade however, was ordered back. For assumption of authority, General Smith was about to be placed under arrest when McClellan arrived on the scene and ordered Hancock be reinforced.

 Hancock’s men marched forward in a line of battle beyond the works just taken. He posted his main force on an elevation in the field while waiting for the reinforcements promised but only Wheeler’s Battery arrived. Assuming more reinforcements immediately to his rear, Hancock boldly ordered his ten pieces of artillery forward to within 650 yards of the enemy’s defenses. The Fifth Wisconsin, placed just behind the batteries, was the sole infantry support. Wheeler’s Battery occupied the right flank of the line with dense woods 600 yards to their right.

At 4pm Cowan’s Battery opened fire. As the opposing lines exchanged fire a force of rebel infantry, along with 100 cavalry were discovered between the lines. A few well-placed shot by the Union guns sent them scurrying, presumably back to their lines. This was not the case however as the rebel force snuck down a ravine and massed in the dense woods aforementioned.

With no reinforcement, Hancock sent word to order back the artillery. It was too late. The enemy now appeared in force, forming two great battle lines. One, the Fifth North Carolina was immediately to the front; the other, the 24th Virginia, emerged from the woods on Wheeler’s right flank. Case-shot and canister was poured into the enemy lines but this did not deter the advance of the enemy. So rapid was the firing that the axle on one of Wheeler’s guns was broken by the recoil and sent back to the rear. As the enemy advanced, their lines took shape of a “J” with Wheeler’s gun in the curve. The Fifth Wisconsin, which had fallen back, was now firing upon 24th Virginia.

Cowan’s Battery, which suffered one man killed and several wounded, began to withdraw. The enemy advanced to within 100 yards on the front and right of Wheeler’s Battery when they received the order to withdraw their remaining three guns. One gun, commanded by the gunner Corporal James Bryant of Bath, became tangled in a fence. Bullets whizzed by their heads as the men of Gun No. 2 struggled to free the gun lest it fell into the hands of the enemy. Just as it became free of the fence, the gun immediately became mired in the mud. As the horses struggled to free the piece, Bryant, with almost superhuman strength hugged the hot barrel of the cannon and heaved to. The mud finally let loose the piece and Bryant was the last man to leave this particular field of battle.

The men were now at their original position. The infantry had fallen back, concealed beyond a slope, to await the attack of the enemy. The nine guns reached the field directly in front of their own lines and swung about to meet the approaching rebels. The artillery pieces were being used as bait to draw the enemy in. As they neared, Wheeler and Cowan poured canister into their ranks. The enemy had now advanced to within six rods of the Union lines when they were surprised by 2500 muskets firing into their ranks.

As Wheeler’s Battery struggled to fall back the enemy fired a volley into them, mortally wounding Alexander Adams of Bath. Capture seemed imminent. The battery and the Seventh Maine were endangered of being overrun when Captain Wheeler, mounted, rallied the left flank of the Seventh Maine and led a charge directly into the enemy, completely routing them. The battery resumed firing into the fleeing enemy. This so shattered the moral of their second battle line that many broke and ran and a number of prisoners were taken. This ended the action for the day.

On May 9, the newly formed Sixth Corps was announced and Battery E was transferred into the Second Division with General Smith commanding. On May 11, the battery lost Sergeant Alson W. Davis of Avoca. Davis wounded himself with his pistol and after a long recuperating period was finally discharged. Davis reenlisted as Commissary Sergeant into Company G, 22nd Cavalry.

By May 22 the battery was now stationed at New Cold Harbor. On the morning of May 23, Davidson’s Brigade which consisted of the 33rd, 49th and 77th New York; the Seventh Maine regiments and Wheeler’s Battery, moved out on reconnaissance on the Mechanicsburg Turnpike. At dusk, the reconnoitering party arrived one mile outside Mechanicsville where it captured two artillery pieces of the enemy and a regiment of cavalry. Early the next day, Wheeler’s Battery opened fire upon Mechanicsburg at a range of 1,500 yards while return fire was negligible. Unable to dislodge the enemy which was well-protected, General Davidson loudly proclaimed it was that it was the fault of the gunners of Wheeler’s Battery. After his tirade, he ordered Wheeler’s Battery to within 400 yards of the town. A few, well-placed shots forced the enemy to hastily vacate the town.

Upon entering the town, the general witnessed firsthand the effective firing of Wheeler’s Battery of the first occasion. Not one building in town went unscathed and many were riddled, by the precision of the gunners’ aim. In an effort to make amends, General Davidson apologized to Captain Wheeler in front of the entire command. Colonel McKean of the 77th New York wrote in his official report of the engage “Wheeler’s Battery most effectively riddled the village, driving the enemy’s sharpshooters out of the buildings, and causing his artillery reply at longer and still longer intervals until it was silent.” Wheeler’s Battery’s loss on this mission consisted of three horses.

On May 26, the battery was stationed in the vicinity of the Gaines’ House, east of the Chickahominy River. While the battle of Fair Oaks raged on March 31-June 1, the battery was unable to join in the fray due to the swollen river. It was during this battle that Colonel Bailey and Major Van Valkenburgh met their fate. Battery A occupied a redoubt west of the river and was about to be overran. With all their horses killed, Colonel Bailey ordered his men to fall back while he remained to spike the guns, lest they be captured and turned upon them. It was during this action that both the colonel and major fell, mortally wounded. Major Rumsey was severely wounded but survived.

A freak occurrence on the morning of June 3, 1862 would have devastating effects on Battery E and lead to its demise. At 2am, a severe thunderstorm broke out. Perhaps attracted by the heavy iron guns and equipment of the battery, a lightning bolt struck in Wheeler’s Battery’s camp and nearly wiped out the entire command. James Bryant, hero of Fort Magruder, was killed outright and nearly every man in the battery suffered from shock and numbness. Many of the horses had been thrown to the ground and all were deemed unfit for further service. For their meritorious service at Mechanicsburg, Harper’s Weekly chose to honor Wheeler’s Battery with a sketch. It is unfortunate that the following is what they chose to depict.

On June 5, the suffering men began the difficult movement across the marshes of the Chickahominy. The new location was only two miles as the crow flies but to cross the river the men had to slough through the mud to Grapevine Bridge in order to cross traverse, making the hike nearly ten miles. They were positioned on the southern end of the Union line near New Bridge. Opposite them were the rebels, occupying a place called Old Tavern. For the next several nights at sunset, the enemy would fire several rounds of artillery into Battery E’s position much to the annoyance of the men. The only casualty suffered was that of Gould’s kettle which held the men’s dinner.

By June 10, the battery had been reduced to 53 men. Captain Wheeler was ill and Lieutenant Underhill was confined to quarters suffering from malarial fever. Wheeler’s Battery had suffered terribly from the mud and rain of the Peninsula Campaign and disease and illness took its toll on the men. The lightning strike and forced march had been the final blow. The unit, which saw limited action at Harrison’s Landing near the end of July, would not recover.

The Artillery Brigade had been drastically reduced in numbers. After receiving Captain Wheeler’s report of July 10 describing the condition of his command, it was decided to grant Captain Wheeler furlough for the purpose of recruiting more men. The remaining men of Battery E were attached to Cowan’s Battery on August 8, 1862. With this unit the men served in the Maryland campaign and saw action at Antietam and Fredericksburg.

On June 20, 1863, the men of Battery E were transferred once again; this time to Battery L, First New York Light Artillery (Reynolds’ Battery.) The men saw action with this unit at Gettysburg, the Wilderness and Spotsylvania.

Captain Wheeler’s attempt to recruit enough men to restore Battery E had been in vain. The battery would never attain the strength it needed for a gun battery. Disappointed, Captain Wheeler resigned his commission in January of 1863.

Oddly, Battery E was reorganized in May of 1864 under Captain Henry W. Davis. Sadly, Davis, while trying to rally a line of infantry, was killed at the battle of North Anna River on May 23, 1864.

In June of 1864, Battery E, reorganized under the command of First Lieutenant James B. Hazelton, participated in its final campaign at Petersburg. It and now was in the Fifth Corps, Brigade of Artillery Reserve. The battery was assigned to the trenches and manned Coehorn mortars used during the 10-month siege. It was during this time that Lieutenant Angell Matthewson was promoted to captain and given command of the battery.

Change of command once again saw Lieutenant George H. Marsh leading the battery during its active participation in the assault of Petersburg. After the fall of Petersburg the battery accompanied Fifth Corps to Appomattox and witnessed the end of the war. One officer and four enlisted men were killed or mortally wounded and one officer and 12 enlisted men were lost to disease. The battery, once again under command of Captain Mattewson, returned to Elmira and was mustered out of service on June 6, 1865.

Although details of Wheeler’s Battery are sketchy, it is safe to say that the majority of the command had served honorably, during the war and after.

Relieved of his command, Captain Stocum returned to Bath and in the fall of 1862 he enlisted as commander of Company F, 161st NY Infantry; John F. Little and James Faucett were his lieutenants. In 1863, suffering from severe illness, Stocum returned home once again. Lincoln’s last call for troops in 1864 saw Stocum again in service, this time commanding Company A, 189th NY Infantry. On April 9, 1865, this regiment deployed as skirmishers and drove back into Appomattox the last rebel battery General Lee had sent out. Captain Stocum engaged in the furniture and undertaking business after the war and was contracted to bury veterans who died at the Soldiers’ Home. It was stated he buried more than 1,300 veterans of the war.

Major Rumsey, after recovering from his wounds at the Battle of Fair Oaks, returned to service as General W.W. Averell’s Adjutant General. Rumsey was described as a “dashing cavalry officer” and was promoted to the brevetted rank of lieutenant-colonel for conspicuous acts of gallantry during the campaign of 1864. He served on the State Supreme Court and was commander of Custer Post No.81, GAR. He died in 1903 and is buried on a private cemetery on Rumsey Estate.
Captain Wheeler served several years as principal of Haverling. After the war, he moved to New York City where he worked as a journalist. His wife Etta was instrumental in establishing the American Humane Association. Mr. Wheeler entered the Bath Soldiers' Home from Brooklyn on November 28, 1908. He died on July 2, 1912 of cerebral apoplexy at age 77. He is buried in Chamberlain Cemetery.

Robert Yott, author of From Soldiers’ Home to Medical Center” lives in Mitchellsville and is a carpenter by trade. He built his own cannon with limber and his unit represents Wheeler’s Battery at Civil War reenactment, parades and educational programs. A portion of his artifacts from the Civil War and Bath Soldiers’ Home collection will be on display beginning September 2012 at the New York State Museum in Albany as part of their exhibition commemorating the 150th anniversary of the Civil War.




ON page 428 we reproduce a sketch by Mr. Mead, representing a very remarkable accident which lately took place in the Army of the Potomac. Mr. Mead writes: "A very sad and singular accident occurred in Captain Wheeler's Battery, General Smith's Division, near Richmond, about two o'clock on the morning of the 3d of June. A heavy thunder-storm had been raging from the west for some time, and had apparently almost spent its force. The tents of time men consisted of paulins or gun-covers stretched on sticks and rails, and were placed on a line between the guns and caissons. The sentries perceived a dark cloud sweeping from the west at a very low elevation, and as it passed over the park a terrific discharge of the electric fluid took place. The whole battery seemed enveloped in a sheet of flame. All of the sentries but one, the corporal of the guard, and the horses were knocked down. The flame seemed to strike one of the guns, leaped from thence to the supports of the tent, passing downward, and stunning and burning or partially paralyzing a whole platoon of twenty men. One, Corporal James Bryant, of Bath, New York, gunner of the left piece, an intelligent and brave young man, was instantly killed; the others in that tent, although rendered senseless for a time being, with the exception of three or four, were able to do duty the next day. The electric fluid passed under the rubber blanket of one man, lifting him several inches from the ground. Some had legs and arms partially paralyzed. Providentially the ammunition chests were not touched. Captain Wheeler's battery belongs to the First New York Artillery, organized by the lamented Colonel G. D. Bailey, and was engaged at Dam No. 1 before Yorktown, where a shell from the enemy exploded one of the ammunition chests, at Lee's Mills, at Williamsburg with Hancock's brigade, and at Mechanicsville with General Davidson. The men are unanimous in the belief that lightning is harder to beat than the rebels. From Harper's Weekly, 5 July 1862…









Thursday, March 29, 2012

The Folk Artist & the Farmer-Maid

Copyright © 2012 by the author. All rights reserved.
She wasn’t famous then, and she’s not famous now, which can be said about many women’s lives even today. That’s the way it was at the dawn of the 19th century regarding Mary Ann Willson and her companion, Miss Brundage, whose first name has also disappeared into the mists of history along with the scant facts about her life. What is known about both women could fill a thimble: for example, that Willson and Brundage were probably born in England and migrated to Connecticut, as did many others, after the American Revolution. They lived at a time when women’s lives were even more “anonymous” than our own.





Both women were old enough to embark on the mass migration from Connecticut to the mountainous region of upstate New York following the War of the Revolution. It was an unsettled but also exciting time. People were poor and uncertain, but they were free. Free to move from one end of this vast, then untamed continent to another and to make what they would of their new Edenic lives; free to be who and what they wanted to be…at least for a little while. It was in this atmosphere that many a Connecticut Yankee, Willson and Brundage among them, made the difficult journey to sweet forest solitude and their new-found home.


If you live in Greene County, New York, chances are you’ve never heard of Mary Anne Willson unless you are interest in early American primitives. Art historians have long regarded Willson as one of the earliest, most original American folk painters discovered to date. Her discovery can be credited to the Harry Stone Gallery of New York, which in 1941 came across a portfolio of 20 primitive watercolors by Willsion and subsequently offered them for sale. Simple and direct, her folk drawings were painted with colors derived from berry juice, brick dust, vegetable dyes, and, occasionally, some “boughten” paint.


Who were Willson and Brundage?


Like pieces of an old treasure map, hints of their lives are hidden throughout Greene County’s history. The detective-reader may find the first clues in Lionel De Lisser’s Picturesque Catskills, written in 1893 while the author was exploding the now comfortably settled Catskills. Rambling through Greenville, De Lisser probably learned of Willson’s story from Theodore Prevost, grandson of Augustine Prevost, original patentee of the western-most part of what is now the Town of Greenville. Or the author may have heard from Theodore Cole of the primitive painter who, together with her faithful farmer-maid companion, had struck out on her own to live a life of uncompromised originality. [Theodore was artist Thomas Cole’s son and owner of the two Willson watercolors used by De Lisser in his book.]


De Lisser tells the story as he first heard it:


About two miles below Greenville, on the road to Freehold, there lived, early in the present century [19th] two old maids. They owned a little log hut there, and a small piece of property surrounding it, in common. They were supposed to be sisters, but in fact they were not related by the ties of blood in any way. They had both of them in their younger days, experienced a roman that had drawn the two close to each other in womanly sympathy. Together they had come from the old country to Connecticut and from there to this place seeking peace and forgetfulness in the wilderness. They never told their story, or anything in fact, relating to themselves that could serve as a clue to their identity or past life. They spent their time in the necessary work about the log-house and garden that was filled with wild flowers and terns, and in painting watercolor pictures which they sold among the neighboring settlers, for small sums, the highest price being asked was twenty-five cents. These paintings, two of which we reproduce, are unique in the extreme, showing a great originality in conception, drawing and color, as well as in the medium employed for their production. The subjects were generally selected from the Bible or profane history, in which they seem to have been well versed.


De Lisser was wrong about their way of life. Not unlike the Laides of Langolyn, Willson and Brundage were more than just friends: they were life companions who had a “romantic attachment” for each other and who made no excuses for their way of life. Miss Brundage farmed their few wilderness acres as best she could, often with the help of neighbors and friends, while her beloved Mary Ann made pictures which he sold to these same neighbors as ‘rare and unique works of art.” All we know of the life story of these two brave and bold women is contained in the following letter from an “Admirer of Art,” written ca. 1850, fifty years after the letter writer’s acquaintance with them. More than a century-and-a-half later, this secret “admirer” remains a secret although he is believed by art historian Jean Lippman to be either Augustine Prevost of Greenville or Theodore Cole. It is possible that the ardent “admirer” of Willson’s art may be Augustine Prevost; it is not possible, however, that is was Theodore Cole, who was born in 1838, more than a decade after Willson is believed to have left Greene County for “parts unknown.”


The letter read:


The artist, Miss Willson and her friend, Miss Brundage, came from one of the eastern States and made their home in the town of Greenville, Greene County, New York. They bought a few acres and built, or found their house, made of logs, on the land. Where they resided many years. One was the farmer (Miss Brundage) and cultivated the land by the aid of neighbors, occasionally doing some ploughing for them. This one planted, gathered in, and reaped, while the other (Mary Ann Willson) made pictures which she sold to the farmers and others as rare and unique ‘works of art.’ Their paints, or colours, were of the simplest kind, berries, bricks, and occasional “store paint’ made up their wants for these elegant designs.

These two maids left their home in the East with a romantic attachment for each other and which continued until the death of the ‘farmer maid.’ The artist was inconsolable, and after a brief time, removed to parts unknown.

The writer of this often visited them, and takes great pleasure in testifying to their great simplicity and originality of characters-their unqualified belief that these ‘picters’ were very beautiful…(they certainly were), boasting how greatly they were in demand. “Why! They go way to Canada and clear to Mobile!”

The reader of this will bear in mind that nearly fifty years have passed since these rare exhibits were produced…and now, asking no favors for my friends, (as friends they were), let all imperfections be buried in their graves and sheld these and them from other than kindly criticism.


Who was Augustine Prevost and how likely is it that he is the one who played Boswell to Willson’s Johnson?


Prevost was a professional solider and an early settler of the wilderness territory west of the Hudson. The first wave of emigration from Connecticut to what is today known as the Town of Greenville brought with it a rugged group of frontiersmen and their families. They were tough men who cleared the land, erected primitive log houses, and who tried to eke out a meager living from the stubborn clay soil. Major Prevost, whose land they’d settled on, was a British officer, much hated by the settlers of his own ill-gotten acreage, which had been bestowed on him as part of the Royal patents. Although his Tory stigma plagued him throughout his life, Prevost settled down in 1897 to marry Anna Bogardus, his second wife, the daughter of a Catskill merchant, and to develop his Greenville lands.


Willson and Brundage are believed to have settled in Greenville around 1800. It’s probable that they were acquainted with Augustine Prevost through business, as he had developed a local sawmill, gristmill, and tanning bark mill in the area by that time. Here the “facts” of Willson’s life end, and anything we might know about her must be learned through her art.


It is known that from 1800 to 1824 Willson produced approximately 20 watercolors, many of which are now part of the M. & M. Karolik Collection of American Water Colors & Drawings 1800-1875 at the Boston Museum of Fine Arts. A few others are in the National Gallery of Art, Washington, DC. Marimaid, a 13”x15 ½” watercolor, is owned by the New York State Historical Association in Cooperstown, NY; another watercolor, Pelican, is owned by the Rhode Island School of Design. These works are now believed to be among the earliest primitives of their kind to have been produced in America. Willson’s main theme is “Prodigal” as evidenced by their titles, e.g. The Leaving Taking and Prodigal Son Reclaimed.


Like her paintings, Willson was bold, original and powerful. Her artistic style was totally “naïve” [intuitive]. In her era, the only way a woman could “learn” to be an artist was to receive instruction from a male relative. Willson, like other women artists, was forbidden to attend the all-male art schools or to strike out on her own; nevertheless, she chose the latter. She captured her distorted images, an unintentional foreshadowing of Fauvist and Cubist art, on bits of paper with her crude paints made from materials close at hand.


Marimaid is one of Willson’s most interesting artworks. Like Willson and Brundage, the mermaid is an outsider-neither woman nor fish, she is almost always made to feel as if she were “other.” The opposite side of this axiom is that because she is branded as “other,” she is sometimes endowed with special powers, powers that she herself is somewhat at a loss to comprehend. According to Bronson Alcott, teacher and transcendentalist father of writer Louisa May Alcott, Woman is an allegory; a myth sleeping in a myth; a sheathed goddess and a blazonry; a Sphinx’s riddle devouring and devoured; an ambush and retirement’ a nimbleness, a curiosity, a veil behind a veil, and a peeping forth from behind veils; a crypt of coyness, a goal of surprises, and a ambuscade. I wonder if this is how Willson felt as the created one colorful “picter” after another?


Was Willson, like many artists before and after her, trying to tell us something about her life though the imagery of her art, and yet to tell it “slant” so as to avoid “condemnation,” much like another of her 19th century artistic sisters, the poet Emily Dickinson? Like Dickinson, did Willson feel as if she were an outsider in 18th-and-19th century America? Had she, like her Prodigal, been banished from her English home (assuming she was born in England) and did the young folk artist yet dream, then, of a possible homecoming through the medium of her art?


In 1969, Willson’s life was the subject of the novel Patience and Sarah written by Alma Rautsong under the pseudonym Isabel Miller. In it, Willson’s life in Greene County ends happily. The real story ended a little less happily when, ca. 1824, Miss Brundage died, leaving Willson bereft and without anchor. That year, Willson left Greenville for parts unknown and was not heard of since.


Author’s note: My own research leads me to believe that the ardent “admirer” of Willson’s art may have been Sarah Cole, sister of artist Thomas Cole. Born in England in 1805, Sarah eventually lived and died in Catskill, New York in 1857. She was also an artist, who frequently accompanied her famous brother on sketching trips. A comparison of Sarah’s handwriting with that of the “admirer” shows many similarities. Sarah Cole and Mary Ann Willson were nearly neighbors, within a half-hour carriage ride from one another. Also, the Bartows, Thomas Cole’s in-laws, and the Bogarduses had family both in Catskill and Greenville during Willson’s lifetime.


Carolyn Bennett is the Director/Curator of the Zadock Pratt Museum and Prattsville Town Historian.


The Susan B. Anthony Window In The Home Of Matilda Joslyn Gage

Copyright © 2012 Sally Roesch Wagner, Ph.D. All rights reserved.
please visit The Matilda Joslyn Gage Foundation

For seventeen years I visited, learned from and organized the papers of Matilda Jewell Gage, the granddaughter and namesake of Matilda Joslyn Gage, whose home at 520 South Kline Street in my hometown of Aberdeen, South Dakota contained a treasure trove of her grandmother’s history. Matilda Jewell Gage’s father, Thomas Clarkson (named for the famous English abolitionist) was the elder Matilda’s only son and her confidante. An only child, Matilda Jewell inherited her grandmother’s furniture, paintings, photographs, scrapbooks, manuscripts – published and unpublished, family documents and the wealth of letters her grandmother wrote to her father over the years – all of which he kept. When Matilda’s cousin Leslie, an only child who never married, passed on, Matilda received all of Leslie’s papers and family items as well. Beyond the family memorabilia, Matilda Jewell Gage inherited a deep and pressing family responsibility, to save these pieces of history that proved her grandmother’s historic importance, and her unjust removal from the memory of the woman’s rights movement.



Signature in the library window 
of the Matilda Joslyn Gage Home.
Although she received no formal training in historiography during her Northwestern University years, Matilda intuitively gravitated toward the highest standards of social science integrity. Michael Patrick Hearn, the biographer of L. Frank Baum who also visited Matilda over the years and I often marveled that she was what would be described as a perfect informant – one whose integrity of reporting is so high that you don’t require the needed minimum of three verifications of a fact. Matilda Jewell always refused to answer a question unless she was certain of the answer. Having not caught her in a factual error in the 17 years we worked together, I came to trust her implicitly, as did Michael.

When I received a research grant in 1976 from the University of California, Santa Cruz, where I was working on my doctoral dissertation on Gage, to visit research libraries around the country that housed suffrage collections, the Onondaga Historical Society in Syracuse was on my agenda. “Be sure to visit the Gage Home and see the Susan B. Anthony window,” Matilda instructed me.

Author Sally Roesch Wagner and Matilda 
Jewell Gage on steps of Matilda Gage's 
Aberdeen, South Dakota home. Circa
1975. Photo from personal collection of
author. 
Matilda mentioned the window several times, including in this portion of one of my many taped interviews with her, when she said:

Susan B. Anthony, Elizabeth Cady Stanton and Matilda Joslyn Gage were working on the History of Woman Suffrage, they often came to the Gage home to work on this immense project.


As my father has mentioned, Grandmother’s library was on the second floor. Probably here some of the writing and organizing of the material to be put in the first two volumes of the History was accomplished.


The windows in this room faced west and the setting sun surveyed from here probably prompted Grandmother to name the home Sunset View. Perhaps Susan B. Anthony was contemplating this scene when she used her diamond ring to scratch her name on the upper pane of one of the windows. I have seen this signature at various times when I have been privileged to make a tour of the Gage home.

In that time of autograph hounds, getting the signature of an historic personage was a highly-coveted prize.  Famous people sometimes even scratched their names in window glass. The Edmond Wilson home in Talcottville is one example of the window-scratchings of historically significant people, preserved for posterity at the request of the home owner.

Matilda Jewell Gage, granddaughter 
and namesake of suffragist Matilda 
Joslyn Gage.  Circa 1970. Photo from 
personal collection of author.
When Matilda Joslyn Gage died in 1898, all of her children had moved West to Dakota; her youngest daughter Maud with her husband L. Frank Baum (who would author the Wonderful Wizard of Oz two years later) had moved on to  Chicago, where Matilda died. The family rented the Gage Home briefly, then sold it, sending all the contents to be divided among the children. The succession of owners carried on the tradition of the Susan B. Anthony window. When Michael Patrick Hearn visited the Gage Home in the 1960’s, the owner invited him to view the Susan B. Anthony window. Various newspaper stories about the Gage Home over the years refer to the Anthony window.

Matilda Joslyn Gage’s grandson, Frank Joslyn, who lived in the house during the summer of 1887 when he was a child, wrote in To Please a Child, the biography of his father he co-authored with Russell P. McFall, which was published by Reilly and Lee in 1961:

Miss Anthony was such a frequent visitor that one of the bedrooms was reserved for her use. In the course of her visit, she scratched her signature, with a diamond ring, in one window of the room. This is still preserved. (p. 45).

Frank Joslyn visited Fayetteville and Syracuse and brought some family items to be preserved at the Onondaga Historical Society. This is presumably when he visited the Gage Home and saw the Susan B. Anthony window still intact.

Three granddaughters of Matilda Joslyn 
Gage: (from left:) Magdalena Carpenter; 
Leslie Gage and Matilda Jewell Gage. Photo 
from Matilda Joslyn Gage Foundation. 
I dutifully visited the home during my research trip in the summer of 1976 (on my desk in the Gage Center today I have a photo of a young graduate student standing on the steps taken by Fayetteville/Manlius historian Barbara Rivette) and viewed the window. Etching your name in glass certainly cannot be an easy process, Barbara tried it, she said, and it’s very difficult to tell what you’ve written.  Nevertheless, I recognized Anthony’s distinctive “S” and “A” from the dozens of her letters that I had studied and transcribed in the course of writing my dissertation.

Confusing to me was a word that looked something like “Quincy” in the middle of the name. For years I have investigated whether Anthony may have had a pet name or nickname, known only to her intimates like Gage, but I have found nothing. This does not mean she didn’t have one; it simply means it’s unlikely, if there is no record of it. Brownell was her middle name, which she did not use in her signature or autographs. I have never figured it out.  Others have speculated over the years that it might be the signature of S. Quincy Wilkinson, who might have been related to Samuel J. May, or S. Quincy Williams, who worked in a tavern in Syracuse at one point. Certainly there were a number of folks with “Quincy” in their name living in the region during the 1854-1898 period that Gage lived in the home.  How likely is it that any of them would have been upstairs in the intimacy of her library and been asked to scratch their name in the window, starting a rumor that someone who we know spent time in the home, and worked with Matilda in the library, came to be credited with the window scratching?

Do we know absolutely that it is the signature of Susan B. Anthony? No. It is a theory, like gravity and evolution. The preponderance of evidence points toward it, but we cannot definitively prove it. We have the word of Gage’s son, passed down to his daughter and on to the biographers of Baum and Gage. Matilda Jewell Gage never questioned the Anthony window story of her father, who grew up in the house and never exhibited a penchant for fabricating truth any more than did his daughter.  We have the writing of Gage’s grandson, who lived in the home as a child and knew to look for the Susan B. Anthony window when he visited the house as an adult. And we have the circumstantial evidence, which is:

1. The first and most obvious criteria in determining the signature is establishing that the person was actually in the Gage Home.  Anthony was in the Gage Home – not once but repeatedly, as evidenced in her diary and the correspondence of both Anthony and Gage. Matilda Jewell Gage was correct; both Anthony and Stanton stayed in the Gage Home at various times during the time (1876-1886) that the three of them were working on the first three volumes of the History of Woman Suffrage. Anthony, a single woman, visited more often than Stanton as she traveled between the homes of the two married mothers who had family responsibilities, to work with Gage and Stanton on their co-edited History.

2. There is no documented evidence that either S. Quincy Wilkinson or S. Quincy Williams or any other Quincies were ever in the Gage Home. There is an abundance of evidence of other people visiting the home: friends, family, neighbors in the over 500 family letters and notes I’ve transcribed. If someone was a frequent visitor to the home, it is highly likely that there would be documented evidence of it.

3. We need to place the person in the library. The library was Gage’s personal domain. In a family with four children this writer, my research indicates, kept her library as a sanctuary where she could concentrate on her work. One day, for example, Thomas Clarkson stood at the door of the library, hesitating to disturb his mother as she was working, Matilda Jewell Gage told me. He had come to receive a punishment or reprimand for something he had done. Busy at work, she sent him away. Her solitude to write was more important than reminding her son of his wrong-doing. Further, the library was on the second floor of the home, where the bedrooms were. Gage would not have entertained guests in the library; that would have been done in the front parlor.  Work with acquaintances would have been done in the back parlor. The library was intimate space and presence there would have been limited only to intimates with whom she was working, like Stanton and Anthony. The only documented evidence that we have of a person actually being in the library working with Gage is Susan B. Anthony.

4. The person would almost certainly have been a woman. For a woman to entertain a gentleman in the upper chambers, the intimate, private space of the house, even someone with whom she was close and familiar and had business to conduct, like her attorney Nathan Chapman, would have crossed a social boundary so deep and unconscious, that even a political iconoclast like Gage, would not have been likely to cross it.

5. She would have needed to have been involved in some joint project or work with this intimate female friend, some reason for the person to be in the library.

6. There would need to be a motive for asking the person to place their name as a permanent document in the window. If this person did not have historic importance, it is unlikely that Gage would have asked them to etch their name permanently in her private, intimate space. If visitors to the home were generally invited to scratch their names, there would be windows full of names, which there aren’t. This was a one-time, unique occurrence. For a purposeful woman like Gage, there would have had to be a reason for it.

Using these standards, the preponderance of evidence points to the accuracy of the family story of the Susan B. Anthony window.

Earlier this year I unsuccessfully requested that History Detectives investigate the window and establish its authenticity. Someday, perhaps, we could bring in a handwriting analyst to give us an opinion. Until then, the historic Matilda Joslyn Gage Home in Fayetteville, New York, boasts the only window in existence where Susan B. Anthony scratched her name. The Gage Home, owned and restored by the Matilda Joslyn Gage Foundation, is now a museum and center for dialogue on the work toward which Gage dedicated her life:  social justice for women, African and Native Americans and all. Gage’s library, where Anthony scratched her name, is being created as the Matilda Joslyn Gage research library.


Sally Roesch Wagner is the Executive Director of the Matilda Joslyn Gage Foundation (www.matildajoslyngage.org) and Adjunct Faculty in the Honors Program at Syracuse University.  One of the first women to receive a doctorate for work in women’s studies, she is a founder of the third program established in the country.

excerpts from Plank Road Explorer by Henry Marvin, 1873 Webbs Mills, New York

plank road explorer
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Copyright © 2012 New York History Review. All rights reserved.


November, Saturday 1, 1873
I went to town with Father. I went to Ed’s and to Lyme’s. I got me a new suit of close [clothes].


November, Sunday 2, 1873
I went a-hunting in the forenoon and in the afternoon I went up to George’s with Lyme. I come down as far as the Tanner’s and then I went back to [the] meeting up to the schoolhouse.


November, Monday 3, 1873
I stayed at home all day and husked oats. Father went to town. At nite I went to the store.





November, Tuesday 4, 1873
I stayed at home all day and drawed pumpkins and at nite I went up to John’s and took him home. Father went to Election.


November, Wednesday 5, 1873
I stayed at home all day and picked stone. Father went to town. I went to the Burg at nite.


November, Thursday 6, 1873
I stayed at home all day and drawed manure. Father went down to Aunt Julia’s.


November, Friday 7, 1873
I stayed at home all day and drawed manure and plowed and picked stone. Father went up to Wells’ to work on the dam.


November, Saturday 8, 1873
I stayed at home all day and drawed stone and at nite I went to the store. I went to the store. Father worked on the dam.


November, Sunday 9, 1873
I stayed at home all day. Ed was here.


November, Monday 10, 1873
I stayed at home all day and drawed manure and corn stalks. Petey was here to work.


November, Tuesday 11, 1873
I stayed at home all day and drawed manure and corn stalks. At nite I went to John’s to work.


November, Wednesday 12, 1873
I stayed here all day and cut logs. Mr. Robbins helped me.


November, Thursday 13, 1873
I stayed here and sawed logs. Mr. Robbins helped me.


November, Friday 14, 1873
I stayed here and sawed logs all day. John helped me.


November, Saturday 15, 1873
I worked half a day and in the afternoon I went home and got the gun. John went to Waverly.


November, Sunday 16, 1873
I went a-hunting. I killed nothing.


November, Monday 17, 1873
I stayed here and made a r--d and drawed out wood.


November, Tuesday 18, 1873
I stayed here all day and cut wood and husked corn in the forenoon and in the afternoon I went a-hunting. John come to nite.


November, Wednesday 19, 1873
I come home to day and this afternoon I cut logs and wood.


November, Thursday 20, 1873
I stayed at home all day and cut logs and wood.


November, Friday 21, 1873
I stayed at home all day and cut wood and logs.


November, Saturday 22, 1873
I stayed at home all day and cut wood and at nite I went to the store and and up to Elake’s. Ed come up home and stayed all nite. His wife has gone up home. Susie and Jim went with her.


November, Sunday 23, 1873
I stayed at home all day. I went a-hunting a little while at nite. I went down home with Ed.


November, Monday 24, 1873
School commenced today. Our teacher’s name is Pild. I went to the store at nite and Ed come home with me. He stayed all nite.


November, Tuesday 25, 1873
I went to school. Ed worked here today. Father went to town.


November, Wednesday 26, 1873
I went to school. Peter drawed logs.


November, Thursday 27, 1873
I stayed at home all day and cut logs.


November, Friday 28, 1873
I went to school. At nite I went to the Burg. Later went up to John’s.


November, Saturday 29, 1873
I stayed at home all day and cut logs in the forenoon. I went a-hunting. I killed a partridge. Jessie & Bill Criss come here and helped kill a bull.


November, Sunday 30, 1873
I went a-hunting with Peter and Father. Father killed a partridge.


December, Monday 1, 1873
I went to school. It snowed all day.


December, Tuesday 2, 1873
I went to school. I took a load of wood to Aunt Julia’s. Lyme was here and stayed all nite.


December, Wednesday 3, 1873
I went to school. Lyme was here and worked a half day. I went a-hunting a little while at nite.


December, Thursday 4, 1873
I went to school. Peter drawed wood and stone.


December, Friday 5, 1873
I went to school. Lyme was here got a load of stone. I went to the Burg at nite.


December, Saturday 6, 1873
I stayed at home all day and cut wood. Father and Mother went to town. I went to the Burg at nite.


December, Sunday 7, 1873
I went a-hunting a little while. We got a rabbit. Tim was here. I went a-skating a little while.


December, Monday 8, 1873
I went to school. Father went to town.


December, Tuesday 9, 1873
I went to school. Father went to town.


December, Wednesday 10, 1873
I went to school and at nite I went up to the schoolhouse to a spelling school. Lyme and Charlie Pierce was here and stayed all nite.


December, Thursday 11, 1873
I went to school. Lyme and Charlie worked here all day.


December, Friday 12, 1873
I went to school all day and at nite I went to the Burg. Father went to town. Peter quit work here today.


December, Saturday 13, 1873
I drawed lumber all day. I drawed three loads home from the mill and two up to U.B Dann.


December, Sunday 14, 1873
I stayed at home all day and at nite I went to Ed’s and stayed a little while.


December, Monday 15, 1873
I went to school all day. The teacher offered a present to the [student] who would have the most credits.


December, Tuesday 16, 1873
I went to school all day and then at nite I went up to spelling school.


December, Wednesday 17, 1873
I went to school all day. Miss Hill and Miss Huntley was here today.


December, Thursday 18, 1873
I went to school all day.


December, Friday 19, 1873
I went to school all day.


December, Saturday 20, 1873
In the forenoon I drawed wood and in the afternoon I cut wood. Father went to town. He took Covel’s horse home.


December, Sunday 21, 1873
I went a-hunting. I got a rabbit. In the afternoon I went to the store ------- a fine time alone.


December, Monday 22, 1873
I went to school all day.


December, Tuesday 23, 1873
I went to school all day and at nite I went up to the schoolhouse to spelling school. Lafe Bailey come here to work to nite.


December, Wednesday 24, 1873
I went to school all day and at nite I went to the Burg.


December, Thursday 25, 1873
In the forenoon I went a-hunting and in the afternoon I cut logs. John and Lib and Sam & Early & Aunt Julia & Libbie was here. At nite I went up to John’s to a dance.


December, Friday 26, 1873
I went to school all day. Lafe drawed out headin for M.B. Dann or [U.B.?]


December, Saturday 27, 1873
I and Lafe went over to John’s --- and took Frank Hall’s cow[?] home. We went a-horse back.


December, Sunday 28, 1873
I stayed at home all day and at nite Lafe and I went a-riding. Lyme and Jane was here and stayed all nite.


December, Monday 29, 1873
I went to school all day. Lafe drawed logs. Father went to town. Lyme and Charley was here and stayed all nite. I went to the store at nite.


December, Tuesday 30, 1873
I went to school all day. I went up to Criss’s and got a big kettle for to kill hogs. I went down to Dave’s and helped kill turkeys.


December, Wednesday 31, 1873
I stayed at home all day and killed hogs. Lyme and Charley and Bill Teneyck helped us. I went to the store at nite.


Available as a paperback book
Publisher: New York History Review Press