Pioneer Work in Opening the Medical Profession to Women

by Elizabeth Blackwell

I dislike slavery more and more every day; I suppose I see it here in its mildest form, and since my residence here I have heard of no use being made of the whipping-post, nor any instance of downright cruelty. (It was really meant as an act of hospitality when they placed a little negro girl as a screen between me and the fire the other day!) But to live in the midst of beings degraded to the utmost in body and mind, drudging on from earliest morning to latest night, cuffed about by everyone, scolded at all day long, blamed unjustly, and without spirit enough to reply, with no consideration in any way for their feelings, with no hope for the future, smelling horribly, and as ugly as Satan—to live in their midst, utterly unable to help them, is to me dreadful, and what I would not do long for any consideration. Meanwhile I treat them civilly, and dispense with their services as much as possible, for which I believe the poor creatures despise me. The mistresses pique themselves on the advantageous situation of their blacks; they positively think them very well off, and triumphantly compare their position with that of the poor in England and other countries. I endeavour, in reply, to slide in a little truth through the small apertures of their minds, for were I to come out broadly with my simple, honest opinion I should shut them up tight, arm all their prejudices, and do ten times more harm than good. I do long to get hold of someone to whom I can talk frankly; this constant smiling and bowing and wearing a mask provokes me intolerably; it sends me internally to the other extreme, and I shall soon, I think, rush into the woods, vilify Henderson, curse the Whigs, and rail at the Orthodox, whose bells have been going in a fruitless effort at revivals ever since I have been here. Not, mind, mother, that I really have such diabolical feelings against the poor Orthodox in general and particular, but I have an intense longing to scream, and everyone here speaks in a whisper.

My school, I think I have told you, is limited to twenty-one; it has been full for some time, and many have been refused. The girls are a good, pleasant set, much more gentle than in Cincinnati, and all with faces that seem familiar to me; in fact, I have hardly seen a face in Henderson that does not torment me with a likeness to some former acquaintance. My school hours for the present are from nine to three. At half-past twelve I ring my bell, when there is a general rush and devouring. I uncover the tin knife-box devoted to me, and find regularly inside a saucer with three or four little slices of ham, a roll, a piece of corn bread, a cup of cream, and a raw egg; the latter I throw into the hot ashes, and when it has split with a loud report I take it out, and, peeling off the coating of burnt egg and ashes, am generally happy enough to find a little clean piece in the middle, which I swallow, and burn my throat. Then I put on my hood and gloves, and walk up and down under a tree in front of the schoolhouse, eating the remainder, and endeavouring not to think of you all, as I find it does not assist the digestion.

I used to look sentimentally to one corner of the heavens and fancy I saw you all, when one evening, to my amazement, I beheld the sun set in that corner, so I had to turn right round and look in the opposite direction, anathematising the river for being so stupid as to wind, and convert the sublime imaginings of a forlorn damsel into a ridiculous blunder.

I have at present four music scholars, and one out-of-school French, but two go for boarding. I teach ten hours, three days of the week, and wish the other three were similarly filled; but it is small remuneration for such an outlay of breath, and as soon as I have the opportunity I shall fly off to some other point of the compass, where at any rate I may learn myself while teaching others. Carlyle’s name has never even been distantly echoed here, Emerson is a perfect stranger, and Channing, I presume, would produce a universal fainting-fit.

Henderson.

I was delighted to receive my box last Sunday, the 12th; the things do admirably, the dresses I like exceedingly, they are both very pretty.

The people here begin to interest me more than they did at first; all continue very kind, and I think well satisfied. When I came here, I did not care one straw what was thought of my personal appearance, I dressed entirely from a principle of self-respect; now I sometimes dress for others, and feel a slight satisfaction if the glass tells me I shall not scare people. Is not this a good sign?... Do not imagine I am going to make myself a whole just at present; the fact is I cannot find my other half here, but only about a sixth, which would not do. There are two rather eligible young males here, whose mothers have for some time been electioneering for wives; one tall, the other short, with very pretty names, of good family, and with tolerable fortune, but unfortunately one seems to me a dolt, the other, well, not wise, so I keep them at a respectful distance, which you know I am quite capable of doing.

There is a spot called Lovers’ Grove, about three-quarters of a mile from the town, a sweet place on the river bank, encircled by trees, with a hill behind, and a delightful walk by the river-side connecting it with the ‘city.’ This used to be my Sunday afternoon stroll, but unfortunately it is the favourite resort of the beaux and belles of Henderson, who, during the summer, after afternoon church, regularly promenade thither, in groups of four or five, and meet accidentally on purpose. Here they stroll about, recline on the grass, watch the steamboats, flirt a very little (it being Sunday), and carve one another’s names, and sentimental verses, on the unfortunate locust trees. I had many offers of an escort thither and as many beaux as I might desire. I went once or twice, but at last got dreadfully tired of it, so while my party was busily engaged round a tree, I started off on a good brisk walk home, where, some time after, the others arrived, in some consternation to know how or why I had so suddenly vanished. I laughed at them and their sentimental doings, and they have not invited me since.

I had a very pleasant drive yesterday to make a bridal call on the Presbyterian minister, who has been quite polite. The country reminded me in some parts of our charming Staten Island drives, though the scenery here will not, of course, compare with that little gem.

The people of Henderson were all very friendly to me personally, and my relations always pleasant with them; but the injustice of the state of society made a gradually deepening impression on my mind. The inhabitants lived in constant fear of an outbreak among the slaves. Women did not dare to walk in the pleasant woods and country around the village, for terror of runaway slaves. Painful social contrasts constantly forced themselves on my notice. I well remember sitting with my hostess, who was reclining in her rocking-chair, on the broad, shaded verandah, one pleasant Sunday morning, listening to the distant church bells and the rustling of the locust trees, when the eldest daughter, a tall, graceful girl, dressed for Sunday, in fresh and floating summer drapery, came into the verandah on her way to church. Just at that moment a shabby, forlorn-looking negro in dirty rags approached the verandah; he was one of the slaves working in the tobacco plantation. His errand was to beg the mistress to let him have a clean shirt on that Sunday morning. The contrast of the two figures, the young lady and the slave, and the sharp reprimand with which his mistress from her rocking-chair drove the slave away, left a profound impression on my mind. Kind as the people were to me personally, the sense of justice was continually outraged; and at the end of the first term of engagement I resigned the situation.