As I Remember / Recollections of American Society during the Nineteenth Century

by Marian Gouverneur

The Rev. Dr. Orville Dewey, renowned for his intellectual attainments, preached in the Unitarian church in Mercer Street. In subsequent years his sermons were published and I understand are still read with much interest and pleasure. Archbishop John Hughes, whom I knew quite well, was the controlling power in the Roman Catholic Church. He possessed the affectionate regard of the whole community, and naturally commanded a wide influence. A Roman Catholic told me many years ago that, upon one of the visits of the Archbishop to St. Peter's church, he took the congregation to task for their exclusiveness, exclaiming: "You lock up your pews and exclude the marrow of the land."

I knew very well the Rev. Charles Constantine Pise, the first native-born Catholic to officiate in St. Joseph's church on Sixth Avenue. He was of Italian parentage and was remarkable for his great physical attractiveness. In addition to his fine appearance, he was exceedingly social in his tastes and was consequently a highly agreeable guest. He cultivated the muses to a modest degree, and I have several of his poetical effusions, one of which was addressed to me. In spite of the admiration he commanded from both men and women, irrespective of creed, life seemed to present to him but few allurements. Archbishop Hughes sent him to a small Long Island parish where, after laboring long and earnestly, he closed his earthly career. An anecdote is related of this pious man which I believe to be true. A young woman quite forgetful of the proprieties and conventionalties of life, but with decided matrimonial proclivities, made Father Pise an offer of her fortune, heart and hand. In a dignified manner he advised her to give her heart to God, her money to the poor, and her hand to the man who asked for it. Prior to his rectorship of St. Joseph's church in New York, Father Pise, who was an intimate friend of Henry Clay, served as Chaplain of the U.S. Senate during a portion of the 22d Congress. At the National Capital as well as in New York he was exceptionally popular, making many converts, especially among young women, and preaching to congregations in churches so densely crowded that it was difficult to obtain even standing room.

I cannot pass the Roman Catholic clergy without some reference to the Rev. Felix Varela, a priest of Spanish descent and, it is said, of noble birth, who was sent from Cuba to Spain as one of the deputies to the Cortes from his native island. His church was St. Peter's in Barclay Street. It would be difficult for any words to do justice to his life of self-abnegation or to his adherence to the precepts of his Divine Master. It is with pleasure, therefore, that I relate the following story, for the truth of which I can vouch. A policeman found a handsome pair of silver candlesticks in the custody of a poor unfortunate man, and as they bore upon them a distinctive coat of arms he arrested him. On his way to prison the suspected criminal begged to see Father Varela for a moment, and as his residence was en route to the station house the officer granted his request. This good priest informed the policeman with much reluctance that the candlesticks had formerly belonged to him, and that he had given them to his prisoner to buy bread for his family. My father was so deeply in sympathy with the life and character of this priest that, although of a different faith, he seldom heard his name mentioned without an expression of admiration for his life and character.

There was a French Protestant church in Franklin Street ministered to by the Rev. Dr. Antoine Verren, whose wife was a daughter of Thomas Hammersley. I also remember very well a Presbyterian church on Laight Street, opposite St. John's Park, the rector of which was the Rev. Dr. Samuel H. Cox, an uncle of the late Bishop Arthur Cleveland Cox of the Episcopal Church. Dr. Cox was a prominent abolitionist, and when we were living on Hubert Street, just around the corner, this church was stoned by a mob because the rector had expressed his anti-slavery views too freely.

The mode of conducting funerals in former days in New York differed very materially from the customs now in vogue. While the coffins of the well-to-do were made entirely of mahogany and without handles, I have always understood that persons of the Hebrew faith buried their dead in pine coffins, as they believed this wood to be more durable. Pall-bearers wore white linen scarfs three yards long with a rosette of the same material fastened on one shoulder, which, together with a pair of black gloves, was always presented by the family. It was originally the intention that the linen scarf should be used after the funeral for making a shirt. Funerals from churches were not as customary as at the present time. If the body was to be interred within the city limits every one attending the services, including the family, walked to the cemetery. It was unusual for a woman to be seen at a funeral.

But the whole social tone of New York society was more de rigueur than now. Sometimes, for example, persons living under a cloud of insufficient magnitude to place them behind prison bars, feeling their disgrace, took flight for Texas. Instead of placing the conventional P.P.C. on their cards the letters G.T.T. were used, meaning that the self-expatriated ne'er-do-well had "gone to Texas." I have always understood that in Great Britain the transgressor sought the Continent, where he was often enabled to pass into oblivion. In this manner both countries were relieved of patriots who "left their country for their country's good." As an example, I remember hearing in my early life of an Englishman named de Roos, who had the unfortunate habit of arranging cards to suit his own fancy. When his confrères finally caught him in the act he left hurriedly for the Continent.

In 1842 the U.S. sloop of war Somers arrived in New York, and the country was startled by the accounts of what has since been known as the "Somers Mutiny." The Captain of the ship was Commander Alexander Slidell Mackenzie, whose original surname was Slidell. He was a brother of the Hon. John Slidell, at one time U.S. Senator from Louisiana, who, during the Civil War, while on his passage to England on the Trent as a representative of the Southern Confederacy in England, was captured by Captain Charles Wilkes of the U.S. Navy. The result of the alleged mutiny was the execution, by hanging at the yard arm, of Philip Spencer, a son of the celebrated New York lawyer, John C. Spencer, President Tyler's Secretary of War, and of two sailors, Samuel Cromwell and Elisha Small. It was charged that they had conspired to capture the ship and set adrift or murder her officers. Being far from any home port, and uncertain of the extent to which the spirit of disaffection had permeated the crew, Mackenzie consulted the officers of his ship as to the proper course for him to pursue. In accordance with their advice, and after only a preliminary examination of witnesses and no formal trial with testimony for the defense, they were, as just stated, summarily executed.

I speak from the point of view of the legal element of New York, as my father's associates were nearly all professional men. The world was aghast upon receiving the news that three men had been hurled into eternity without judge or jury. Spencer was a lad of less than nineteen and a midshipman. Although Captain Mackenzie's action was sustained by the court of inquiry, which was convened in his case, as well as by the esprit de corps of the Navy, public feeling ran so high that a court martial was ordered. His trial of two months' duration took place at the Brooklyn Navy Yard, and resulted in a verdict of "not proven." The judge-advocate of the court was Mr. William H. Norris of Baltimore, and Mackenzie was defended by Mr. George Griffith and Mr. John Duer, the latter of whom was the distinguished New York jurist and the uncle of Captain Mackenzie's wife. At the request of the Hon. John C. Spencer, Benjamin F. Butler and Charles O'Conor, leaders of the New York bar, formally applied for permission to ask questions approved by the court and to offer testimony, but the request was refused—"so that," as Thomas H. Benton expressed it, "at the long post mortem trial which was given to the boy after his death, the father was not allowed to ask one question in favor of his son." After a lapse of sixty-nine years, judging from Mackenzie's report to the Navy Department, it almost seems as if he possessed a touch of mediæval superstition. He speaks of Spencer giving money and tobacco to the crew, of his being extremely intimate with them, that he had a strange flashing of the eye, and finally that he was in the habit of amusing the sailors by making music with his jaws. Mackenzie in his official report stated that this lad "had the faculty of throwing his jaw out of joint and by contact of the bones playing with accuracy and elegance a variety of airs." James Fenimore Cooper stated it as his opinion, "that such was the obliquity of intellect shown by Mackenzie in the whole affair, that no analysis of his motives can be made on any consistent principle of human action;" and the distinguished statesman, Thomas H. Benton, whose critical and lengthy review of the whole case would seem to carry conviction to unprejudiced minds, declared that the three men "died innocent, as history will tell and show."

The proceedings of the Mackenzie trial were eagerly read by an interested public. As I remember the testimony given regarding Spencer's last moments upon earth, Mackenzie announced to the youthful culprit that he had but ten minutes to live. He fell at once upon his knees and exclaimed that he was not fit to die, and the Captain replied that he was aware of the fact, but could not help it. It is recorded that he read his Bible and Prayer-Book, and that the Captain referred him to the "penitent thief;" but when he pleaded that his fate would kill his mother and injure his father, Mackenzie made the inconsiderate reply that the best and only service he could render his father was to die.

I recall a conversation bearing upon the Somers tragedy which I overheard between my father and his early friend, Thomas Morris, when their indignation was boundless. The latter's son, Lieutenant Charles W. Morris, U.S.N., had made several cruises with the alleged mutineer Cromwell. Meeting Mackenzie he stated this fact, saying at the same time that he found him a well-disposed and capable seaman. Mackenzie quickly responded that "he had a bad eye," and then Lieutenant Morris recalled that the unfortunate man had a cast in one eye.