In addition to this and other patriotic societies, a very important national society was formed of the Colonial Dames of America, in which I was interested. No state leads in this association—all are upon an equal footing. The applicant cannot apply, paradoxical as this appears! Her own place in the world, however noble her lineage, must also be considered. She must be gentle of manner as well as gentle of blood.
It is distinctly understood that this society is a firm, though silent, protest against that aristocracy which considers itself best because it is highest on the tax list and bank list. There is not the remotest suggestion of an aggressive spirit, but the steady trend is against plutocracy, arrogance, and that impertinent assumption of place notable in this country in those who have no foundation for pride beneath the surface of the earth, and no aspiration above it.
One of the sure prophecies of our future prosperity and honor may be found in the number and importance of the patriotic societies of women. For, however individuals may sully them by personal pride and ambition, or restrict them by a spirit of exclusiveness antagonistic to the fundamental principles upon which they are based, their very existence proves the decided reaction from certain grave evils which are well known and which certainly will be, unchecked, a source of peril to our beloved country.
I believe in the true-hearted American woman. I have known her in every phase of human experience: in poverty, in suffering, in disaster, in prosperity. I proudly rank myself beside her! Whatever fickle fashion or wayward fancy may decree for her, I know if there be one passionate desire above all others which inspires her heart, it is to leave this world better and happier for her having been born into it,—to become herself a bright exemplar of the beauty of goodness, so that all may be won by the loveliness of lovely lives; to let the whole trend of her life be forward, not backward; upward, not downward; to borrow from the fires of the heroic past to kindle the fires of the future; to preserve to that end the memory of the deeds of those whose lives have set them apart in the history of our country.
CHAPTER XLI
In the summer of 1888 yellow fever appeared in Florida and raged with peculiar violence in Jacksonville. Early in September I received a letter inviting me to meet a number of ladies at rooms on Broadway to organize a committee for the relief of the Jacksonville sufferers. Mrs. Stedman (wife of the poet) was with me at the time I received the letter, and she agreed with me that it would be a most beautiful thing for the New York women to send substantial relief to their stricken sisters in Florida. So, on the day and hour appointed, Mrs. Stedman accompanied me to the place designated. We found ourselves in the presence of a large roomful of ladies neither of us had ever before seen. I was made chairman by acclamation, and a Mrs. Manton secretary.
I had never presided at a meeting, but I did my best. I invited an expression of the views of those before me as to the wisest schemes for the benevolent work. A great many suggestions were offered of a totally unpractical nature, and I finally asked for an adjournment, to meet two days from the present, and requested my "committee" to consider the matter, confer with their friends, and give me the opportunity to seek advice from mine. Mrs. Stedman seemed much discouraged, as we walked home together. She felt sure nothing would result from this experiment; and besides, as Mayor Hewitt was engaged in collecting funds for the relief of Jacksonville, perhaps all good citizens should send their offerings to him. I intended at the next meeting to follow up her suggestions, but only half a dozen ladies appeared. I represented to them that we must have money at once to pay for our service in future and a small debt already incurred, and we then again adjourned. In the vestibule an army of eager newspaper reporters awaited us, in whose hands I left my friends, having nothing myself to communicate. Next morning every paper in New York announced the interesting fact that Mrs. Roger A. Pryor was president of "The Ladies' Jacksonville Relief Society," that names well known in social and literary circles were associated with hers, and donations of clothing, food, and money were solicited! Of course the press sent me many reporters, and I found myself suddenly invested with importance and armed with authority. I went joyfully to meet my appointment for another meeting, and found a room, full indeed—but of empty chairs! Not a soul came! I waited throughout the hour alone. At the end of it a message was sent in to me from the reporters without. What had we done? What should they say in the next morning's issue of the Herald, the World, the Sun, the Tribune? Sorely perplexed, I answered: "Tell the gentlemen we are sitting with closed doors. I shall have nothing to report for several days."
I suppose no woman in all New York was ever in a more embarrassing situation. Here was I advertised as president of a society engaged in a great benevolent enterprise, and the society had simply melted away, disappeared, left no trace, not even a name and address! What would New York think of me? I keenly felt the absurdity of my position, but superior to every personal annoyance was my own disappointment. An opportunity to work effectively for the stricken people of Florida had been suddenly snatched from me. A friend in Jacksonville, having heard of the movement, had written:—
"I have been prostrated by yellow fever, and am unable to carry out the plans I had made with Bishop Weed for aid for the sick and friendless children here, and the bishop's days are filled with the most pressing duties. Along this pathway through the valley of the shadow of death there are many little children whose pathetic condition touches the chords of our tenderest sympathies. But our hands hang limp and helpless, and so we hold them out to you."
I found myself consumed with longing to help them. I felt then—as I felt afterward for the orphans of Galveston—that I could almost consent to give my own life if I could but save theirs.