Sea to Shining Sea

by Michael Phillips

  One speech got the biggest applause and was written up in all the newspapers of the state during the next few days—the one delivered by Edward Baker. He had been defeated a year before as candidate for Congress and then had gone up to Oregon where he had been elected to the Senate from the new state. He had come down to California and had been called upon to speak on behalf of the Republican party, freedom, and the election of Abraham Lincoln. People said afterward it was one of the greatest political speeches ever delivered in California. Baker said:

  Where the feet of my youth were planted, there, by Freedom, my feet shall stand. I will walk beneath her banner. I will glory in her strength. I have watched her, in history, struck down on a hundred chosen fields of battle. I have seen her friends fly from her. I have seen her foes gather round her. I have seen them bind her to the stake. I have seen them give her ashes to the winds, regathering them again that they might scatter them yet more widely. But when they turned to exult, I have seen her again meet them, face-to-face, resplendent in complete steel and brandishing in her strong right hand a flaming sword, red with insufferable light. I take courage. The people gather round her. The Genius of America will at last lead her sons to freedom.

  After Baker’s speech I wasn’t any too anxious to walk up there on that platform, with four or five hundred people standing all around listening, and open my timid little mouth to try to say something. What could I say that could compare in any way with what Mr. Baker had said?

  But there was no getting around it. And eventually I heard Mr. Dalton start to introduce me. I sat there listening to him, my whole body sweating and shaking, terrified at the ordeal that was about to come.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, fellow Californians,” he said, “you have heard from eminent statesmen today, from senators and governors and political leaders and men of industry and commerce. But I now want to introduce to you a young lady of perhaps equal reputation in some circles, a young lady whose simple and honest words have been read in newspapers from one shining sea of this great land all the way to the other; a young lady who, I must tell you, is a bit nervous about all this. She is a country girl, yet her words ring with truth whenever she sets pen to paper. Therefore I know what she says to you today comes directly from the heart. Ladies and gentlemen, I give you Miss Cornelia Belle Hollister.”

  I stood up. I glanced at Cal, sitting beside me, and he gave me a smile of encouragement. I walked up the steps and to the front of the platform.

  I stood there for a moment. Everyone was quiet, all eyes looking up at me, waiting.

  “I’ve never made a speech before in my life,” I began. “I don’t know if this will even qualify as one now. They told me all I had to do was say what I felt and thought about things, and that would be good enough. I suppose I can do that.”

  My voice sounded so tiny, like a little mouse! All the other men had loud, deep voices, and I sounded like a little girl. I didn’t think the people more than ten feet away would be able to hear a thing I said!

  “I’ve been thinking a lot about this election,” I said after clearing my throat and trying to speak up a little louder. “I had to think about which side I’d be on and what I ought to do about it. I can’t say as I’m a Democrat or a Republican, and it hardly matters much since I can’t vote anyway.”

  A small wave of laughter spread among the men who were listening. There were a good number of women there too, and by now most of them had come forward as close to the platform as they could. They were all watching me intently.

  “I don’t know Mr. Lincoln or Mr. Douglas, or Mr. Breckinridge, for that matter, who I just found out today is running too. To tell you the truth, I don’t really know too much about any of the issues except for the issue of slavery and freedom. But if you want a woman’s point of view, that’s just about the most important issue of all. And that’s the one I spent nearly all my time thinking over when it came to this election.

  “The conclusion I came to is that freedom is a mighty important thing in this country of ours. The Constitution talks about it, and I guess it seems to me that if people in the United States of America can’t be free, then I don’t know where else in the world freedom’s going to find a place to grow. Some of the Democrats might say that the freedom the Constitution talks about doesn’t apply to Negroes because they aren’t people in the same way as the rest of us are, so they don’t have the same right to be free. But I don’t agree with that. I’m a woman, and I don’t have the right to vote. But that doesn’t make me feel any less of a human being, and I don’t figure too many Negroes feel like they’re less than human, either.

  “It looks to me like freedom’s a thing that’s got to apply to everybody, or else it doesn’t mean much. It’s got to apply to women and Negroes, to rich people and poor people, to folks in California just like it does to folks in Alabama or anywhere else. Some of these men we’ve been listening to today have said you ought to vote for Mr. Douglas or Mr. Breckinridge because it’ll be better for the South, and the whole country, or because Mr. Lincoln’s made so many strong remarks about being against slavery that the South will be so mad if he gets elected, there’s no telling what they might do.

  “All of that doesn’t seem to have anything to do with freedom, if you ask me. The Democrats have been the party that supported slavery all these years. Now the Republicans are trying to change that by standing for freedom. It seems to me that’s about the most important thing of all. I don’t know much about money and the economy and all that. But if folks in these United States aren’t free, then it doesn’t seem to me that our money means much, or the word freedom or our Constitution either.

  “Four years ago I tried to write some things to help Colonel Fremont get to the White House, because he was against slavery too, just like Mr. Lincoln is. He got defeated, and I figured my efforts had been wasted.

  “But now I’ve got a chance to try to do something again, and I hope the people of this country will do better by the cause of freedom for our people than last time. That’s why I decided, after thinking about it a good long while, to support Abraham Lincoln. No, I can’t vote. But if I could, I’d vote for Mr. Lincoln, and it seems to me you all ought to vote for him too.”

  I turned and walked back down the steps and sat down. I was sweating and trembling from head to foot. I never heard any of the applause, but Cal told me they loved it, especially all the women.

  The next morning, on the front page of the Sacramento Union, I was shocked to read the headline over a two-column article: BAKER, DOWNEY, WELLER, HOLLISTER ADDRESS SACRAMENTO ELECTORATE. And toward the end of the article, they actually quoted from my speech!

  Chapter 24

  Dinner at Livingstone’s

  By the time all the festivities of the day were finished, I was exhausted, not just from having given the speech, but from everything that had followed—talking to people, shaking hands, greeting a long line of women well-wishers who treated me like some kind of hero for “the cause,” as they put it, although I had no idea what cause they were talking about.

  I had tried to keep smiling and stay friendly, but by the end of the afternoon I was so tired. Cal stayed at my side nearly the whole time, encouraging me, telling me what to do if I got confused, picking up the conversation for me if I didn’t know what to say. All day long I kept meeting people, most of whom I can’t even remember. But they all looked important.

  Then he took me and showed me inside some of the capital buildings, including where the legislature met. “Here’s where your father will be one of these days,” he said, and I thought to myself that they shouldn’t count on it because Pa was an independent man who was used to making up his own mind and not having anyone else do his thinking for him. But just the thought of Pa in the midst of all these fancy, dressed-up men brought a smile to my lips. I couldn’t imagine him making a speech in front of that great big Assembly hall! And if he did, he’d no doubt shake things up once in a while!

  “What’s so
funny, Corrie?” Cal asked.

  “Oh nothing,” I replied, still smiling to myself.

  “You’ve got something on your mind. You can’t hide that.”

  “I was just thinking about what it would be like if Pa was to come here,” I said.

  “I hope he does,” replied Cal. “This place could use more men of his caliber.”

  Finally, around six o’clock, Cal took me to dinner at a place called Livingstone’s. We drove up to the front of Livingstone’s, and Cal jumped out of the buggy, took my hand, and helped me down to the street, while someone else hopped up and drove the horses around to the back. Then Cal slipped his arm through mine and led me inside. I don’t know if I’d ever felt so out of place in my life! If this was what it was like to be a lady, I wasn’t sure I liked it.

  Livingstone’s turned out to be a fancier restaurant than I had ever seen—even nicer than the International House, where Almeda had taken me on our first trip to San Francisco. Mingling around the front door were several men in tuxedos and women in silk dresses. The flash of diamonds caught my eye now and then. Once we were inside, I realized all the more what a glamorous place Cal had brought me to. I heard music playing from somewhere, and the waiters were dressed up to look like preachers.

  I was so nervous, I felt like I was going to stumble and fall over my dress with every step. And Cal was close to me, our arms linked together, my dress brushing up alongside him, my arm and shoulder touching his as we slowly made our way to our table behind one of the fancy-dressed waiters. As I sat down, Cal went behind me and helped scoot my chair in.

  I’d never been treated like this, and I hardly knew what to do! Just the thought of Robin O’Flaridy made me laugh inside at the comparison. Cal was such a fine and gentlemanly man! I took stock of the white linen tablecloth, the candle in the middle of the table, the wine glasses and silver, which all made me think: What is Corrie Hollister doing here?

  I might have been California’s best-known woman reporter, but I couldn’t make heads or tails of the menu. Cal helped me order. I had roast lamb with some fancy kind of potatoes with cheese mixed into them. It was tasty, but I didn’t have much of an appetite. I don’t know if it was because of how tired I was, but I could eat only about half of what the waiter brought me.

  “You stole the show today, Corrie,” said Cal across the table.

  “I did not,” I responded. “You heard all those other men, and the clapping after Mr. Baker’s speech!”

  “Those men are all politicians. Edward Baker’s on his way to Washington. Speechmaking is the business of men like that. I’ll wager Baker’s given several hundred speeches in his life—all smooth, polished, every word just as it ought to be. But you—your speech was different. It was from the heart . . . it was just you! I saw Dalton’s face as he was watching.”

  “What . . . what was he thinking?” I asked, wondering what he meant.

  “He was sitting back in his chair with just the hint of a smile on his face. He knew well and good that he’d found the right young lady.”

  “He didn’t say anything to me afterward.”

  “Alexander Dalton can be a funny man at times. But he knows politics like no one in this state. And you mark my words, you will hear from him again. I tell you, Corrie, there were some people there today paying more attention to you than anyone else who got up on that platform the whole day.”

  “I don’t believe a word of it,” I said, although I looked down at my plate in embarrassment at the same time. I couldn’t help feeling pride at his words. I suppose part of me knew he was just trying to make me feel good about the day, yet another part wanted to believe he was sincere and wouldn’t say anything he didn’t really mean.

  “Well, there’s nothing I can do to convince you,” said Cal sincerely, “even if I do know these men and their kind better than you do.” He paused, then put his fork down and looked across the table at me. “But I will tell you this, Corrie,” he added, “and even if you can’t believe the other, I hope you will believe this. You were not only the prettiest speaker in all of Sacramento today, in my humble estimation you were also the most eloquent. If Abraham Lincoln does not carry California, it will be only because the men of this state were too deaf to heed the words of his most ardent supporter.”

  The rest of the evening was lost in a fuzzy blur. Even as I lay in bed hours later, I could hardly recall the specifics of it in any pattern that made sense. By the time I tried to write about it in my journal as I bounced along in the stagecoach going home, it had nearly all escaped me. The feelings inside lingered, but what we had done, where we had gone, what we had seen, and the words we had spoken—I could recall none of them.

  I do know that Cal showed me nearly all of Sacramento—Sutter’s fort, some of the old original houses still standing from the 1840s. We got out and walked along the river just about the time the sun was setting and the half moon was coming up. Then we rode again in the buggy, for hours it seemed, until the city was dark and night sounds faintly echoed about in the distance.

  It was very quiet and still when at last Cal pulled the horse up in front of Miss Baxter’s. The only sounds were the crickets in the trees lining the streets. Even the occasional shouts from the saloons down in the center of town were so faint as to be drowned out by the thunderous chirping of the tiny creatures overhead.

  Cal got down, tied the reins to the fence, then came over to my side, held up his hand to take mine, and helped me down to the street. I was finally getting used to such treatment, although it still brought about a fluttering sensation all through me. But I wasn’t prepared for him keeping hold of my hand as he led me up to Miss Baxter’s porch!

  We walked toward the house slowly, in silence. When we reached the porch, Cal stopped, still grasping my hand, and turned toward me.

  “Corrie,” he said, “this has been one of the most pleasurable days I have spent in all my life. You are an engaging and wonderful young woman.”

  He looked deeply into my eyes. The light from the moon reflected from his, seeming to draw me right into them. My heart was pounding so hard, I thought the whole boardinghouse must hear, and that windows would begin opening any moment to find out what the racket was!

  Then he slowly drew my hand up, bent slightly, and kissed the top of my hand as he held it between his fingers. I just stood there, compliantly watching as his lips rested for just a second on my hand. Yet inside, my heart and brain were exploding with the sounds of a thousand waves crashing against a stormy shore.

  He raised his head, released my hand, and softly uttered the words, “Good-night, Corrie.”

  Then he turned and was gone. I remained standing on the porch, watching him bound up into the carriage seat, and briskly urge the horse into action with a flick of the rein and a click of his tongue.

  I was alone, in the silent darkness of the Sacramento night. Alone with only the sound of a million crickets in my ears and ocean waves somewhere down in my heart.

  I can’t remember opening the door and walking inside the house, or climbing the darkened stairs to the room I always stayed in whenever I came to Sacramento. I cannot remember taking off my bonnet, nor getting out of my long dress and tossing it across the chair. Somehow I got into my night clothes, although I don’t recall that, either.

  When I next came to myself I was lying on my back in the soft bed, moonlight streaming through the window into the room. Just lying there. Thinking, yet not thinking. A smile on my face, my heart full, yet my mind empty. Full of feelings, yet none that could be expressed in words.

  The only words I was aware of were those three that kept repeating themselves over and over and over . . . Good-night, Corrie.

  I don’t know how long I lay there. But somehow, eventually, my eyelids closed with heaviness, the sound of the waves and the crickets gradually subsided, and sleep slowly stole over me.

  Chapter 25

  The Two Letters

  It seemed kind of dull at home for the next coup
le of weeks. I couldn’t find much energy to interest myself in anything. I went on long walks and rides and pretty much kept to myself. I doubt I did anybody much good when I went into town and tried to busy myself with Mine and Freight business.

  Marcus Weber looked me over with his big drooping eyes of concern every day I came in, and finally, when he couldn’t stand it any longer, he burst out one day, “What in tarnation be ailin’ you, Miss Corrie? Blamed if I just can’t stand to see you lookin’ so sad!”

  I smiled, but from the reaction on his beautiful, tender black face I could tell it didn’t reassure him much. “Nothing, Marcus,” I said. “I am just fine. Just a little tired.”

  I know he wasn’t convinced. He looked me over for another several seconds, with an unspoken expression of concern flooding across his humble features. He gave me a nervous fatherly hug, and I almost thought I detected a tear in one of his eyes. Then he turned and went back out to the livery. In those brief moments, I felt my heart’s eyes could see down into Marcus far deeper than his mere words expressed.

  It was such a revelation. I could see how much he really loved me! To be loved like that, when you realize how deep it goes into somebody else’s heart, has to be one of the most humbling things in all of life.

  Pa acted the same way, looking at me with concern, asking if I was sick, telling me I ought to be eating more or I was going to waste away. Almeda didn’t say much; she just smiled at me a lot, and gave me more than my share of motherly hugs whenever she had the chance. She knew what it was, and knew that I had to work through it as best I could on my own.

  A couple of letters arrived early in August that helped me get back on my feet and quit thinking so much about Cal Burton. I couldn’t stop thinking about him altogether, but having something to do at least got my brain and hands occupied with activity.