by J. F. Collen
Her name again floated up the stairs on the impatient voice of her mother.
Saint Paul’s began to chime the quarter hour, joined by the Calvary Baptist, Trinity Episcopal, and the United Methodist Churches. I’ll never tire of this grand symphony, Nellie thought. Triumphant music with a lofty purpose—how would one know the hour without the Church bells?
When the horn of the 7:20 steamboat leaving for The City blasted, she knew she had dallied too long.
She threw on petticoat after petticoat in quick succession. One last look out her window revealed the 7:25 train headed toward Tarrytown, on the way to Grand Central Station, belching steam and tooting its whistle so loudly, it was impossible to hear anything over its noise. Nellie slammed the inside shutters closed and wished, along with the town Aldermen, the newfangled contraption’s tracks never extended north to Croton, through their fair city. Speed is not the bees’ knees, she thought. Was there truly such a dire need to arrive everywhere faster? Keeping one’s eardrums intact had its merits.
Merits to which Mr. Washington Irving convinced a court of law to ascribe a dollar value. Nellie smiled. At a younger age, she simply adopted wholesale the beliefs of her father, the engineer turned shipping magnate, who touted the benefits of water travel over rail. Now she followed politics and policy through her own extensive reading. The Knickerbocker movement championed the steamship’s cause, providing a megaphone for the townsfolk’s complaints that the railroad, running right along the river, forever compromised their bucolic life.
She chuckled to herself. Most likely the impetus for the Knickerbocker School taking pen in hand to decry the evils of the railroad sprang from that folklore thief, Washington Irving.
The lynchpin of the Knickerbockers did more than complain about the railroad’s noise, dirt, and tremors. He filed a lawsuit against the railroad company for tortious interference with his right to peacefully enjoy his property. Irving sought damages for loss of his acres on the waterfront. The tracks cut off Irving’s access to the river and caused his land value to plummet.
“How could the railroad put the tracks on Irving’s land in the first place without his permission?” Nellie had asked Obadiah.
Proud to display his legal knowledge, Obadiah had replied, “The government’s right of Eminent Domain.” Nellie tried to look all-knowing at this answer, but Obadiah rightly guessed she did not fully understand this principle. He explained, “The Right of Eminent Domain gives a state or the federal government the power to take private property for public use. So Mr. Irving was powerless to stop the track laying. Nevertheless, the doctrine also mandates ‘just compensation’ be given the original owner. I believe Mr. Irving prevailed in his lawsuit by arguing the money he received only covered the railroad’s attendant nuisances of noise and dirt. The loss of water access devalued the property completely; therefore, the original payment from the railroad company was not ‘just compensation’ for the total value lost. The crafty, avenging man made a brilliant argument! The Railroad was found culpable for destroying the value of his property and Mr. Irving received an astronomical compensation of $5,000.”
Nellie wondered, why does Doctor Brandreth not follow Irving’s suit and file his own complaint? His Glyndon Estate mansion is now perpetually shrouded in grimy soot, shaken to its foundation from the iron monster’s tremors.
Nellie was still a frequent guest at the successful pill factory owner’s thirty-five-room mansion on Spring Hill. In spite of her estrangement from George Brandreth, his sister Helen continued to invite Nellie to her parties. Last week, the railroad ruined Helen’s splendid tea. The noise and steam of a belching engine’s arrival at the Sing Sing train station halted all conversation. Mercy! The malodorous soot from the locomotive caused me to quite lose my appetite. Did not the soot turn the white frosting on the teacakes quite grey? How can the Brandreths ever again enjoy their food, whist those horrible engines arrive hourly? Glyndon Estate had been beautiful inside and out with intricate grillwork of fine iron wrought over the façade. Nellie still admired the mansion’s style, borrowed from the New Orleans custom, but the train ruined its beauty and value. It grieves me to think this ‘improvement’ not only devastated the outside irreparably, it also shattered the home’s inside serenity.
While she was angry on behalf of the Brandreths, now she was selfishly glad that the Entwhistle house was just a bit higher up on a different hill, farther from the station. The severity of the noise of the train diminished before it reached their abode. But even still, it was loud.
I was taught the utmost reverence for Mr. John Jervis's genius in engineering the Croton Aqueduct. But using that genius to lay tracks for his confounded new locomotive engine right along our precious river ruined its natural flow and the surrounding environment. Mercy, that fool conveyance contraption is hardly an improvement! Yet they call this progress?
Nellie sighed and shook her head at the loss of the pristine world of her childhood.
Then she shook a leg. I must put some hustle in my bustle! It will never do to anger Mutter today. I do not want to jeopardize my outing to Nelson Park to see the ‘Native Warriors, Braves, and Beauties of the Seymour Company Traveling Troupe.’
Her high spirits returning in spite of her outrage at the despoiling of her beautiful countryside, she bounded down the stairs from her garret and received a chastising from her mother as a greeting.
“Staying in bed until after nine like a princess and then bounding down the stairs like a common deck hand? Shame on you Cornelia Rose!” she said.
But her mother’s face softened as she caught Nellie in her arms and bestowed one of her precious embraces. Nellie’s confusion mired her happy smile. Upon brief reflection, she did not dare risk asking why she deserved a hug; she just squeezed her mother’s arm in gratitude.
The day passed in the usual whirl of chores and studies, and before she knew, it was time to dress for her outing.
Nellie carefully completed her toilette and just as carefully chose her wardrobe: four petticoats, her re-worked satiny-pink silk gown sporting new ruffles down the bodice, new magenta piping and trim at the bottom of its full skirt, her crimson hat, and her new boots. Anastasia bounced on the bed in front of her, peppering her with questions as she took off her apron and blouse and began donning petticoats.
“Who is your beau today Nellie, Cadet Baker or Mr. Wright?” Anastasia asked.
“Mr. Wright,” Nellie declared.
“So, Obadiah is ‘Mr. Right’?” asked Anastasia, her face wearing a coquettish smile.
“For today! Forsooth, he is quite charming and handsome,” said Nellie, pulling her corset tighter, as if to brace herself for an onslaught of questions about her two beaus. But to Nell’s surprise, Anastasia seemed satisfied with that answer and changed the subject.
“Have you seen the advertisement for the performance today?” Anastasia asked. Nellie nodded, thinking of the sensational handbill disseminated at Hart’s Apothecary and elsewhere through town yesterday.
“Aren’t you just a bit afraid to see the Indians, Nellie? Don’t you think they are frightening? Are they truly bona fide Natives? Do you think they are unfeigned, existent Chippewa, Nell, like the advertisement proclaims? If Red Jacket and Chief Okatahuse were truly from Oregon, why would they want to come here? Do you sincerely desire to witness a staged scalping?” Anastasia paused for just an instant, consulting the pamphlet again. “Or be privy to a theatrical burning of Miss McCrea at the stake?”
Anastasia shivered, her pale white face blanching.
Nellie gave her sister a reassuring pat on the hand and said, “You understand these dramatic entertainments, Anastasia. The topic must always be incendiary and the ‘reenactment’ most terrifying in order to garner a large audience. I would not think one could generalize about a whole nation based on a traveling show.”
Nellie twirled before the mirror.
“Incendiary!” said Anastasia, laughing. “You have such a way with puns, Cornelia
.
“I ‘spose I would want to attend Red Jacket’s narration, if he truly is ‘the most eloquent Indian orator living!’ Furthermore, it most certainly would be remarkable to see the largest collection of Indian curiosities.”
Anastasia shook her head again before continuing, “No, I think I will content myself with watching the Troupe make their grand entrance into town mounted on their ponies, painted, and fully equipped for war. That will be quite enough adventure for me! They certainly could not be intimidating when marching peacefully behind Tom Cathaggle’s Bugle Band.”
Anastasia speech concluded with her emphatic final jump on the bed. Not waiting for an answer, she bounded down the stairs, shouting, “Jonas, walk with me up Main Street so we can see the Indian Parade.”
Nellie giggled and shook her head. She probably would take a peek at the parade through their drawing room windows only. She would wait to see the show in its entirety when Obadiah escorted her, after he concluded his day’s work with Judge Urmy.
Mrs. Entwhistle and Nellie both ran to the drawing room’s ten-foot high windows at the first sound of a bugle. The parade truly was a spectacle. The young Chief looked fierce, sitting on his pony, dressed in a full buckskin jacket and pants, chest decorated in beads and strings of shells, head crowned with a headdress of many feathers. An older, wizened man wearing a red jacket sat astride a pony cantering after the Chief’s. Nellie explained to her mother, who had not seen the advertisement in the newspapers, nor any of the bills of particulars posted at the nearby Union Hotel, that the older Indian was probably Red Jacket, the great orator.
“Lord save me from the terror of war with those people!” her mother said. “Gott im Himmel, I thank God we live on the civilized east coast. When I hear tell of the horrors of the West, I pray my kith and kin be spared from enduring that trial.”
Almost before the parade ended, Obadiah’s carriage pulled up to the entrance on the north side of the Entwhistle house. Just the sight of him, jumping from the driver’s seat, throwing the reins over the dappled mare’s head, sent those now deliciously familiar tingles down her spine.
He jangled the entrance bell with a happy energetic touch and almost preceded the butler’s escort into the drawing room.
Nellie rushed over to him and extended her hand. He kissed it, and she looked up to see her mother frowning at her. Was that not lady-like? she wondered, with a bemused smile on her face, as Obadiah bowed toward Mrs. Entwhistle.
Obadiah saw her wry smile and said, “What troubles you, my fair lady? Do you quake with trepidation at the thought of seeing the dramatic presentation of the Chippewa and their acting troupe?”
“No, kind sir,” said Nellie. Then, since she felt at a loss to otherwise explain her expression she said, “Although it does give a lady pause when she considers whether or not it is suitable entertainment to witness a re-enactment of a vicious burning at the stake.”
“My intelligent Cornelia, how very well articulated!” exclaimed Obadiah. “I myself am rather reluctant to support such a spectacle as this with my twenty-five-cent admission. I have done rather an expansive study of the Plains Indians and their civilization at the Academy, and I find that those paraded about as ‘curiosities’ are hardly reflective of the civilizations and people who inhabited this land before us.
“If you concur, and if your mother deems it prudent....” Obadiah turned and bowed again to Mrs. Entwhistle. “Perhaps we should switch of our scheduled activity tonight, and instead view the circus?”
“‘Tis such a strange happenstance. Two extraordinary entertainments competing simultaneously for our twenty-five cents on the very same night,” said Nellie.
“I saw the colorfully ornamented circus wagons pulled along North Highland Turnpike not more than a quarter of an hour ago,” said Obadiah. “At this very moment, they are unloading their menagerie and setting up their canvas tent right alongside the Indian show in Nelson Park. I do believe they intend to begin their parade through town to garner attendees at their big top tent shortly.”
“Prudence would rather counsel against attending either event,” Mrs. Entwhistle said with a frown. “Why just last month our Hudson River Chronicle reported George McNutt had his pocket picked at the last circus. I would wager he is hardly the only man who has ever been robbed at the circus. Moreover, his pocket book contained seventy-five dollars! Rest-assured it was his own folly, to carry such a treasury upon him to the circus of all places! Howsoever, I do believe we would be well advised to heed this confirmation of the circus as an unsavory place.”
Mrs. Entwhistle paused for a breath, and Obadiah and Nellie looked at each other uncertainly. Nellie’s happy anticipation of the evening dissipated with her mother’s negativity.
“Nevertheless,” Mrs. Entwhistle continued, looking at the disappointed faces in front of her. “While I hardly approve of the circus and the life of its showmen, I suppose it is the lesser of two evils. Further, I will warrant traveling circuses have rather become acceptable forms of amusement over the last quarter century.” Mrs. Entwhistle nodded for emphasis. “Fairly respectable people have been known to enjoy an evening at the circus ring.”
“Verily!” cried Nellie. “Why I read in The Daily Herald just the other day its editor, and my personal acquaintance, William Cullen Bryant thought the circus was unparalleled as a modern form of entertainment.”
“Then to the circus it is,” said Obadiah, and bowed to Nellie.
“Still,” said Mrs. Entwhistle with a cautionary wave of her hand. “It was not too long ago that many churches condemned the circus as immoral, and the traveling menagerie little better, due to the inhumane treatment of those curious animals. Why even the equestrians, whose great acrobatic feats thrill us with their daring, have been known to live rather ungodly lives.”
Obadiah said, “I could not agree with your wisdom more, Mrs. Entwhistle, especially when considered from the legal perspective, as many states still ban circuses from performing, making it a misdemeanor to conduct a show of that nature within their borders.” Mrs. Entwhistle nodded approvingly, even though she continued to scrutinize his demeanor with a critical expression on her face.
“Howsoever, tonight’s traveling show should be beyond reproach as Somers’ own Benjamin Lent, the former partner of the very respectable Hachaliah Bailey is its host,” concluded Obadiah.
“Ah, yes, Mr. H. P. Bailey,” said Mrs. Entwhistle, giggling like a schoolgirl. Nellie smiled in amusement and relief. “In truth, the era of the traveling menagerie began with him. Yes, sir, he caused quite a stir in my day when he landed his sloop containing an elephant at the old Sing Sing dock, and then surreptitiously, and only by night, walked the poor beast from Sing Sing to Somers, so that no one got a free preview. Ach du Liebe, how our town gossiped about it for days, when the incident came to light! Why some of the schoolboys even swore they had seen it, while others pumped all the deckhands on the sloop for descriptions of the captured creature.
“Ever since, folk have come from all around to pay their twenty-five cents to see the elephant. And I have seen the elephant!”
“Mutter! You have never made me privy to that confidence!” Nellie exclaimed with her hands on her hips.
Her mother smiled kindly. “We were all young and foolish once my dear.”
Nellie was not sure, but she somehow inferred a criticism of her from her mother’s remark. Her unease quickly diminished however when her mother proffered yet another hug. Goodness, what can be happening? Two embraces from Mutter in one day. This must portend of world changing events.
“Old Bet. Such a strange name for an elephant,” said Obadiah.
“But, good sir, Mr. Bailey dubbed him ‘Old Bet’ for he called his oldest daughter Elizabeth ‘new Bet,’” said her mother, in an airy, charming tone that Nellie could not remember ever hearing.
They all laughed.
Obadiah revealed he possessed a bit of knowledge of this elephant’s history. “Old Hachaliah was sure pr
oud of that elephant. Even after she met with such an unfortunate and untimely death, H. P. Bailey, inveterate showman that he was, devised a method for continuing to make a dollar on her.”
Nellie looked confused.
“Mr. Bailey had Old Bet stuffed and continued to take her on the road, charging admission to see her taxidermied remains,” her mother explained.
“As smart a businessman and showman as there ever was!” Obadiah concluded with a flourish of his hand.
“Howsoever, not such a wise father,” said Mrs. Entwhistle. Cornelia and Obadiah duly looked puzzled. “My friend, Calista Bailey was forever reminded that her father named the elephant after her older sister, not her.”
“Was there not some other exotic animal named after your friend?” asked Nellie, anxious that the oldest in the family not have all the fame and good fortune.
“No,” replied Mrs. Entwhistle. “But she had the last laugh. She is now Calista Crosby—Cornelia, you know her, Enoch Crosby junior’s wife. Widow Crosby still runs her husband’s Union Hotel. She competes with her father’s Elephant Hotel in Somers for the tourist trade and last year she was named ‘innkeeper of the year’ for our county.”
Everyone laughed.
Obadiah, still grinning from the convivial conversation said, “By your leave, Mrs. Entwhistle, I will now escort your fine daughter to an evening of entertainment and education. I promise I will return her with full knowledge of all the animals in the menagerie, and their natural habits and habitats.”
“As for the pick pockets, I will certainly be wary and guard my pocket book.” He chuckled with a rueful smile. “I am rather loath to confess, but my pocket book is far lighter than the unfortunate Mr. McNutt. It would, in fact, behoove the pick pockets to ply their talents on some other victim.” Obadiah bowed formally, but with a merry flourish, and the pair hurried outside to his waiting carriage.