Mary E. Stearns

Preface

^ Mrs. Stearns was not a famous woman.

Why should her life be written ?

We, her pupils, wanted to have this book made, not because parts of her life were romantic, nor because she was universally admired and loved, though both are true; not even because she achieved success in the eyes of the world, though that is also true; but because we know that the character she perfected is a very tangible success, — because it brought sweetness, strength, inspiration to us all.

The book is a very small tribute of our very great love for Mrs. Stearns.

A study of her shows what can be done with adversity. It shows how much a human soul can bear, not with resignation, but with cheerfulness, when filled with divine power. Her life proves how real a thing this power can be, for the essence of her genius was religion.

To attempt an enumeration of Mrs. Stearns's religious views would be not only an intrusion, but an impossibility. And the breadth of a [v]

Preface

Christian life whose extent of influence can be exceeded only by the grandeur within the soul itself, could hardly have been comprehended by a girl in her teens. She could only revere and deeply love.

On this plea I have tried to write about Mrs. Stearns, from my point of view as her pupil. I can mention only those traits which I admired, rather than a thousand and one things which others older than I, and more suited to understand them, did appreciate. This book cannot fail in being incomplete; for fully to understand her character would necessitate a depth of religious thought not less than her own.

If any words I have written serve even to suggest the dear living Mrs. Stearns, then it will comfort my sadness in realizing how inadequately I have set forth one of the noblest women who ever lived.

M. T.

Amherst, Massachusetts, October 18, 1909.

[vi]

Contents

I

Childhood and Girlhood .

Part I. Married Life . 41

I. First Year in Bombay

II. Matheran ....

. 88

III. Indian Incidents

IV. Various Journeys .

. 108

V. The Persian Gulf

VI. Home Life in India

. 140

VII. Paris

VIII. Mr. Stearns's Failure

. 184

IX. Last Year in India .

X. Orange .....

. 212

XI. Death of Mr. Stearns

• 235

Part II. Life Alone

I. Beginning of Life in Amherst

. 245

II. Opening of the School

III. Early Years of the School

. 268

IV. Amherst Activities

V. Later Years of the School

. 301

VI. Closing of the School, and Deatl

^ 317

• 341

Illustrations

Mary E. Stearns .... Frontispiece Mary E. Stearns, 1859 .... 38 Mount Pleasant, Malabar Hill, Bombay 44 William French Stearns . . . . 84 Mary E. Stearns, Paris, 1866 . . 166 Mathura Dhondiba Salve .... 346

Among the hills of southern New Hampshire there is a little village called Mont Vernon. It is on top of a high ridge, bared here and there in unexpected places, with a view of forty miles in every direction. The one long road is bordered with old-fashioned houses, and overshadowed by tall trees. Here and there are open spaces, rocky pastures, apple-orchards, and frequent little bright-green glades, outlined by stone walls. Deep pine woods crowd about the town, with under-thickets of hemlock, laurel and high-bush blueberries, for which it is famous. It is famous, too, for its apples, which keep longer than those of any other place; perhaps equally for its Indian brook, the Quohquinnepassakessananagnog!

Winters in Mont Vernon are long and severe. There are stories of sleighing parties on May-day in the olden time. But in summer it is the home of birds with highly burnished treble voices, and of wild, timid creatures of many kinds, for there is, even yet, no railroad near.

One still comes to Mont Vernon in an old, yellow stage-coach, which starts from the station at Milford, five miles away. The road winds through meadows encircled by dark woods where deer are frequently seen, skirts a clear mill-pond in a hollow of the hills, and then plunges into the woods. Suddenly, a mile and a half from the centre of Mont Vernon, it confronts the "long hill." When the horses stop on a thank-you-ma'am, at a cross-roads about half-way up this hill, a sign points toward "Purgatory" on the left, and toward "Amherst," two and a half miles distant on the right. If one turned to the left and passed an old farmhouse, one would see, at the end of a double row of giant maples, a cellar all over-grown with brambles and lilac bushes. A little lane wanders up the hill behind, edged by thickets and stone walls. Near by a brook comes out of the woods, skims across the ledges, and tumbles down into a fairy glen. Across the road there is a direct fall to more woods. The whole world seems spread out beyond ! The air is full of pine smells, and the sound of high bird-songs and water falling. This was the childhood home of Mrs. Stearns.

Mary Emmeline Kittredge was born in Mont Vernon on the twenty-fifth of July, 1834. Her father was Captain Timothy Kittredge, a title received as an officer in the militia during the War of 18 12. He had taught school, but had become later a farmer, and was an active, high-minded, deeply religious man. Every Sunday two carriage-loads went to church from his house, one a wagon, the other a rockaway, referred to in the local History as the "toniest vehicle in town." As for himself, he never missed but one service at the white meeting-house on the hill. On that occasion the entire congregation adjourned to his house after the service, to find out what the matter was!

Mrs. Kittredge was a remarkable woman. Tradition has it that several of her ancestors set out on foot from their comfortable Massachusetts homes for the New Hampshire wilderness. One of them, a woman, after weeks of weary tramping, sank down at the foot of a great tree.

"Will you go back ? It is not too late ! *' said her husband.

"No, no," she answered. "What a privilege to start life from a new beginning with you!"

The pioneer spirit was still alive in this heroic woman's descendant.

Mrs. Kittredge had run away from home when a young girl in order to study, putting herself under the protection of a cousin, who was also a clergyman. She helped with the care of his children, teaching them by a sort of kindergarten method invented by herself, and which she used successfully with her own children later on. One of her Mont Vernon friends, now more than ninety years old, recalls that Mrs. Kittredge was the first one to use the abacus for instructing small children. When the Froebel system was coming into vogue, Mrs. Kittredge went to Boston for the purpose of studying it. Her mother, too, had been a teacher. There is still a curious document in the family, which certifies that she was qualified to teach and could calculate an eclipse.

Mrs. Kittredge was interested in all world movements, and showed a wisdom and breadth [6]

of outlook remarkable in a person who had spent her life in a far-away New England village. Her son-in-law used to say — many, many years later — that of all the letters which came to him in India, hers were of the most universal interest. At twenty-one she had married Captain Kittredge, fifteen years her senior.

The ideals of her parents became those of little " Emmie.'' They were hers without effort. They came as naturally as the love of country lanes and meadows. From them she learned that no incident is without its meaning; that deprivations and calamities are really opportunities for growth of character; that suffering is educational, and that every experience is providentially sent. Face to face with great sorrow, self-discipline was not a new idea to her. When, at various crises, she amazed even those who knew her best by her fortitude and serenity, they would not have been surprised, could they have known for how long a time her preparation had been going on! If we would understand the power which carried her through her later life alone, calm and contented, that part of her life during which most of us knew her, then we must look at the long " foreground," beginning with her upward-gazing childhood. From her earliest years gradual, steady, progressive growth of character was her purpose, — growth which produces astonishing power late in life, unlike the dazzling genius which manifests itself in very early years.

Many household duties must be performed, and four younger brothers and sisters taken care of. The schools in Mont Vernon were an u ncertain quantity. Being much older than the others, Emmie helped with their instruction. To quote her words: "My own mother's way . . . was to have us learn to read at five. When once we had commenced, she never allowed us to relax, except for a vacation. When there was no school in the place, she would direct our studies herself, sometimes asking the children of the neighbourhood to join us in a spelling class . . . that we might not lose our interest."

And so she had, from the first, the privilege,

to her a joyous one, of being useful. Her gaze

was always directed out and not in, and her

personality her greatest capital through life, was already forming. She realized that she alone was responsible for her conduct, and never felt it necessary to assume the weaknesses characteristic of any age — • whether of youth or middle life. Even as a girl she was not thoughtless or frivolous. Besides, was not all in the earth and sky — green fields and bird-songs, pure country air and the individuality of the seasons — her friend, to last as a real influence through life .? To have gained a love of high ideals within and a love of nature without, — what could be a more fortunate childhood, or a more competent equipment for life ?

Mrs. Kittredge saw in her serious, caretaking daughter that curious quality which elicits deference from complete strangers. She realized that Emmie ought to have the advantage of a more extensive education than her little hill-town could afford. Her sister, Mrs. Dimick, for whom Emmie was named, lived in Cambridgeport, Massachusetts. She, too, was impressed with the dark-eyed girl, who had the knack of making people happy wherever she went. Upon her asking Emmie to come and stay with her, and go to school, the young girl left Mont Vernon for Cambridge, returning to the hills in vacation time — glorious summer months in the fields, with birds and flowers and her little brothers and sisters, who eagerly waited the return of their sweet-voiced sister.

With that characteristic whole-heartedness which made her throw herself into the life of the place where she happened to be as if that were the only life of interest to her, she found Cambridge school-days all-absorbing. She delighted in her studies, and as long as she lived liked to recall certain lectures that Professor Agassiz gave to the High School pupils on natural history — and one in particular, called "The Character and Personality of the Creator, as revealed in the Organic World." Quickly adapting herself to the life of the large town, she perceived instinctively which of her own gifts could be of use in the new community. It was not long before she was singing in the choir of the Prospect Street Church, where her aunt took her every Sunday, and whose pastor was the Reverend William A. Stearns, D. D. His eldest son, William, of about Emmie's age, was one of her schoolmates.

During their school-days they were the best of friends. In his own words: "We walk to singing school together and home from evening meeting, and when Em stops to rehearse at noon and has to walk home, somehow or other I always happen ... to be in the front yard, and wonderful to relate, again happen to look up just as Miss Kittredge gets opposite the gate, and am very much astonished indeed to see who it is ! And then, somehow or other, in a most unaccountable manner, [I am] just passing the church Saturday night when the choir get through singing, and as Em is going my way, volunteer to accompany her!"

By nature they were strangely opposite. There was a quiet dignity and reserve about her. His playfulness — " ridiculous capers,'' he called it — and sunny disposition made him a universal favourite. He was full of the joy of life, confident of the uprightness of men in general, and of his own bright future. He had a strong spirit of adventure. When he was only sixteen he had begged his father to let him seek his fortune in India.

They contrasted in appearance as well. Emmie, although a noticeably fine-looking girl, —

[ II]

"elegant" was WilFs adjective for her, — would not have been called handsome. He was extremely so, with a finely cut nose and perfect teeth. She was dark and rather pale. He had reddish hair and brilliant colour. He was six feet tall, straight as an arrow, and radiant with health. It is remarkable to see together so perfect a face and so superb a physique. He was attracted by her depth of nature. She was fascinated by a sort of romantic interest in the handsome boy, so gloriously dissatisfied with a peaceful, comfortable life in Cambridge.

In one thing, however, they agreed from the first, — their religious feeling. They did not reserve religion as a solace for some remote contingency, — a sort of last resort, when their own resources had failed. It was, on the contrary, a practical necessity of every-day living. They believed that God was interested in their individual welfare, — in a " detailed Providence." This conviction was the source of their motives, gave them enthusiasm and courage, and, in the last analysis, was the inspiration of every act. They continually spoke of it to each other. For those who feel that a [ 12]

person's religion is for himself alone, that no one else has a right to know the deepest feelings of his heart, the point of view of Will Stearns and Emmie Kittredge may be hard to understand. Before she was twenty she had said: "Religion does not do much good if we keep it to ourselves. By our silence we may hinder others from making a right decision.'' It was a matter of conviction to them both that if God was in their lives, "in their thoughts, feelings, purposes and achievements, He would necessarily be in their words." The fact that religion was more discussed then than now, that what one believed was a matter of general inquiry, cannot wholly explain their attitude.

Emmie graduated from the Cambridge High School in 1853 at the age of eighteen, and returned to her parents in Mont Vernon. Her time was to be occupied with caring for the children, and a few music pupils. What a picture she draws of herself as she " bounded down the hill with light heart and elastic step," when a letter came from Will! She had hardly reached home when he began to urge her to come and study French in Cambridge. She did n't know of how much assistance it would be to her in her after Hfe ! Besides, his father was on the school board and could get her a position to teach in the High School, if she wished. It would be far preferable to taking music scholars in Mont Vernon. Did n't she think so ^

Perhaps she did, for she wrote him: "I acknowledge that I dare not trust myself to sit and think for a long time of Cambridge. Am I not foolish .? But tears will sometimes come, in spite of every effort to restrain them. . . . There is something in the very name of Cambridge that excites emotions I cannot describe, there are so many things I love there."

He, meanwhile, remained in Boston. He had entered the employ of Messrs. Weld and Minot. They owned many ships that brought queer things from far-off lands. "Come," he would urge his friends, " come ! I am expecting a ship full of curiosities from Calcutta." The things they brought, and the life which the captains described to him, continued to draw him more than ever toward the distant Orient.

"He was accustomed during this time to walk in and out of Boston, a distance of two and one half miles each way, keeping in his pocket the omnibus tickets for emergencies . . . and coming home at night still fresh and strong and not infrequently whistling and singing as he came." He amused himself " committing pieces of poetry to memory and repeating them on these . . . often solitary walks."

Before long it was decided that Emmie should return to her beloved Cambridge, to teach in the same school where she had so recently been a pupil. This experience, as well as others, was not without use to her in later life.

In the fall of 1854 she began her work as "general assistant" in the English course of the Cambridge High School, at a salary of two hundred and fifty dollars a year!

The School Committee report says: "Miss Kittredge is a graduate of the school, and while connected with it occupied a high rank as a scholar. She manifests much skill and tact in conducting her recitations, and will attain eminence in her profession." For the first half-year she taught algebra, geometry, and some advanced French, — that of the seniors in the EngHsh course; and the second half-year, geography, history, and Scott's "Marmion" or "Lady of the Lake."

Mr. WilHam F. Bradbury, who was, when Miss Kittredge taught there, the newly appointed sub-master, recalls her as "a fine looking, cultivated lady, whom one would notice anywhere." As a teacher she was very popular, he remembers. Every morning in school there was singing, without instruments, by the scholars. Miss Kittredge's high, lovely voice led all the rest.

"Yes," Mr. Bradbury added, "she was genial, bright, amiable, everything that one could wish." He also said that he drove thirteen miles to Mont Vernon and back over the New Hampshire hills one day, merely to call upon her, "so you can see how nice she was!"

Some verses have been found, signed by William Winter, and addressed to Emmeline Kittredge. They were written on the sixth of February, 1855, when their author was a student at the Harvard Law School.

TO EMMA

If unto thee a nobler, purer soul Could light new graces on thy beaming brow, 'T would not avail, when we have said the whole, To make us love thee more than we do now.

God bless thee, Emma! I have known but few Who, for their gentle worth and purity. Might claim a fond affection as their due. But thou art one; and I award it thee!

Teaching duties did not entirely fill her life. There is a tradition of a "dashing southerner," who drove about with very fast horses. He was a Harvard student, the pet of Cambridge society, and extremely handsome. Much to the envy of all the girls, it was Emmie Kittredge whom he used to invite to drive, and his habit of offering his carriage ended by his offering himself!

Another young person was so persistent that she was greatly troubled. He pictured to her what her life would be if she married him : her freedom from care, the beautiful house she should live in, the servants and carriages she should have. One day — toward the last — he told her she might have his whole fortune to devote to missions ! Canny man ! We may imagine the momentary temptation, for even in those early days her interest in missions v^as deeply estabhshed. She went to her pastor to ask him what to do. Dr. Stearns said : "Emmie, do you love him .?" — "N-n-no." — "Then I have no more to say." And she went away, light-hearted.

In spite of the fact that neither of them approved of early engagements, and in spite of the fact that they were both just twenty, it was in this eventful winter that Will Stearns and Emmie Kittredge became engaged. His Hfe, through his letters, was as much hers in his absence as in his presence. It is hard, from this time, to separate their interests.

During this same winter, 1854-55, the Stearns family moved from Cambridge to Amherst, as Dr. Stearns had been elected president of the college. The spring brought them all great sadness in the serious illness of Mrs. Stearns. Longing to help his mother, Will wrote her : " O mother, don't feel that God has forgotten you. What! He who has formed the smallest atom of sand and the dust, living objects so small that the microscope only can [i8]

reveal their vitality, He forget one of those whom He has called the noblest of all His works ? No, never. . . . Every one sends love to you, including your daughter Emmie (I hope sometime)."

At midsummer Mrs. Stearns died. Her loss was an inconceivable blow to Will. He longed more than ever to get away from home and try his fortune. It was not, however, until January, 1857, when he was twenty-two years old, that he decided to go at last to India. As he expected to be gone an indefinite number of years, he could not go alone. Emmie must come too. With her usual unerring judgment she refused. She knew she would cramp him. She felt that they were so young they could easily wait — ten years if need be. Finally he admitted that it would be better for him to be fully established before marrying. His business arrangements were completed, various Boston merchants assuring him that they would give him sufficient consignments for beginning business when he should reach India, and the day was set for his leave-taking.

Mr. Stearns shipped as super-cargo for Calcutta in the sailing ship Alma, leaving New

York on the fifteenth of April, 1857. He spent his days studying Spanish and Hindustani, reading, playing checkers, and "sighing." Of the things he had to eat one may form an opinion after this characteristic remark : " I put wormwood into the water to make it palatable." Still, there were the tropical sunsets and a new night-time sky. "The Southern Cross looks down smilingly upon you," he wrote. "Orion has nearly left us, and the Great Bear will soon follow. They still look upon us, peering at us with their great brilliant eyes; seemingly they offer to take back to the loved ones at home one last message, — soon they will be gone. They will follow the North Star, which went out some days ago, and the last connecting link between us and home will be broken." In July the Alma reached Buenos Ayres. He sent a letter home from there, on the twenty-fifth of July, 1857.

"Mr. L. and I walked to San Fernando, a distance of twenty-one miles, then walked all over the town, and, after seeing the sunset, started and walked back to Buenos Ayres, which we reached at eleven p. m., making the whole distance, including two hours' stopping, in just twelve hours ! In other words we walked forty-two miles in ten hours ! . . . Remember this, the roads are very muddy, . . . and quite a number of times I went into the mud more than half-way up to my knees. . . . We were attacked by these fellows [dogs] more than a dozen different times. ... I had a good sword-cane which I drew on them at least twenty times. . . . But dogs are not the worst things to be encountered. There are wandering ^gouchers ' whose business it is to . . . keep the vast herds of horses in the country. They are always on horseback and ride like the wind. Many of them are the worst kind of robbers. We passed a great many of them on the road, and at one time we expected to have a little bit of sport. It was a dark, wild-looking spot, with the smooth, level unchanging pampa spreading out on all sides of us, — just the place for their wild work. We had just been speaking together about them, when we caught the sound of horses' steps, and in a moment five horses with two gouchers on each horse came rushing down upon us. Shouting and yelling, they made straight for us. I jumped up on one side [21 ]

of the road and L. on the other; the gouchers rushed between us with three of the horses. . . . Just as they were close to us I saw one raise his arms over my head. I thought for a moment that I had got to feel the lassoo — but away they went."

This was not the only narrow escape of the voyage, by any means. Off the Cape of Good Hope the Alma nearly capsized in a heavy squall, and she came up the Bay of Bengal between two typhoons ! Will's " lucky star " preserved him safe and sound, however, and on the ninth of November, 1857, his twenty-third birthday, he landed in Calcutta. He procured at once a horse and buggy, a syce, — groom, — and a kttmutgar, — boy, — to wait upon him at meals and take care of his clothes. He was aghast at the "glorious tropical verdure," at the elephants and jackals and great "adjutants," at the bedlam of oriental tongues, and the crowds — one hundred thousand persons came to see one review of troops !

Meanwhile, having twice been reappointed at the High School, and her salary raised to four hundred dollars for the year 1856-57, at the end of the school year, as the report of the School Committee says, "Miss Kittredge resigned, with universal regret." She returned to Mont Vernon.

The pain of the separation from Will absorbed her. Letters from both are so full of this all-important subject that what they did, apart, has little importance. The fear of a thousand possible accidents weighed upon her. Having been run away with down the long hill of Mont Vernon, she exclaimed, in a letter to him, written on the fourth of October, 1857: "The uncertainties of life strike me almost with dread. I hardly dare love anything lest it be snatched from me, yet my heart will love, and you know well the object it clings to most fondly here on earth. . . . Although little things make me unhappy, equally as little things of opposite character make me happy. I have . . . felt myself so unfitted to bear the trials of the world ! But I think its experiences are having their effect to make me stronger, and I trust that I may yet improve very much in this respect. Life is no holiday, but a stern reality, and I trust I may be fitted for all its duties."

Conscientious in all her occupations at home, her life was with Will in India.

In Calcutta, he heard rumours of the great financial panic in America, though his own letters had been sent to await his arrival in Bombay. Somewhat disquieted, he waited only long enough to help load several ships for England and America, including the Alma, in which he had made the voyage, to sail from, Calcutta, the "city of palaces," on the twenty-second of February, 1858. From Bombay, a few weeks later, he wrote, "I came mighty near arriving here on April Fool's Day, but just escaped it by twenty-four hours. . . . The harbour is large, . . . studded with islands and rocks, among which ... is an old Hindu ruin. . . . There are plenty of hills that make the background. . . . You can see the Western Ghauts, a chain of mountains. ... I am living on board ship till the rains set in. . . . Up-countrymen crowd the streets, Persians, Armenians, Jews, Afghans, Sikhs, men from Cashmere and Cabul, Arabs, Hindus and Musulmans, all colours, from the light Cashmerian to the black Muscatine." Later, in describing some women, hired mourners at a funeral, he said, they wear "silver anklets of one pound each, gold and silver bracelets, earrings of gold and pearls and precious stones, and a great nose-ring, three or four inches in diameter. . . . They v^ear a long piece of silk wound around them, and up over the head."

But his heart was full of his love for Emmie, and of sadness at the separation from her. One letter, filled with reminiscence, goes over each stage of their happiness.

. . . "And then the first letter, whew! You could not have dreamed of such happiness, . . . and the letter and the walk through the Hoveys' nursery, I suppose on account of the beautiful trees and flowers, — though, faith, it was the dead of winter; — and then long days of happiness without a cloud, till the word came that I must go . . . for many a long week and month out upon the broad ocean and into far-off lands. . . .

"The future, the future, I try to look into it, to the time when we shall be old and gray, . . . but who can tell the end .? . . . Be strong and remember He says : * If thou faintest in the day of adversity, thy strength is small.' I have adopted this sentence for my help, and often I think of it when the big black clouds begin to make. . . . Dearest Emmie, farewell.