“The Rochester Knockings at Barnum’s Hotel”—Hard Work—Our Visitors—A Poisoned Bouquet—Hair of the Emperor NapoleonI.—Hair of John C. Calhoun—Investigation at Residence of Rev. Rufus W. Griswold, by the Leading Literary Celebrities of New York.

FIRST VISIT TO NEW YORK.

We arrived in New York City on June 4, 1850, and had engaged rooms at Barnum’s Hotel, corner of Broadway and Maiden Lane. (This proprietor must not be confounded with the great showman of that name.)

Horace Greeley was our first caller. He advised us to charge five dollars admission fee. I told him that would be altogether too much; but he feared greatly for our safety, and thought this exorbitant sum would keep the rabble away. I told him I thought it decidedly better to follow the directions of the Spirits, and trust in Providence for protection and success. He announced our arrival in the Tribune, and published our rules of order. The editors of the Tribune and many other papers were in our rooms daily. Mr. Ripley used to say to us: “Ladies, you are the lions of New York.” Mary Taylor, in a Broadway theatre, sweetly sang “The Rochester Knockings at Barnum’s Hotel,” as a popular topic of the day. Many things in stores, on sidewalks, and newspaper advertisements, were paraded and labelled with the words “Rochester Knockings.”

What a time, to be sure, we had of it during that first visit, of nearly three months, to the great metropolis! Our party was seven in number. Our parlor was a large room opposite to the main one of the hotel, from which it was separated by a wide corridor. A long table with thirty seats occupied the centre of it, and we gave three receptions each day, for which our advertised hours were: 10 to 12 A.M., 3 to 5 P.M., and 8 to 10 P.M.; but the midday meeting would often lengthen out till we had barely time to get ready for dinner, and the evening one to midnight. The public parlors served as ante-rooms, in which visitors waited their turns to be admitted by one of our attendant gentlemen. Private sittings were often extorted from us by importunity, which would begin at the earliest hours before breakfast. With what degree of exhaustion of muscles, nerves, mind and spirit, we would reach our beds (in our rooms on the floor above), where sleep was often slow to come to our over-strained systems, may be imagined by my readers. The mere pressure upon us of the three successive crowds would, alone, have been a strain hard to bear; but every individual had his or her colloquies to be held with their respective Spirit friends. The burthen of it fell upon us all, but most heavily upon our dear mother, who took it so deeply to heart when she knew we were so unjustly suspected and so severely tested. She was of course always present with us, but only as a spectator and for protection. Ministers of all denominations, members of all professions, legal, medical, literary, and commercial, were among our guests, and many of them were frequent visitors. The occasions were rare when the slightest want of courtesy, respect, and kindness occurred to wound or displease us; and the only thing approaching an indignity we had to complain of among ourselves, was the frequency with which committees of ladies would retire with us to disrobe and reclothe us, the holding of our feet, etc.

Among the thousands of strangers who streamed through our rooms, I, of course, could know or remember the names of but few individuals; and many an one had his or her designation by which we used to recognize them, as—the White Spirit, or the Black, or the Gray, the Count, the Slick Wig, the Old Oriental, the Hippopotamus, etc., etc. By the way, the Count was also an elderly gentleman with white hair and angelic eyes, a foreigner, who at parting made me a present of a set of old china of extreme rarity, for which I have since refused a dealer’s offer of a thousand dollars, and which I still employ at parties and fÊtes, and particular occasions, and always with a kind thought of the dear old donor. The summer season of travel, of course, brought many Southerners to our rooms, as well as visitors from other cities of the Union.

We again passed through an ordeal of special investigation by a large committee of the first men of New York, in scientific and literary, as well as social distinction, which took place at the residence of the Rev. Rufus W. Griswold, for some account of which, and the signal triumph in which it resulted, I refer to a letter which will be found further on, and which was extensively republished.

Only one very painful thing occurred: an anonymous present made to me of a large, superb bouquet of flowers, the smelling of which nearly cost me my life. I was thought to be at death’s door; and a week had passed before I fully recovered from the effect. Spirits told us that it had proceeded from the malignity of a hostile quarter, and that the bouquet was poisoned.

I have always had a peculiar sensitiveness to poison; and could not even now, in the open air, pass near to certain growing plants, such as poison ivy, without suffering sensibly from their vicinity.

There was another occasion on which evil was not only intended, but attempted, by some who falsely believed they were doing God service by breaking up the “pestilent Rochester knockings.” We, too, had our case of a “prophet” (Isaiah) sent to curse, but who remained to bless. Our “prophet,” of whom this was true, was none other than the famous Captain I. Rynders, well known as the Captain of the Empire Club—a Democratic party organization of “fighting men,” the counterpoise to a corresponding body on the other side of politics. These rival corps had, originally, for their business the breaking up of the meetings of the adverse party, or to defend those of their own party against similar attacks from the opposite fighting corps. Captain Rynders, though a rather slender man, was one of such pluck, energy, and resolution, that his very name came to represent a real power in New York. His politics, in which he was very zealous, made him (as most men of that day were, on both sides) very hostile to “the Abolitionists,” many a meeting of whom the Empire Club had broken up after the most summary of fashions, namely, through windows as well as doors. One day three men, one of them of Herculean proportions, with his shirt-collar wide open, sailor fashion, on a brown sunburnt neck, entered our parlor, after payment of their regular fee outside, and took their seats together; the Hercules next to me. His appearance was every way formidable. A certain slight commotion was manifest in the company on their entrance. I soon received from three different friends in the room (Mr. Greeley, George Ripley, and another) little billets warning me against “the most dangerous man in New York”—whose appearance “portended evil,” and telling me to be “extremely careful” of all I should say and do, etc. One lady bent over me from behind, handed me a bit of paper which spoke of “black danger clouds,” and a row as being imminent from “those men,” and then made her escape into one of the more remote parlors of the hotel. But they sat quietly as observers. There were several clergymen in the company, one of them being the celebrated Dr. Phelps, of Stratford, Conn. There were at the table also two elderly, tall, thin, and pale Quaker maiden ladies, a little ghostly perhaps in appearance, one of whom presently addressed to the Spirits the question, “Which is the more correct, the Bible or Andrew Jackson Davis’s Revelations?” To this came many raps, which were differently understood around the table, according to the various opinions. It made quite a sensation. I rose and said that those raps were not an answer to the question, but a call for the alphabet, which I proceeded to repeat aloud as usual. The answer returned was: “The Bible contains many true and beautiful things, and so also does Davis’s Revelations,” a reply which Dr. Phelps considered a good and wise one. I presently invited one of my three neighbors (not the Herculean one) to the door, which I opened, and he was made to hear loud rappings on the wooden panels, and also on the marble flooring.

My real object was to conciliate him as being one of the party of “danger clouds,” though he was not the one who had been the object of my terror. “What is the meaning of this?” he said. “Have you anything to do with the Rochester knockings? I thought those two white old maids were the ones. I was sent here by a religious society to break it all up, and drive it out of New York, as I did last week with Fred. Douglass and Julia Griffith, and their sets of Abolitionists.” I told him he had been very wrong in doing so, and that those ladies were strangers here, as he and his friends were. “What, are you the Rochester knockers?” “Yes.” “Why, I thought you were older. Ain’t you afraid of me? What, these children!” “No, I am not a bit afraid of you,” I repeated, though in my secret heart I was dreadfully afraid of the other man. “Well, I am Captain Rynders—haven’t you heard of me?” “Yes, I have, but I am not afraid of you.” He took a seat at the table, and I invited him to ask some questions of some friends of his in the Spirit world. He asked a brother of his where he had died—“In California,” was the correct reply. “Of what disease?” To this also he got a reply, which, with a strong blow of his fist on the table, he admitted to be correct.

Captain Rynders was now our friend, and a good and gallant one he proved. He made the Herald publish a long account of it in our favor; the only occasion of its doing anything of the kind. He said that nobody should molest us; that he saw no reason why it should be done, and he emphasized this with a strong blow upon the table. He was indeed surprised that we were the mediums; he had supposed them to be the old Quaker women over there (alas, poor good souls!). My relations soon became equally comfortable with his big friend also, of whom I had been so afraid. A letter for me was brought in and laid on the table between him and me. I noticed that he seemed to observe the direction on it somewhat closely. I presently handed the letter over to mother, saying, “Here is a letter from our dear friend Maria Rogers.” Said my big neighbor, “Why, where did you ever know Maria Rogers?” “In Albany, at the Delavan House, where her husband had some business position. She is one of the sweetest women I ever knew, and I love her dearly. She was also very beautiful.” “She is all that you say,” was his reply, “and she is my own darling sister.” The letter proved to be an invitation to spend Sunday with her at the Oceanic House. I had no further fear of her big brother, who, together with Captain Rynders, would certainly have pitched all the rest of the company out of the window in our defence, had it been necessary. Such was the conversion of our “prophet,” from the cursing for which he had been commissioned, to blessings. I have since been assured by those who knew him, that Captain Rynders was really a good man at heart, with other manly qualities besides his courage, notwithstanding his animosity against the Abolitionists of that period, and others against whom the energies of the Empire Club had been directed by his party. I have some reason to believe that he has been a happier man from that time than before. I was sincerely glad to see him a few weeks ago, when he called on me, by my request, to compare notes upon our reminiscences of this adventure, and I was indeed astonished to hear so young a looking man avow that he was now eighty years of age.

At all our sÉances the general character of the manifestations was that all present heard the explosive sounds or “knockings,” whose significance resided in their correspondence with the letters of the alphabet; while each in succession had the opportunity of communicating with his own friends in the spirit life. Nor do I believe that a single person passed through the experience of one of those meetings who was not satisfied, in his own sincere mind, that we had nothing of physical relation to their production, and that no conceivable mundane means could have produced them.

Though in our own domestic experience remarkable phenomena of the physical order had often been produced by the Spirits, such, for instance, as the rising of objects in the air, including our own persons, etc., yet nothing of this kind occurred at these meetings, beyond the phenomenon of the sitters being touched, sometimes caressingly, by invisible hands, or having their garments pulled, or their chairs or the table moved—which were frequent experiences to our visitors.

I cannot afford the space for numerous individual incidents of interest which occurred at those meetings, but will mention one, which is not likely to be forgotten by some of the witnesses to it, who may perhaps read this page. A stranger came one day, of evident distinction and advanced years, French, though speaking English; I have a vague impression that he was a diplomatist. He had with him a friend. He produced a folded paper or envelope, and asked if the Spirits could tell him what it contained. The answer promptly came, “A piece of the hair of the Emperor Napoleon.” This naturally arrested the eager attention of all the company. I trembled with doubt and fear of a failure. The old gentleman opened the paper and held up a small piece of hair, and, with tears in his eyes and quivering lips, said—either he had been one of those who accompanied Napoleon on his voyage to St. Helena, or that he was a friend of the physician who had accompanied him. After this lapse of time I am not certain which, but something was said about the physician. He told how on an occasion of his hair being cut by the barber, the fallen pieces had been religiously gathered up, and this was one of them. Turning to his friend who had come with him, he said, “I did not need this evidence, but this test is evidently intended for you;” and then explained that in the morning his friend, who was an entire unbeliever, had said, in reference to their intended visit to us, that if we were subjected to that test, and if it should be told what were the contents of the envelope, he would be a believer too. I remember that Mr. Greeley and Mr. Ripley, of the Tribune, were present. If this should fall under the eye of any survivors of that scene, I should be pleased to hear from them. None present can have forgotten it.

There were a number of somewhat similar cases of treasured locks of hair being thus identified by those who had worn them in life, but though there are many whose hair is thus preserved by faithful memories, there has been but one Napoleon the Great.

However, I will further add that if there was but one NapoleonI., there was also but one John C. Calhoun. One day a Southern gentleman was at the table, and, having heard of the above incident respecting the great Emperor, produced and laid down his pocket-book, asking to know one thing it contained. “Hair of John C. Calhoun,” was the reply. He acknowledged its truth, and exhibited the lock.

During this our first visit to New York occurred another “investigation” by a number of the most eminent literary and commercial gentlemen of that city, at the residence of the Rev. Rufus W. Griswold. It included such men as J. Fenimore Cooper, George Bancroft, Rev. Dr. Hawks, Dr. John W. Francis, William Cullen Bryant, Nathaniel P. Willis, Dr. Marcy, and others. It had its origin with the Dr. C.D. Griswold, M.D. (our friend at Rochester, mentioned on a former page), who came down to New York expressly to propose it to us, telling us that the high position of his brother, Rufus W., would enable him to unite for that purpose the best elements which the great metropolis could afford. We were only too glad to comply with so kind and friendly a suggestion. In the wilderness of my papers I do not find the full records of that interesting occasion, of which no full formal report was ever issued; but I well remember that it was highly satisfactory to ourselves and our friends. All the testings desired, such as making us stand on cushions, etc., were exhausted. I recollect that Fenimore Cooper addressed an immense number of questions to Spirits (my impression is a hundred and fifty), and received correct replies. I find among some newspaper scraps a long editorial in a Sunday paper, by its junior editor, written in the full vein of hostile persiflage usual at that time with the press, dependent for existence on its subscription lists, the following as its conclusion:

“Since writing the above, we have read in the Tribune an account of an interview between the Spirits’ interpreters and Mr. J. Fenimore Cooper, Mr. George Bancroft, Rev. Dr. Hawks, Dr. Francis, Mr. Wm. Cullen Bryant, Mr. N. P. Willis, Dr. Marcy, and other literary celebrities, at the rooms of the Rev. Doctor Griswold. The responses given to several of these gentlemen, as reported in the Tribune, were most extraordinary; and yet—infidel that we are!—these replies have not shaken our obstinate incredulity.

“Our senses are the only witnesses we will consent to trust in relation to phenomena which, if really supernatural, would upset, among other things, the Christian Religion,[8] and the verdict of our senses upon all the performances which have come under our observation.”

Any reader desirous of examining the Tribune’s report above alluded to, can easily find it in the files of that paper for 1850. I content myself, for brevity’s sake, with the following extract from Mr. Capron’s volume on “Spiritualism: Its Facts and Fanaticisms,” etc. (1855), page 172:

“But curiosity had so far obtained the mastery of bigoted opposition as to lead many of the most eminent men of the city to give the subject a fair investigation. The result was, as elsewhere, the making of many converts; and these were not from among men of inferior intellects or of unbalanced minds.

“Not long after the arrival of the mediums, a number of literary gentlemen assembled at the house of Rev. Dr. Griswold, an Episcopalian clergyman, in Broadway. Neither of the sisters Fox had ever been at the house before, and the meeting was called for the purpose of testing, as far as they were able, the validity of these alleged manifestations. Among the company were J. Fenimore Cooper, the novelist, Mr. George Bancroft, the historian, Rev. Dr. Hawks, Dr. J.W. Francis, Dr. Marcy, Mr. N.P. Willis, Mr. Wm. Cullen Bryant, the poet, and Mr. Bigelow, of the Evening Post, Mr. Richard B. Kimball, Mr. H. Tuckerman, and Gen. Lyman. These gentlemen were well known throughout the country, and the report was well calculated to carry much weight with it, let it be on which side it would. The result was highly satisfactory to the mediums and their friends. On this occasion Mrs. Fox and her three daughters were present. Mr. Tuckerman was among the first to interrogate the Spirits. Among his questions were the following in regard to an individual whose name he had not spoken, but had simply in his mind:

“‘Did he live in New York?’ No answer. ‘In Baltimore?’ ‘In Cambridge?’ ‘In Boston?’—Three distinct raps, which is the sign of an affirmative answer. A negative reply is indicated by silence. Mr. T. continued, ‘Was he a lawyer?’ ‘A merchant?’ ‘A physician?’ ‘A clergyman?’ Knocks. ‘Was he an Episcopalian?’ ‘A Presbyterian?’ ‘A Unitarian?’—going over the names of the principal sects. No answer. At the suggestion of a gentleman, Mr. T. asked ‘Was he a Christian?’ Knocks. Mr. T. then asked the age of the person in a series of tens. ‘Was he twenty years old at the time of his death?’ ‘Was he thirty?’ ‘Forty?’ ‘Fifty?’ ‘Sixty?’ Knocks. ‘Has he left a family?’ Knocks. ‘Children?’ Knocks. ‘Five?’ ‘Three?’ ‘Two?’ Knocks. ‘Did he die in Boston?’ ‘In Philadelphia?’ ‘In Albany?’ ‘In Northampton?’ ‘In Bennington?’ Knocks. ‘Did he die of consumption?’ ‘Of fever?’ ‘Of cholera?’ ‘Of old age?’ Knocks.

“The person in Mr. Tuckerman’s mind was the late Dr. William Ellery Channing, the eminent and liberal Unitarian divine. He lived in Boston, and died in Bennington, Vt., while on a journey.

“Dr. Francis having fixed in his mind the name of an individual, the ‘rapping’ spelled out B-u-r—when several of the company exclaimed, spontaneously, ‘Robert Burns.’ This was the true answer; and after an interesting interview with the bard of Scotia, the doctor declined asking any more questions.

“Mr. James Fenimore Cooper then asked, ‘Is the person I inquire about a relative?’ ‘Yes,’ was at once indicated by the knocks. ‘A near relative?’ ‘Yes.’ ‘A man?’ No answer. ‘A woman?’ ‘Yes.’ ‘A daughter?’ ‘A mother?’ ‘A wife?’ No answer. ‘A sister?’ ‘Yes.’ Mr. C. then asked the number of years since her death. Fifty knocks were given, and the number unanimously so announced by the company. Mr. C. now asked, ‘Did she die of consumption?’ and naming several diseases to which no answer was given. ‘Did she die by accident?’ ‘Yes.’ ‘Was she killed by lightning?’ ‘Was she shot?’ ‘Was she lost at sea?’ ‘Did she fall from a carriage?’ ‘Was she thrown from a horse?’ ‘Yes.’

“Mr. Cooper here discontinued his investigations, and informed the company that just fifty years ago that present month he had a sister thrown from a horse and killed, and that all the answers had been strictly correct.”

Mr. Ripley, one of the editors of the Tribune, a man of candor and great intelligence, drew up the report of the whole proceedings, of which the above is but a short extract, and in conclusion he says:

“The evening was now far advanced, and it was not thought desirable to continue our colloquies any further. At the suggestion of several gentlemen, the ladies removed from the sofa, where they had sat during the evening, and remained standing in another part of the room. The knockings were now heard on the doors, at both ends of the room, producing a vibration on the panels which was felt by every one who touched them. Different gentlemen stood on the outside and inside of the door at the same time, when loud knockings were heard on the side opposite to where they stood. The ladies were at such a distance from the door, in both cases, as to render no countenance to the idea that the sounds were produced by any direct communication with them. They now went into a parlor under the room in which the party was held, accompanied by several gentlemen, and the sounds were then produced with great distinctness, causing sensible vibrations in the sofa, and apparently coming from a thick hearth-rug before the fire-place, as well as from other quarters of the room.

“Such are the most important facts which we can recall of the manifestations of the evening. We believe we have stated them without any coloring whatever, as they appeared to every one present; but, with regard to their origin or their nature, we are as much in the dark as any of our readers.”

I will add to the above but a few lines. After Fenimore Cooper, and his responsive friends in the Spirit life, had occupied the floor, so to speak, for a long time, calls upon him began to arise as to whether any of his answers were correct. Of course he alone could know, since they were in the form of raps. Old Dr. Francis, who had sat with his chin resting on his big cane, and his eyes intently fixed on Mr. Cooper, as had been the eyes of all the company, began knocking impatiently on the floor, which example was followed by others, as in the case of an impatient audience at a theatre. At last Mr. Cooper gave satisfaction to their curiosity, now wound up to a high pitch, by saying: “Gentlemen, every single answer has been correct.” This was of course no small relief and satisfaction to us.

And it was a still greater satisfaction when, after his death in September of the following year, I received a visit from Mr. Cooper’s nephew, with a note from the great novelist, one of the last things written by his prolific pen, and a message from him on his death-bed, substantially as follows: “Tell the Fox family I bless them. I have been made happy through them. They have prepared me for this hour.”