Carrie A. Nation
As wriiten by Dan Ellis in 2006

An Invitation

The Reader is cordially invited to improve upon this history by submitting tales, folklore, and legends.  If an error is found for recommended correction, please send evidence or reference for its proper deletion or modification.
The Reader is also encouraged to send photographs, maps, and or, diagrams.
These will be returned upon request.

The Author – Dan Ellis
423 W. Van Buren Ave, Eureka Springs, AR 72632
479-981-9551

www.Ureeka.Org
www.EurekaSpringsHistory.Com
www.DanEllis.Net


Carry A Nation
“Hatchet-Wielding Bar-Smasher”
First Edition: October 2006

The author refers to himself as an Historiographeur/Scrutinier
That is to say – a writer of history with authenticity

Dan Ellis -- Community Historicizer
Lauder of Local Legacies

     Dan Ellis's presentation of historic facts is unique in its format.  Historic data is arranged by chronological categories and themes which are complete with photographs, maps, and interviews.  A reader can pick up one of his books and start reading from any page, because each segment is a different story.  He says that he derived this format from when he was a history teacher and taught his students to learn how each episode in life is a separate story.  His first meaningful book was written as a highschool teacher when charged by the school system to teach a course in "Americanism vs Communism."  At that time, there was no text book, so he had to perform extensive research as well as to write the book.

     With the introduction of personal computers in the early 80s, Ellis once more took the challenge and revised his old text manuals to conform to training eager, novice executives and professionals seeking to install their own computer systems.

     In 1990, Ellis established permanent residence at his weekend Pass Christian home.  His interest in writing lead to publishing vignette columns in local newspapers.  Upon writing his first histories, he realized the significant extent of misinformation.  This resulted in his seeking primary source information from archival records in Mobile, Alabama;  Jackson, Mississippi; New Orleans, Louisiana; and from local courthouses and churches.

     Ellis's books are filled with treasured photographs and maps;  and he takes special effort to seek out individuals, whether obscure or prominent, who can add a touch of personal experience by revealing anecdotal interviews.

     As a Journalist, he has written columns in such periodicals as Citibusiness News in New Orleans, Coast Business, Gulf Coast Good News, and the Progress.  He has been Editor of several News Letters such as the Mississippi AARP Quarterly, the Pass Christian Tricentennial, the Pass Christian Lighthouse Society, and the Timber Ridge Reporter in Pass Christian.  He has also self published more than thirty topical Heritage books and booklets.

     Ellis's books sell for under $20 and are computerized in order to enable easy updating and error corrections when found.  He calls himself an Historiographer and Scrutinier, which simply translates to a "writer of history with authenticity."  Dan Ellis may be contacted at 423 W Van Buren Ave, Eureka Springs, AR 72632  —  228-342-3671– Dan@Ureeka.Org – and a number of self-designed websites can be found through his primary website at www.DanEllis.Net, Or www.Ureeka.Org.





Table of Contents

Chapter One — Carry A Nation     .     .     .     .     . 1
Chapter Two — Moral Upbringing     .     .     .     . 2
Chapter Three — A Sot for a Husband     .     .     . 5
Chapter Four — A Boor for a Husband     .     .     . 6
Chapter Five — Spirit Guided Hallucinations     .     . 8
Chapter Six — Whiskey Rebellion      .     .     .      .     . 9
Chapter Seven — Jailed Again and Again      .     .     .15
Chapter Eight — The Philanthropist        .      .      .     .17
Chapter Nine — The Celebrity         .     .     .     .     .     .19
Chapter Ten — Carrie Does Eureka!     .     .     .     .     .20
Broadway for Carry —           .      .     .     .     .     .     .     .25
The Freunds —         .       .      .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .27
And Now —       .       .       .       .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .28
Memorabilia —          .      .       .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .29
Poems for Carry —       .        .       .     .     .     .     .     .     .30


Prologue

     As a writer of cultural and heritage community history, it has always been a challenge to discover some uniqueness that heretofore had not been uncovered, rather than simply to replenish that which was already there, but now “empty” due to being out-of-print or removed from public access.  Therefore, much like a person performing restorations to former stately edifices, I attempt to glean that which is available but with a perspective for the truth of factuality.
     As the storm winds blow the sands of the dessert, I have become a grain of sand that has been blown away from its former beachhead at Pass Christian and have now come to adopt a new habitat.  I find Eureka Springs to be very comfortable, challenging, overwhelming — and with new histories to uncover.
     It usually takes two or three years of research before I commence to write, but having attended several of the Crescent Hotel Wine Tastings, I decided to put together a booklet that would be a nice Door Prize for the many beautiful folks.
     What could be more appropriate than to introduce Carrie to her adversaries?
     Prior to 1900, Carrie Nation was caught up in the developing years to prohibition along with other Christian Temperance Ladies who attempted to close up saloons and Blind Tigers — but to no avail.  Previously, she experienced dreams that proved to come true in forecasting meaningful occurrences in her life.  Enraptured by religious zeal at age 54, she began believing in her hallucinations wherein God instructed her to smash the whiskey joints much as did Jesus Christ in casting out the immoral Money Lenders from the Temples.
     She began her crusade of “Hatchetations” by smashing Saloons, the bars, the liquor, the gambling tables, the mirrors and all that she could attack before being arrested while threatening any who attempted to stop her raised menacing hatchet.  At 185 pounds and standing nearly six feet, she was a startling figure to confront.  She called the saloon keepers “swill-faced, beak-nosed bed mates of Satan.”
     During her celebrity tours, she was witty, out-going, and brazenly armored with the confidence of controlling her audiences.
     Beyond doubt, she can be signaled out as having rendered the impetus to Prohibition Laws that lead to the passage of the18th Amendment on December 18, 1917, followed by ratification on January 16, 1919.
     Carrie chose Eureka Springs as her chosen place of retirement, where she established a boarding home for battered wives and children and a training school for young women.
     Ah!, but, where is a better place for one to reach their end — but right here, in Eureka Springs?
Dan Ellis

Chapter One — Carry A Nation
     Carrie was born on November 25, 1846, in Garrard County, Kentucky and spent her early childhood on her father's farm on Dick's River.  It was a hewed-log house, weather-boarded and plastered having ten rooms including a parlor that was garnished by large gold-leaf wallpaper and appointed with red, plush, furniture.
     Carrie’s father, George Morse, was her idol and her mother was her disciplinarian.
     Restating a meaningful observation that Carrie recalled, “I have never seen a garden that could surpass the garden of my old home.  Just inside the pickets were bunches of bear grass.  Then, there was the purple flag, that bordered the walks; the thyme, coriander, calamus and sweet Mary; the jasmine climbing over the picket fence; the syringa and bridal wreath; roses – black, red, yellow and pink; and many other kinds of shrubs.”
     “At the side of the garden was the family burying ground, where the gravestones were laid flat on masonry, bringing them about three feet from the ground. These stones were large, flat slabs of marble, and I used to climb up on top and sit or lie down, and trace the letters or figures with my fingers.”
     This was the early setting in which we find Mrs. Nation whose whole name was Carrie Amelia Morse Nation.  When she read in her father’s bible, that George Morse had written her first name as "Carry," she adopted a new label because she believed that it was her mission to "Carry A Nation" from the darkness of drunken bestiality into the light of purity and sobriety.
     When Carrie  was five years old, in 1851, George Morse moved his family, along with the grandparents, to the area of Danville, Kentucky.  The new home had the acclaim of being the first built in the county and the distinction of having a flat roof with an observatory on top.
     Here was born her earliest memory of encountering alcohol in watching her grandfather set out a glass with sugar, butter and brandy, topped off with steaming hot water.  In ritual, he would give those who were willing, a spoonful of this toddy.  She would always recall the closet where the barrel of spirits was kept.
     George Morse had a small plantation with a few slaves to help with the daily chores.  Carrie would always favor the memories of the slave family that she learned to love when a child.  She was fond of hearing ghost stories and would stay up late at night listening to the men and women revealing their stories.  “The men would be making ax handles and beating the husk off of the corn in a large wooden hopper with a maul.  The women would be spinning with the little wheel, sewing, knitting and combing their children's heads.  In between, they would tell of sights in grave-yards, and spirits of tyrannical slave-masters, walking at night with their chains clanging.”

Chapter Two — Moral Upbringing
     There were so many beautiful stories to select from, one which she often retold for the moral uplifts it gave her.  
     “There were two girls of a hardworking couple,” she began,  “One of the girls was named Sarah, the other Mary.  Sarah was a very pretty girl with curls.  Mary was rather ugly and had straight hair.  Curls in my childhood days were something very much sought for.”
     “Although Sarah was pretty in the face, she had very rude ways;  she would not speak kindly and politely;  would not help her hard-working mother;  but she was idle and quarrelsome, always wanted someone to wait on her;  while Mary was the reverse;  would pick up chips to make a fire, would sweep the yard and bring water, and was kind to all, especially to her mother.
     “One day the well went dry and there was no water to make the tea for supper. Mary saw her mother crying and said: "Don't cry, mother; I will go and get some at the Haunted Spring."
Her mother said: "Oh, no, dear sweet child, those goblins will kill you."
"No, mother," replied Mary. "I will beg them to let me have some water for dear father, and I am not afraid."
     “So her mother got a light bucket for her, and went to the top of the hill with her, and said:  "God bless you, my dear child, and bring you back to me."
     “Then Mary went on until she came to the high iron gate.  She said:  "Please gate open and let me through.  I mind my father and mother and love everybody."
     “And the gate opened and she passed into the "haunted" grounds – She saw a funny, little, short man come running with a stick and said:  "Please, nice man, don't hit me.  I have come down to get some good water to make tea for my father's supper.  He has been working all day, and our well has gone dry.  May I please have some of your spring water?"
     "Well, little girl, as you talk so nice, you can have some.  Tell the little folks to open the briars for you."
     “So she went on and came to a briar patch and saw down at the roots little people, not much longer than your finger.  Mary spoke so kindly to them;  said she would be so glad if they would open a path for her to walk in, she would thank them so much; so they began to pull the briars back until there was a good path.  Mary thanked them and went on until she came to the spring and there was a rabbit jumping up and down in it.  Mary said:  "Please Mr. Rabbit, don't muddy the water for I would like to get a bucket of nice clean water to take home to make tea for supper."  The rabbit ran off and she dipped her bucket full of pure water.
     “Then she looked down the branch, and there was a little lamb that had fallen in and was lying down, and could not get up.  The lamb said:  "Little girl, please pick me up and lay me on the grass to dry. " Mary stepped on some rocks till she got to the lamb and lifted him up and laid him on the bank to dry.  The lamb said:  "When you go home, spit in your mother's hand." Mary thought that would not be right, but she said nothing.  She went back through the briar patch and the little folks held them from scratching her, and the little old man spoke nicely to her and the gate opened for her.  
     “Her mother was watching for her and helped her home with the water, kissed her, and prepared them a good supper.  While they were sitting at the table Mary said:  "Mother, the little lamb told me to do something I do not like to do."
     "What was it?," her mother asked.
     "He told me to spit in your hand."
     "Well, you can my child; come on; and the mother held out her hand and Mary spat in it, a diamond and a pearl.  This made the family happy and rich;  they had men come the next day and dig a new well.”
     “Now, Sarah wished to try her fortune, her mother did not want her to go, because she knew what a bad girl she was, to talk saucy;  but Sarah said she would do as well as Mary.  Her sister told her how she must do;  she got angry at her, and said:  "You mind your own business;  I reckon I know what I am about."
     “So she took her bucket and went on until she came to the gate;  she gave that a kick and said:  "Open gate!" and the gate opened and slammed on her.  The little old man came running with his stick.  Sarah said:  "Don't you hit me, old man;  I'll tell my father." And the old man beat her and the little folks pushed up the briar bushes so she tore her clothes and scratched herself badly.  The little rabbit was in the spring and he jumped up and down and she threw at him, telling him she would knock his head off;  but the rabbit jumped up and down 'til the spring was a lob-lolly of mud, so she had to take muddy water in her bucket.  The little lamb had gotten back into the branch and said:  "Please, little girl, pick me up and put me on the bank to dry."
     “But Sarah said,  "I won't do it."
The lamb replied,  "Spit in your mother's hand when you go home."
     “So Sarah had to go through the briars, that scratched her, and the old man beat her, and the gate slammed on her, and when her mother met her she was a "sight."  Her face was dirty, her dress torn, her legs and arms were scratched and bleeding, and her curly hair was in a mass of tangles.  Her mother washed the dirt off and scolded her for being so naughty.  Mary helped to wash and dress her for supper.  Then they all sat down to eat, and every one was happy but Sarah.
     “Sarah said, "Mother, the lamb told me to spit in your hand."
     "Very well, come on," answered her mother.  So Sarah spat in her mother's hand and out jumped a lizard and a frog.”

* * *
     Carrie would then reminisce and recall that any child could see the moral of the pearls and diamonds meaning politeness and kindness, while the lizard and the frog represented rudeness and impudence.
     In 1854, when Carrie was 8 years old, the family moved to Woodford County, Kentucky, and bought a farm.  She attended Sunday school where the seeds were planted in the Word of God.  A minister gave her a book to read, leaving a very deep impression of spiritualness as she read Children of the Heavenly King.  The story pertained to three brothers who were intrusted with watching certain passes in the mountains during warfare between a good king and a bad king.   When the boys were diligent and faithful, the good king was victorious, but when neglectful, he would suffer losses.  The character of the youngest boy was sweet and unselfish.   He would run from his post to wake his brothers, and tried to make up for their neglect; and would even do without food and rest as he would plead with them to perform their duty.  When the good king finally won, the youngest boy  was richly rewarded.
* * *
     With the reading, young Carrie resolved to be like the youngest boy in the story.  Early on, she learned to fight against her selfish nature and would give away doll clothes and other things that she cherished.
     In 1855, at age 9, Carrie’s family moved again, this time to Missouri.  During the trip, she developed a severe cold which made her an invalid for many of her youthful years.
     At age ten, she was converted to her father’s faith at Hickman's Mill in Jackson County, Missouri.  At the close of the sermon, during the invitation, her father stepped up to the pulpit and spoke to the minister.  The next day she was taken to a running stream about two miles away, and, although it was quite cold and some ice in the water, she felt no fear in her exhilaration.
     The little Carrie who walked into the water was different from the one who walked out.  She recalled, “ I could not speak, for fear of disturbing the peace that is past understanding.  Kind hands wrapped me up and I felt no chill.  I felt the responsibility of my new relation and tried hard to do right.”
     She  was fifteen, when the war between the north and the south broke out in 1861.  The family and Negroes went south, taking what they could in wagons.  After six weeks, they arrived at Grayson County, Texas, where her father bought a farm.  The trip south was a blessing, as Carrie recovered from the disabling disease that caused her to be an invalid for five years and which resulted in her missing school during much of that time.
     After the war ended, they returned to Missouri.  Carrie, being the eldest child; with the servants gone, and her mother sick, and the younger children sent to school;  Carrie had to manage the house work, the cooking, and most of the washing.
     As a result, she had little formal education.  Her last year of school was in 1864, at Liberty, Missouri, at age 18.  Although she wanted a thorough education, she had to resort to reading available books and writing her dreams in her diary.
     She often recalled that her childhood and girlhood were not happy and were filled with many disappointments.  “I was called "hard headed" by my parents.  I never was free to have what I wished; and something would always come between me and what I wanted.”

Chapter Three — A Sot for a Husband

     In the fall of 1865, a young physician, Dr. Charles Gloyd, called to see her father about securing a teaching position for the winter, lasting long enough until he could decide where he would like to practice his profession.
     At age 19, she learned that Dr. Gloyd loved her, and she reciprocated her love in return.  She never knew Shakespeare until he read it to her, and she too, became an ardent admirer of that great poet.
     After three months he quit teaching and  went to Holden, Missouri where he also brought his father and mother to live.  Two years later on November 21, 1867, Carrie was married.
     She recalled, “My father and mother warned me that the doctor was addicted to drink, but I had no idea of the curse of rum.  I did not fear anything, for I was in love, and doubted in him nothing.  When Dr. Gloyd came up to marry me I noticed with pain, that his countenance was not bright, he was changed.  The day was one of the gloomiest I ever saw, a mist fell, and not a ray of sunshine.  I felt a foreboding on the day I had looked forward to as being one of the happiest.  I did not find Dr. Gloyd the lover I expected.  He was kind but seemed to want to be away from me; used to sit and read, while I was so hungry for his caresses and love.  
     “About five days after we were married, Dr. Gloyd came in, threw himself on the bed and fell asleep.  I was in the next room and saw his mother bow down over his face.  She did not know I saw her.  When she left, I did the same thing, and the fumes of liquor came in my face.  I was terror stricken, and from that time on, I knew why he was so changed.  Not one happy moment did I see; I cried most all the time.
     Her parents heard that Dr. Gloyd was drinking, so when her father visited, he coaxed her to return home with him.  Her mother warned her never to go back.  Six weeks later she gave birth to a little girl.
     Less than six months later, she received a telegram telling of Dr. Gloyd’s death.  His father had died a few months earlier, and Mother Gloyd was left entirely alone.  Because Carrie  wanted to be with the mother of the man she loved, her father assisted by giving her several lots.  In addition to selling Dr. Gloyd's library and instruments, she sold one lot and built a small house on another.  While Mother Gloyd kept house and took care of Charlien, her little girl, Carrie made a meager living while attending Normal Institute of Warrensburg where she received her teaching certificate.  Her first position was short lived at the Public School in Holden.

Chapter Four — A Boor for a Husband

     With no resources left, she made up her mind to marry once more.  She prayed, "My Lord, you see the situation, I cannot take care of Mother Gloyd and Charlien.  I want you to help me.  If it be best for me to marry, I will do so.  I have no one picked out, but I want you to select the one that you think best.  I want to give you my life, and I want by marrying to glorify and serve you, as well as to take care of mother and Charlien and be a good wife."
     Ten days later, as she was walking down the street in Holden, she passed Mr. Nation who was standing in a door way as he greeted her.  He had come up from Warrensburg, where he was editor for the Warrensburg Journal.  
     Now, having reached 31, she knew he was the answer to her prayer.  David Nation was to be the husband God selected.  He was nineteen years her senior, but he was a lawyer and a Christian minister.   Six weeks later, they were married.  Mother Gloyd went to live with them and she continued until her death fifteen years later.  However, her marriage to Mr. Nation was not a happy one.  She learned that he had deceived her in many ways.  Besides having a suspicious and jealous nature, he resented her revered Christianity.  Her Christian life was offensive to him.
     Two years after their marriage, they combined their mutual properties and traded for seventeen hundred acres of land containing cotton growth on the San Bernard River in Texas.  Cotton cultivation was quite different from anything they had experienced as everything began to turn against them.  Mr. Nation had to seek other employ at a distant town.
     In the mean time, Mr. Nation's daughter Lola, then eleven years old, and Charlien, eight years, needed to attend school some six miles away.  Carrie began to see the disastrous move they had made and became despondent. There was nothing in the house but meal, some bacon fat, and sweet potatoes.  She was forced to rely on charitable neighbors.
     In desperation, she managed to negotiate the operation of a hotel in Columbia, a small village that was a railroad terminal having a population of 500.  Carrie moved a car load of furniture, bedding, and some tableware, and borrowed $3.50 to buy provisions. She then began operations at the old, worn-down, Columbia Hotel.  Mother Gloyd, having prior experience in keeping a hotel, provided support along with an Irish woman who did the cooking.

      In 1901, after 29 years of marriage and at the height of Carry's prohibition activities, David Nation filed for divorce citing grounds of desertion.  
      He exclaimed, "I married this woman because I needed someone to run my house."
     “I assisted with the cooking and helped in the dining-room.  Mother Gloyd and Lola attended to the chamber work, and little Charlien was the one who did the buying for the house.  I would often wash out my tablecloths at night myself and iron them in the morning before breakfast.  I would take boarders' washing, hire a woman to wash, then do the ironing myself.  For several months my little children and I ate nothing but broken food. I can never put on paper the struggles of this life.  I would not know one day how we would get along the next.”
     In solitude, Carrie would ask God why she was left forsaken without the love and attention of a good husband.  She resolved, “I know it was God's will for me to marry Mr. Nation.  Had I married a man I could have loved, God could never have used me.  Phrenologists who have examined my head have said:  "How can you, who are such a lover of home be without one?"  


Chapter Five — Spirit Guided Hallucinations

     As a result of successes in the hotel business, Carrie moved her charges from Columbia to Richmond, Texas in 1884.  During attendance at a Methodist conference, she was renewed with spiritual strengths and began teaching Sunday School classes.  More and more she would reach levels of ecstacy that unfolded visions and hallucinations.
     While attending a Methodist conference in Richmond, Texas, the minister was reading the sixty-second chapter of Isaiah.  Carrie’s mind wandered because of the ministers words as she envisioned him with a halo.  She became enraptured with ecstacy as the “angel” before her spoke while the church-house ascended to heaven.
     On another occasion there was a severe drought in Texas when Carrie summoned the community to a prayer for rain.  Three days of rain poured soon afterward.
     Mr. Nation had joined his family in Richmond and became the correspondent for the Houston Post.  His writing resulted in being beaten nearly to death one night by some local hoodlums.  Carrie prayed for vengeance and nearly all of them suffered mishaps or early demise.
     The prohibition movement appealed to many women because it allowed them a means to act at a time when they could not vote.
     Bribery, fraud, and drunkenness at the polls were all reasons 19th century politicians gave for denying women the vote.
     It was argued that the political process would corrupt these feminine guardians of family and home.
     When Mr. Nation’s life was once again threatened, they sold their hotel and relocated to Medicine Lodge, Kansas.  Mr. Nation took a preaching position at Holden, Kansas, thirty miles north of Topeka.  However, he was terminated after a year, so they moved back to Medicine Lodge.
     Carrie mused, “The man I married, hoping to serve God, I found to be opposed to all I did, as a Christian.  I used to wonder why this was.  I saw others with their loving children and husbands and I would wish their condition was mine.”
     At Medicine Lodge, she experienced a heavenly rapture for three days, saying, “My Savior was my constant companion.  I saw no form, heard no word.  But His dear face was just behind and looking over my right shoulder.  He was a conscious presence and the deep peace was beyond any experience I ever had.”
     She later described herself as "a bulldog running along at the feet of Jesus, barking at what he doesn't like," and claimed a divine ordination to promote temperance by smashing up bars.


Chapter Six — Whiskey Rebellion

     Becoming more and more embittered by the evils of alcohol, Carrie first began her aggressions in Medicine Lodge accosting local physicians who prescribed alcoholic blends for curing a multitude of diseases.  She would often state, “Any physician that will prescribe whiskey or alcohol as a medicine is either a fool or a knave, for there is not one medical quality in alcohol.”
     There was Dr. Kocile in Medicine Lodge who used to sell all the whiskey he could prescribe.  He made a drunkard of a very prominent woman of the town, who took the Keely cure.  She told the W. C. T. U. of the villainy of this doctor and she could not have hated anyone more.  “Oh!, the drunkards the doctors are making!”
     She recounted, “On the 6th of June, 1900, before retiring early, as I often did, I threw myself face downward at the foot of my bed and told the Lord to use me in any way to suppress the dreadful curse of liquor; that He had ways to do it, that I had done all I knew, that the wicked had conspired to take from us the protection of homes; to kill our children and break our hearts.  I told Him I wished I had a thousand lives, that I would give Him all of them, and wanted Him to make it known to me, some way.”  
     The next morning, before I awoke, I heard these words very distinctly: "Go to Kiowa, and I'll stand by you." . . . seemed to be spoken in my heart.  I sprang from my bed as if electrified, and knew this was directions given me, for I understood that it was God's will for me to go to Kiowa to smash the saloons.”
     “I went out in the yard and picked up some brick-bats . . . and I wrapped them up in newspapers to pack in the box under my buggy seat.  I hitched my horse to the buggy, put the box of "smashers" in, and at half past three o'clock in the afternoon, the sixth of June, 1900, I started to Kiowa.”
     Carrie reached Kiowa late that evening and stayed the night with a friend.  After rising the following morning she hitched her horse to her buggy and proceeded to Dobson’s Saloon.
     “I put the smashers on my right arm and went in.  Dobson and another man were standing behind the bar.  These rocks and bottles being wrapped in paper looked like packages bought from a store.  I did not wish my enemies to know what I had.”
      Alone or accompanied by hymn-singing women, she would march into a bar and sing and pray, while smashing bar fixtures and stock with a hatchet.
     During the previous year, Carrie had organized the Barber County chapter of the  W. C. T. U. (Women’s Christian Temperance Union) and held its convention at Kiowa when she instructed all bar owners to close down or else.  Reminding Mr. Dobson of that warning she railed, “Get out of the way.  I don't want to strike you, but I am going to break up this den of vice."
     She began throwing bricks at the mirror and at the liquor bottles on the shelve, leaving a startled Dobson — she proceeded to devastate three more whiskey joints, even breaking some of the front windows for good measure.  At the last bar owned by Mr. Lewis, she ran out of missiles.  When the heavy mirror didn’t break, she looked around and picking up a billiard ball she hurtled it at the mirror creating a large smattering hole.
     A great crowd had gathered to see this six-foot woman striding to the remaining bars in the city which by then had closed rather than be confronted by this raging woman.
     Addressing the gathering of citizens and town officials, she stated, "I have destroyed three of your places of business, and if I have broken a statute of Kansas, put me in jail; if I am not a law-breaker your mayor and councilmen are.  You must arrest one of us, for if I am not the criminal, then they are."
     Mounting her buggy, she began to leave when the town marshal grabbed the reins of her horse stating that the mayor wanted to see her.  A man standing next to the mayor yelled out that she had to pay for the windows she broke in his building.
     Carrie retorted, "No, you are a partner of the dive-keeper and the statutes hold your building responsible. The man that rents the building for any business is no better than the man who carries on the business, and you are "particepts criminus," or party to the crime."
     The challenging and demanding woman was not arrested after all.

     Upon returning to Medicine Lodge, a large curious crowd having heard of the Kiowa events greeted Carrie.   She drove her buggy to the postoffice corner where she propounded her cause of action and revealed her mission.  She began by describing her missionary work in the local jail, and encounters with young lives that had been ruined, and the many broken hearted mothers, the additional taxes incurred by the county, and wrongs brought about by the whiskey dives in Kiowa.  
     She expounded further on her communications with Sheriff Gano, Prosecuting Attorney Griffin; letters she wrote to State Attorney General Godard, and how she finally realized the violation of oaths by governing officials who refused to enforce the constitution of Kansas.  
     In conclusion, she stated, “I had a letter from a Mr. Long, of Kiowa, saying that Mr. Griffin, the prosecuting attorney, was taking bribes, and that he and the sheriff were drinking and gambling in the dives at Kiowa.
     The motivated county citizens reacted in favor of closing the whiskey joints resulting in the dive-keepers being arrested and several months later, found guilty.
      Once a calming climate, came about, the Kiowan authorities proceeded to serve papers on Carrie for slander against Sam Griffiin.  After grueling court proceedings, she was found guilty, fined $1.00 and levied with the court costs of $200.00.  Rather than becoming discouraged during the trial, the reverse occurred.  A stimulated Carrie remarked, “I knew I was right, and God in his own time would come to my help.”
     She never revealed publicly that God told her to take action at Kiowa until later during her progression to fame.  Carrie shielded herself from the growing public opinion that she was bordering on insanity.
     Two weeks before the close of the Kiowa trial, almost seven months after the raid in Kiowa, she went to Wichita, Kansas.  Heretofore, her activities were restrained by her husband, but when Mr. Nation went to see his brother in eastern Kansas, Carrie took advantage of her freedom.  On Monday 26, 1900, she took a valise with a foot-long iron rod and carried a cane.  During her bar-smashing in Kiowa she learned that a rock could only be used once, so she prepared herself with a better arsenal.  After arriving at Wichita that evening, she checked into a hotel depositing her valise in the room.  She then went out to peruse the town and its fourteen joints  where men were drinking.  She mused that, “This outrage of law and decency was in violation of the oaths taken by every city officer, including mayor and councilmen, and they were as much bound to destroy these joints as they would be to arrest a murderer, or break up a den of thieves, but many of these so-called officers encouraged the violation of the law and patronized these places.”
     Upon reaching the Carey Hotel, the next door bar called the Carey Annex had a life-size picture of a naked woman hanging opposite the bar mirror.  She entered and berated the bartender for not covering up the painting.  She became more incensed when the bartender ignored her.
     The next morning she wrapped herself in a large cape,  took the cane and iron rod that was wrapped in paper and walked out to the alley to find rocks.  She tucked these under her cape.  Striding into the Carey Bar annex, she threw two rocks at the picture and smashed the wide mirror with her weighted cane.  The startled barkeep and patrons were transfixed and never moved as she sliced her cane across the bottles of intoxicating drinks.
     She hastily cut a path of destruction through the bar across the street before being arrested at 8:30 A. M.  She was held at police headquarters until 6:30 P. M. when she was tried.  Having been found guilty of malicious mischief, she was taken to the Wichita jail.
     “The sensation of being locked in such a place for the first time is not like any other.  I tried to be brave, but the tears were running down my face. I took hold of the iron bars of my door, and tried to shake them and said: "Never mind, you put me in here a cub, but I will go out a roaring lion and I will make all hell howl." I wanted to let them know that I was going to grow while in there.”
     Her jailers began to harass her with a series of detriments.  A raving lunatic was placed in the adjoining cell.  Prisoners were given cigarettes and instructed to keep puffing.  To no avail, she begged not to be exposed to the “poisonous smoke”
     Not obliging, the sheriff told all the prisoners to smoke all they pleased as he furnished them with more tobacco.  She believed it a conspiracy to make her insane.  Further, the sheriff quarantined the jail for three weeks making her the lone woman among cigarette smokers and a maniac.
     “Mr. Dick Dodd was the jailor, and for three weeks he was the only one who came in my cell and I was not allowed to see anyone in that time, but Dr. Jordan who called once.  I cried and begged to be relieved of the smoke.”
     January is a cold month, but in spite of it she kept the cell window open.  She was given two blankets, no pillow, and a filthy mattress.  Shivering, she laid on the cement floor, developing diseased bronchial tubes, from which she never recovered.  Her only comfort was her Bible.
A large woman (nearly 6 feet tall and 185 pounds) she described herself as "a bulldog running along at the feet of Jesus, barking at what he doesn't like," and claimed a divine ordination to promote temperance by smashing up bars.
     She would later recall, “It was agony to hear the ravings night and day from the poor old maniac.  He would frequently fall off his iron bed to the floor. He was a large man of about sixty years of age.  He was helpless and had no one to take care of him, but John, the Trustee, who for the sake of mercy, would give him but little attention.  The sanitary condition of his cell was something horrible, from the smell that came into my room.  One night the poor lunatic fell so hard on the floor that he lay as if dead for some time. The jailer and others were aroused and before they dare have a physician come in, they had to scrub and clean the cell.  Dr. Jordan came, and the old man was finally brought to life.  This same doctor was in the conspiracy to have me adjudged insane  — me, a woman fifty-five years old, who never broke a statute of Kansas.”
     At the end of January, 1901. she was released from the Wichita jail, having bail posted under a writ of habeas corpus.  She did not go home to her husband in Medicine Lodge.  Instead she boarded a train for Enterprise, Kansas.  While in jail she had received a letter requesting that she break up the saloons there.  Upon her arrival she stayed the night with Mrs. Hoffman.
     In the early morning she went to the Stillings’ Bar which was closed, so she broke the front glass and climbed through to destroy twelve cases of beer.  While in process, the town marshal arrived to prevent her from further destruction.   In spite of her aggressive deeds, she was not arrested.
     Later that night, she went to a street corner to rally a crowd and while explaining her actions, barowner Stillings passed by shaking his fist, saying: "My wife will settle you."  — And from around the corner stomped a furious woman came around the corner, striking her with a resounding blow to the eye.
     The next morning, Stillings once more confronted her by binding her arms while prompting four women to beat her with whips and sticks. She was thus disabled for two days.
     News having spread to the surrounding towns, she received a telegram from the Temperance Committee of Holt appealing for her to "Come here and help us break up dives."
     Having made the decision to take the twelve-mile trip that night, on the way to the Train Depot she was assaulted from every corner by thrown eggs.  Arriving in Holt at midnight and no one to greet her she realized she was duped.  Spending a fitful night with demons at her door she left the next morning for Topeka.
     “I went down town after dark, to see the condition of things.  It was soon learned that I was on the streets, and a crowd gathered. I went to some dives and joints.  I could not get in.  One had his mistress stationed at the door with a broomstick.  She gave me four blows before I could get away.”
     Before leaving Topeka, Carrie attended a Temperance meeting where money was raised — that she used for her legal fund and a newspaper.
Prize-fighter John L. Sullivan was reported to have run and hid when Carrie burst into his New York City saloon.  Self-righteous and formidable, Carrie mocked her opponents as "rum-soaked, whiskey-swilled, saturn-faced rummies."
     Carrie Nation’s course was set.  The middle-aged, six-foot woman was armed with God and her hatchet and a determination to smash every bar she could wheedle her way in to.  Fame was spreading from town to town, city to city, state to state.  She received welcome mail as well as  hate mail.  She became the spear-head of the Temperance Movement from 1900 to 1910.  The previously timid ladies became emboldened when escorted to a Bar-Smashing by the penchant zeal of this hatchet wielding Amazon.
She nicknamed her hatchets, "Faith," "Hope," and "Charity."  Arrested once for defacing property, she insisted that the charge be changed to destruction of property since she had, in fact, completely destroyed a saloon.
     To raise funds to pay ongoing and increasing court costs, Carrie scheduled lecture tours to temperance groups and churches that were clamoring to hear her message and to see first hand this towering and unbridled woman with resolve.
"It is the rudest thing . . . a man throwing his smoke into the face of women and children as they pass up and down the street. Have you a right to throw in my mouth what you puff out of yours?  That foul smoke and breath!  And you would like to be called a gentleman."
-–The Smasher's Mail, March 23, 1901

     “I had received ever so many letters from all over the country justifying smashing as being reasonable, right, and legal.  I also saw that the republican newspapers of Kansas and other states were determined to put me in a false light before the people.  I conceived the idea of editing a paper.  My paper was called THE SMASHER'S MAIL.  I called it this for it was largely composed of letters which I had received on the subject of smashing.”
     She only produced 13 editions before terminating the publication as taking too much of her time.  Carrie felt that the initial releases were sufficient to prove to the public that she was sane and pursuing a good cause in waging aggressive bar-smashing battles against the whiskey joint owners.

Chapter Seven — Jailed Again and Again

     Carrie returned to Wichita and led three women who marched down to the first bar on their agenda.  With hatchets in tow they walked into the John Burns Bar and began smashing right and left.  Carrie took charge of hatcheting the large plate glass windows and the front door.  They attacked the show case and all the bottles shelved behind the bar.  The devending bartender waving raised hands, was stopped in his tracks by a venomous Carrie who yelled, "Don't come near my hatchet, it might fall on you and I will not be responsible for the results."
     Not too soon, the marshal and police seized the women and put them all in one cell.  Carrie became refreshed as the four women sang hymns, read scripture, and retold of their bar smashing experiences.
     Although her companions were released on bond, Carrie was held over and put in a damp, filthy cell that had a constantly dripping faucet.  Regardless of the health conditions, she was locked up for five days before bond was finally granted.
     Following a bar smashing in Topeka, she was once again escorted to jail.  As mail was received from her growing numbers of fans, some sent money with which she was able to purchase food more palatable to her stomach.  Bread and milk became her diet for eighteen consecutive days.  The stifling summer heat was suffocating and fresh air was not a commodity.  Only a broken pane of glass in the window was there to be shared with her cell-mate.
     She was eventually released upon payment of her fines by a booking agent who contracted her for a lecture tour.
     “When I got to Kansas City, I lacked fifty cents of having enough money to pay for my ticket east, so I borrowed from the man at the fruit stand in the depot.  In about a week from that I spoke at Atlantic City for the Philadelphia American.  Thousands of people were present.  I never made a note or wrote a sentence for the platform in my life.”
     “The summer of 1902, I was at Coney Island, speaking in Steeple-Chase Park, and a man was very insulting to me, and always took occasion to say something against women.  I can scarcely remember how it was, but I broke or smashed his show case of cigars and cigarettes.  I was arrested, stood my trial and was being sent to jail.  The policeman in charge of prisoners was purple and bloated from beer drinking.  He struck me on the hand that was holding to the iron bars of the little window and broke a bone, causing it to swell up.  I said: "Never mind, you beer-swelled, whiskey-soaked Saturn faced man, God will strike you."  In six weeks from that time this man fell dead on the streets of Coney Island.  This was the first time I ever had handcuffs on.  I got out by paying for the destruction of the cigar case.”

     “I was arrested in Topeka for going into the dives. The officials were determined to keep them open, and the police arrested me for even going in.”
    “I was arrested in Wheeling, West Virginia, winter of 1902, for going in a saloon and telling the man he was in a business that would send him to hell as well as others.  I was in jail there two nights. No pillow. The bed bugs bad.
    ”I was arrested in Bayonne, N. J., the summer of 1903, because I was talking to a poor drunkard.
    “The last jail I was in was in Philadelphia.  There was a very vile saloon kept by a Mr. Donoghue.  I just opened the door when a two legged beer keg in the form of a policeman grabbed me and almost dragged me over the streets to the station. Next morning I was discharged.
    “Here is a list of the times and places I have been in jail:
    “In Wichita three times.  Sentenced December, 1900, thirty days; January 21st, 1901, twenty-one days and January 22nd two days.
    “Topeka seven times;  once thirty days;  twice each eighteen days;  then twelve days; fifteen days, seven days and three days.
    “Kansas City once, part of a day;  also once, part of a day at Coney Island, once at Los Angeles;  once at San Francisco;  Scranton twice, one night and part of two days;  Bayonne, New Jersey a day and night; Pittsburgh three times, one night and part of two days;  Philadelphia once, one night.
    “I was also put in jail in Cape Breton, and in 1904, when five of us attacked the Wholesale House of Mahan Bros., in Wichita, of which I speak elsewhere, making a total of twenty three times.”

NOTE:  (She was arrested 23 times when completing her autobiography in 1905 — but, she was actually incarcerated 31 times by 1910.)


Chapter Eight — The Philanthropist

     When invited to tell her story on the stage by her manager, she was encouraged to give the audience her reason for the use of a hatchet .  She envisioned  the gates that were opening and enthusiastically went from jail to the lecture platform.
     She immediately became a drawing card.
     With increased notoriety, came many lecture opportunities at parks and chautauquas during summers — and by attending fairs in the fall.  When she first began her tour she wasn’t taken seriously by her audiences because they were not ingrained by the principle of her mission.  Her manager urged her to commit to all scheduled dates the first year, for fear of un-forecasted problems.  She remarked, "You will find it easier, for I will be more popular."   She was right because the manager could not fill the dates to meet the demands for her presence from all over the country.  
     Carrie also sold “Little Hatchets” to the assemblies that she confronted.  Her mark of wielding a Hatchet to smash the Bars became her symbol.   Even selling these to the general public became another form of what she called “Hatchetation.”  She made "big money" by selling her miniature hatchets as souvenirs.
     While on a cruise, she remarked,“I was quite surrounded – and the cabin soon becoming crowded – some one asked to see a little hatchet, so I opened my satchel to show them.  One of the officers who had come to the State Room with the captain, had been standing near the stairway, and when he saw the people begin to press to me to get the hatchets, he came up saying, "Madam, you are not allowed to sell these here."  I replied, "You sell wine, beer, whiskey, tobacco, cigarettes and anything that will drug these people.  Now these are my own little souvenirs, and they will advertise my cause, help me, and be a little keepsake from the hand that raised the hatchet, so I claim the right to sell them, where you have no right to sell bad things."  
     By 1902, she had accumulated five thousand dollars for a planned mission home to be built on Central Avenue in Kansas City, Kansas.  Realizing that she could not spend time to administer to her dream, she approached the Salvation Army, but they were not interested.
     Finding a more suitable location for her quest, Carrie sold the newly constructed building for the money she put into it and acquired two acres including a twenty room brick house with a brick stable, and a forest of abundant trees.  She made arrangements for the Associated Charities of Kansas City to put it to the intended use.  The Association took possession in December, 1903, establishing it as a shelter for the poor and destitute, with the expectation that they would make their own living.  
     It was named the Kansas City Home for Drunkards’ Wives and provided a shelter for the families of alcoholic fathers and husbands.  This was to be the first of several Carry Nation homes across the United States.  At some point, the home was abandoned and on October 3, 1918, the Kansas WCTU formerly accepted the deed to the property from the Associated Charities. The KWCTU then established it as a home for their elderly members who had no other home.
     In her exuberance, while in New York City on one of her lecture tours she created a sensation by publicly demanding that the occupants of the Vanderbilt box at the Madison Square Garden horse show contribute money for the support of the institution.
     “My motive for doing this was twofold. I wanted to furnish a home for these, the innocent results of the saloon, whose sad condition is beyond words to describe.  The people burden themselves with taxes to build jails, penitentiaries, alms houses, insane asylums, and reformatories to care for the guilty results of the saloon.  They pay millions to prosecute these criminals, the result of the saloon, but no one has ever thought of a building, or shelter for these women who are worse than widows, who are free from any fault in this matter, but are the greatest sufferers.”


Chapter Nine — The Celebrity

     After her tours of speeches had proceeded successfully, it was decided that she should star in a theatrical play called Ten Nights in a Bar-room.  Each act featured a prohibition lecture, and Carrie's part was that of the mother of a murdered boy.  In one scene she thoroughly smashed a saloon, which was considered the most popular by the applauding audience – many of whom were patrons from nearby saloons.
     Carrie's justification for moving from church steps to footlights was quite logical by reason that people go to theaters more than attending churches.
     Tireless in her efforts, Carry traveled around the country, Canada, and the British Isles. She was confident her efforts would
"Carry A. Nation."

     From the theater she pursued vaudeville, and continued to perform her regular "stunts" along with the singers, the dancers, the harlequin's, the acrobats, and the comedians.  She would step up to the stage unattended by the customary flood lights or music fanfare.  The plain-dressed, bible-toting, motherly woman immediately took command and respect from the crowded room — from the men in the orchestra stalls to the galleries.  At least half were already intoxicated and would, at first, scoff at her, but were immediately shushed by the less drunken ones around them.  It was a sight that hushed them all into respectful silence, for the respectable, earnest woman, grasping a Holy Book in her hand.
     Carry's name was used in ways she did not approve. A Mardi Gras club in New Orleans was named for her, as was a winning American Quarter Horse.
"All Nations Welcome But Carrie" became a standard phrase in bar rooms across America.
     In addition to her Prohibition talk, she would scold and tell them what sots they were making of themselves, and she became so emphatic, that they cheered her on — resulting in her ending the score a heroine.



Chapter Ten — Carrie Does Eureka!

     She began visiting Northwest Arkansas carrying her famous hatchet and wearing a white ribbon while speaking to temperance chapters in Fayetteville and Mena in 1904 and in Hot Springs in 1905.  In February 1906, she toured Rogers, Bentonville, and Springdale.  Her visits to Arkansas were generally well-received, although she was arrested during a 1906 trip to Hot Springs after entering a bar attempting to hatchitate the patrons.
      A Roger’s newspaper account had quipped, “There were no saloons in this section for her to smash but it is claimed several druggists hid their Peruna bottles under the counter until she was safely out of town.”  (Peruna was a patent medicine almost entirely made up of alcohol.)
     At the Rogers Opera House on Walnut Street, she talked about the evils of liquor and smoking, and recounted incidents from her career as a saloon smasher.
     Once when Carrie was at the Rogers railroad depot, one of the Frisco officials decided to test her mettle and wait on her himself.  With a hat on his head and a cigar in his mouth, he asked, “What can I do for you lady?”
     Carrie’s eyes burned fire as she snatched the cigar from the official’s mouth and threw it on the floor.  She said, “Take off your hat when you speak to a woman!”  Reportedly the onlookers “roared with laughter” and the official “beat a hasty retreat.”
     After purchasing property in northern Arkansas, she moved to the state to grow vegetables and tend flowers.  
     Of her retirement haven, she remarked, "The water is the purest, the scenery is not surpassed, and the mountain air is life-giving . . .  I believe the mountains of the Ozarks to be the future health resorts of this country."  The following year she moved into a large house on Steele Street in Eureka Springs.


Hatchet Hall, 35 Steel Street, Eureka Springs

     Hatchet Hall was bought for $1800 in 1908 and operated as a boarding house.  Next door was a girl’s school until 1911 when Carry Nation died.  She was noted for her chicken pie and apple dumplings as well as knocking cigarettes out of young mouths.
.
     Russell Johnson describes Carry Nation in his Arkansas Traveler  website:
     For about a year she kept a sheep farm (80 acres bought in 1909 in Boone County) and lived in a rustic cabin in Alpena Pass near Harrison, Arkansas.
     As she approached the age of sixty the Kentucky native looked for a place to settle and spend her remaining years.  Like so many eccentrics before and since, she fell in love with Eureka Springs and bought several properties there.  
     For some reason she held a kind of truce with the saloon keepers of Eureka Springs.  She destroyed property and got arrested just about everywhere else, but she toed the legal line pretty closely in her newly adopted home town.  However, she was known to snatch lit cigars, cigarettes and pipes from the mouths of townsmen she met on the streets.
     When she bought the Steel Street properties (in 1910, she restored the 14-room home to suit her purposes, and) she turned the sheep farm over to relatives.
     She named the house Hatchet Hall and it became her residence as well as a boarding house for widows, battered women and college girls.  Room and board was $10 a month, a quarter of what other boarding houses charged.  Religious instruction an hymn singing was pretty much constant and Carry did much of the cooking herself.  In 1910 she founded a school called the "National College."  The college was actually a communal K-12 outfit, not what we would today call a college.  In addition to taking classes the students were assigned household chores.”


Carry Nation Spring
     Across the street from Hatchet House was the Spring that Mrs Nation reportedly saw in a dream vision and had her workers blast the rock with dynamite that disclosed a spring as well as a cave.  The spring supplied water for nearby homes and the cave served as a refrigerator for the neighborhood.

Russell Johnson describes Carry Nation in his Arkansas Traveler  website:
     “Right across the street is the Carry Nation Spring. The story goes that Mother Nation had a dream that she would find a spring in the rock across the street.  As Moses brought forth water from a rock by striking it with a staff, so Carry struck her boulders with a stick of sorts.  One of dynamite.  When you see how close the spring is to the front door, you'll wonder what possessed her to set off a bundle of dynamite right there and how much it must have cost her to replace all the glass in the front of the house.  But I guess it paid off, because there's a spring there, and she let all her neighbors use the resulting cave as cool storage for perishables.”

* * *
In an interview while promoting her book entitled, Carry A. Nation: Retelling the Life. Fran Grace stated that, “Eureka Springs, for Carry Nation, was an oasis that people who, at the end of their life, after they've worked really hard, it's what they longed for. And it was a period that was not long enough for her. She only lived there two years or so. But she made a decision in 1909, after coming back from an extended tour in Britain, that it was time to rest. It was time to retreat from public life, not completely, but in the same way that she had been living it, smashing up saloons and lecturing everywhere, because she was in constant movement. She never really had a home. And so she turned to Eureka Springs where her husband had been healed of a certain rheumatism, I think, or some kind of arthritic thing.

    “And so she goes to Eureka Springs and she settles into a lovely little street area with a big house that she names Hatchet Hall.  And it's a place where she had women who were fleeing from marriages to alcoholic husbands.  Yes, there's a picture of it . . . Carry Nation with other women who she's trying to extend a safe place to, elderly women who have no one to care for them and have no money to support themselves, and then pre-college children who came to learn from Carry Nation.  

    “So Hatchet Hall in Eureka Springs in 1909 and 1910 became a place where people could seek refuge if they needed it, where people could go and sing.  Carry Nation was a singer and she had a parlor organ, and they could go for meals that were cheap.  There were workers who would walk that street – workers who were minors or whatever, and they would stop in for cheap meals.”

* * *

Russell Johnson describes Carry Nation in his Arkansas Traveler  website:
     She suffered a nervous collapse while visiting relatives up north during the Holiday Season of 1910. There were serious family problems that some people blame for her breakdown. For instance, her son in law Alex had just had Carry's daughter Charlien removed from Carry's care and committed to an Assylum in San Antonio even though Carry had made arrangements in her will for Charlien's perpetual care by family members in Alpena. There was a lot of soap opera stuff like that going on in her life. So she had a breakdown and she returned to Eureka Springs to recover.
     Just two or three weeks later, in mid January, she felt strong enough to do a little preaching in the park. There was a law against stump speaking in Basin Park, so Carry's habit was to hitch her wagon on the street next to the park and preach from the bed of the wagon.
This was the last time she did that because she collapsed as she delivered a feeble harrangue. Her friends rushed to her and she muttered to them, "I have done what I could." A paraphrase of those words is carved on her monument.

     She was placed in the care of a nerve specialist in Leavenworth, Kansas. She refused to eat and remained bedridden until her death on 9 June 1911.

* * *

     Carry Amelia Moore Gloyd Nation died June 9, 1911.  The funeral service was held in Kansas City, Kansas, and burial was in the cemetery at Belton, Missouri, near her parents.  A remembrance service was also conducted in Eureka Springs.
     Carry's grave was not immediately marked, and for a time only a board painted white with her name showed the world where the crusader rested.  In 1924, the people of Belton raised the necessary funds to place a granite marker on her grave.  It bears the epitaph she desired:

"She Hath Done What She Could"
********


Her greater work was the care and protection of abused women and children who often suffered mistreatment at the hands of drunken husbands and fathers.
On her tours, she would leave the collection baskets and hatchet sale funds with the community where she spoke – for the benefit of the poor and broken families.
She built one mission home in Kansas and one in Eureka Springs.

Some information was secured from the Internet at:
http://www.ibdb.com/production.asp?ID=11663


The Freunds

     In 1939, Hatchet Hall was bought by Louis and Elsa Freund to save it from demolition.  It became a summer art school, before and after WWII.  For years, this neighborhood was an artist’s colony, with Elsa and Louis as the focal points.  Both, who were nationally known artists, worked tirelessly to save Eureka’s old buildings.  They were instrumental in getting Eureka Springs place on the National Register of Historic Places in 1970.

Below descriptions by Ellen Stern and George West writing:

     "Louis was one of the first artists to move to Eureka Springs, the once celebrated spa city of the Ozarks – then in serious decline.  With his wife, Freund was instrumental in establishing its reputation as an arts community.  There they created a summer art school, attended by scores of artists in the late-40s to mid-50s; and their studio became a roost for notable artists of the region, including the Pulitzer Prize winning poet John Gould Fletcher.  Freund (pronounced "friend") also helped lead the campaign to preserve the remarkable Victorian architecture of Eureka Springs, which was added to the National Resister of Historic Places in 1972."
     Much earlier, in 1935, he and some other artists were sketching buildings there when they came upon Hatchett Hall, the one-time home of prohibitionist Carrie Nation. They were dismayed to learn the home was to be torn down and replaced with a watermelon shed.  Although they had little money, the artists bought the $250 mortgage and saved the building.
     A year later Freund found a "paying" job as an artist.  He relayed the arrangement in letter to the Arkansas-Democrat: "As a Works Progress Administration painter in Arkansas in the 1936 with a $40 Model T Ford and a grant of $76 a month for expenses.  I drove to Ozark and Missouri and made pictures of a way of life, which was rapidly disappearing.  The works were sent to Washington to decorate government offices and hospital rooms."
     Elsie, married Louis in 1939, won much praise for her work, particularly her jewelry.
     The Freunds involvement with art in Arkansas is long standing, significant and enduring. In addition to the summer art school in Eureka Springs, they were involved in establishing the art programs at Hendrix College and the University of Arkansas at Little Rock.  In Florida where they wintered, they founded the Florida Craftsmen Guild.
     Ellen Bard, Art Curator for the Central Arkansas Library System describes the Freunds as "passionate and intelligent, exuberant and poised, down-home and cosmopolitan."  They are also humble, warm, and clearly find joy in giving.

http://www.arkansas.gov/dhhs/aging/hsjul98.html


And Now - - -

     Fran Grace, the author of Carry A. Nation: Retelling the Life, recalled her trip to Eureka Springs in 1998, “ . . .  they were turning it into apartments . . . still calling it Hatchet Hall.  And  – and the mother of the man who owned Hatchet Hall was running an antique store right next door, and I went in there to try to see if she could sell me some hatchets, some little hatchet pins, and she had a very interesting story for me.  She said that she still saw Carry Nation's spirit coming down the staircase with a tray of food.

For a time, Hatchet Hall was a museum, but today it's treated as a viewing landmark for tourists.

     The house remains vacant except for occasional renting.

     The owners stated that in the 1980s, tourists would line up  waiting for the museum to open.  “It was acclaimed as being one of the most authentic museums in the United States.”  Upon closing, the items of inventory were given to the Arkansas State Archives.

Memorabilia
     The Historical Museum at Main Street has in storage a number of mural panels depicting Carry Nation episodes that were painted by Louis Freund, but some uncaring former owner had the sections wall-papered and are not in condition to be displayed.

  Blue Spring Heritage Center has a display case in its Heritage Building that showcases Carry Nation memorabilia.
There are numerous items including hatchet pins, hatchet broaches, buttons, pamphlets, books, bottles, photographs, and other items of interest.


* * *
Many Poems Below

THE HATCHET CRUSADE
(Dedicated to Mrs. Carry Nation)

Oh, woman, armed with one little hatchet.
Fighting for justice and right,
And with your brave mother courage
Knowing your cause was right,

You've done more to hasten God's kingdom,
And to crush Satan's power o'er men,
Than countless numbers of creation's lords,
With the power of the ballot thrown in.

You've awakened the mothers to action
Whose powers have long dormant been,
While the minions of Satan have strained every nerve
To ruin our boys and our men.

Rouse, mothers, too long we've been sleeping,
Shall one of us let it be said
That we calmly stood by while those who are dear
Were down to destruction led.

American mothers, hear me,
If you think God will not send the warning
In hieroglyphics upon the wall?
God is not mocked, He is just the same,

And has given the power to you.
If you're weighed and found wanting our nation will fall
Because you did not your duty do.
Then let us unfurl our broad banners,
Fling their folds to the breezes high,
Let this still be our motto,
"We'll trust in God, and keep our powder dry."
– CARRIE CHEW SNEDDON.


AMERICA'S HISTORIC HATCHET

Ere Yankee Doodle came to town,
And routed king and tory,
Three words sublime were writ by time
To live in song and story;
"George Washington"--immortal name
There's few or none can match it;His father's favorite cherry tree,
And "George's little hatchet."
In Boston's harbor next we trace
The little hatchet's story;
In smashing up the Crown's tea-chests,
It won a crown of glory.
And every time Wrong shows his head,
That weapon "bald doth snatch it,
For patriot hands are ever found
To wield the "Yankee hatchet."
A century and more has passed,
With blooms and blizzards blowing
O'er Kansas' plains--where corn and grains,
'Round happy homes are growing;
Where statutes pure close each "joint" door,
Forbidding to unlatch it,
There, in the fight, defending Right,
We find our "loyal hatchet."
The boy who 'could not tell a lie,"
The flag of freedom planted,
He shelled "Corn"--wallis to the "cob"
On Yorktown's field undaunted.
Since then, our tea is duty free
No Briton dare attach it;
While the new woman in the case,
Now poses with the hatchet.

She dares to fight a gorgon fight!
A cruel monster hell-born,
Whose hungry maw, ignoring law,
Mocks misery's tears to scorn.
She may not slay the beast, but aye
Her blows will badly scratch it;
All praise is due the woman true,
Who wields the "home-guard" hatchet.

When time shall build the marble guild,
That marks man's reformation,
Its arch of fame shall bear the name
Of dauntless Carrie Nation.
Her righteous scorn of rum and wrong--
May all creation catch it,
And join the "Woman's World Crusade,"
Armed with "our nation's" hatchet.

--Minna Irving, in Leslie's Weekly.  

Revised and second stanza added by C. Butler Andrews."GOD BLESS OUR CARRIE NATION"

May she live to see the day,
When the liquor traffic will be no more,
When the traffic of the devil
Will all be swept away
And God's peace remain supreme from shore to shore.

God bless the hatchet wielder,
May it never cease to strike,
Till it drives the cursed intemperance from our land
Let us stand for God and duty,
Till we gain the Eden of beauty
And be what God designed for us,
A happy union band.

God bless our Carrie Nation,
Give her courage, strength, and might,
To go forth in former battlements arrayed.
Till this cursed intemperance,
Will be driven from our shore,
From every village, hamlet and the glade.

O, God raise up a million,
Of our Carrie Nation minds,
That they may fight for freedom, from the thrall.
Let's join our hands with Carrie
And do not let us tarry,
Oh, let us toil for Jesus one and all.


THAT LITTLE HATCHET

The world reveres brave Joan of Arc,
Whose faith inspired her fellowman
To crush invading columns dark.
So, modern woman's firmer will
To conquer crime's unholy clan,
Crowns her man's moral leader still.

A century was fading fast,
When o'er its closing decade passed
A matron's figure, chaste, yet bold,
Who held within her girdle's fold
A bran' new hatchet.


The jointists smiled within their bars,
'Mid bottles, mirrors and cigars--
The woman passed behind each screen,
And soon ocurred a "literal" scene--
Rum, ruin, racket!

At first she "moral suasion" tried,
But lawless men mere "talk" deride:--
'Twas then she seized her household ax
And for enforcing law by acts,
Found nought to match it.

The work thus wrought with zeal discreet,
Has saved that town from rum complete;
Proving that woman's moral force
Like man's, is held, as last resource,
By sword or hatchet.

And following up that dauntless raid,
The nation welcomes her crusade;
All o'er the land, pure women charmed,
Are eager forming, each one armed
With glittering hatchets.

Talk of "defenders of the nation!"
Woman's slight arm sends consternation
'Mong its worst foes, on social fields,
Worse than the "Mauser," when she wields
The "smashing" hatchet.

Mahommed sought by arts refined,
To raise his standard o'er mankind;
But found success for aye denied,
Until at length he boldly tried
The battle-hatchet.

When soon his power imperial, shone
O'er countless tribes, in widening zone;
And wine was banished from the board
Of Moslem millions, by the sword
And victor's hatchet.

So may it be with this great nation,
When woman tests her high vocation;
Persuasion proves a futile power
To quell the joints, but quick they cower
At the whirling hatchets.


True chivalry must come again,
And men, more noble, but less vain,
Responding to its modern sense,
Guard woman, while in self-defense
She plies her hatchet.

When honor bright appeals to men
"The weak confounds the mighty," then
Side doors and slot-machines must close
And such games hide, when women pose
With sharpened hatchets.

'Else are men brutes, and all their pride
And gallant valor, they must hide
In coward shirking. This shameful end
They must accept, or else defend
The "home-guard" hatchet.

'Tis woman's crucial, fateful hour,
Her fine soul's test, 'gainst man's coarse power.
In war, she can not be man's peer,
But for home's weal, all men sincere
Bow to her hatchet.

Man's "Vigilance" is oft condoned,
When Vice and Crime has been enthroned.
Shall women then, be more to blame,
When she In Virtue's sacred name
Raises her hatchet?

'Tis she must grasp the nation's prize--
A pure, proud home, earth's paradise.
The joints must go, but, never till
Woman exerts her potent will
And holy hatchet.

As men, once slaves, their freedom gained
By force, and power at length attained;
So, cultured brains and force combined,
Shall mark the sphere of womankind
And surely reach it.

In valor, more Joan d'Arc's are needed,
Woman's high social power's conceded,
But she herself, must blaze the path
To public morals, by her own worth
And "Little Hatchet."
--C. BUTLER-ANDREWS.


SHE'S COMING ON THE FREIGHT
(Or, The joint Keeper's Dilemma)

Say, Billy, git ten two-by-four
'Nd twenty six-by-eight,
'Nd order from the hardware store
Ten sheets of boiler plate,
'Nd 'phone the carpenter to come
Most mighty quick--don't wait,
For there's a story on the streets
She's coming on the freight.

O, many years I've carried on
My business in this town;
I've helped elect its officers
From mayor Dram clear down;
I've let policemen, fer a wink,
Get jags here every day;
Say, Billy, get a move on, fer
She's headed right this way.

I don't mind temp'rance meetin's
When they simply resolute,
Fer after all their efforts bringBut mighty little fruit;
But when crowbars and hatchets
'Nd hand axes fill the air--
Say, Billy, git that boiler iron
Across the window there!

It beats the nation--no, I think
The Nation's beatin' me,
When I can pay a license here
And still not sell it free;
Fer I must keep my customers
Outside 'nd make 'em wait,
Because the story's got around
She's comin' on the freight.

There, Billy, now we've got her--
Six-eights across the door,
'Nd solid half-inch boiler iron
Where plate glass showed before;
But, Bill, before that freight arrives
Ye'd better take a pick
'Nd pry that cellar window loose,
So we can git out quick. — By ED. BLAIR

A WOMAN
(Dedicated to Mrs. Carry Nation)

When Kansas joints are open wide
To ruin men on every side,
What power can stem their lawless tide?
A woman.
When many mother's hearts have bled
And floods of sorrow's tears are shed,
Who strikes the serpent on the head?
A woman.
When boys are ruined every day
And older ones are led astray,
Who boldly strikes and wins the fray?
A. woman.
When drunkenness broods o'er the home,
Forbidding pleasure there to come,
Whose hatchet spills the jointist's rum?
A woman.
When rum's slain victims fall around,
And vice and poverty abound,
Who cuts this up as to the ground?
A woman.
When those who should enforce the law
Are useless as are men of straw,
What force can make saloons withdraw?
A woman.
When public sentiment runs low,
And no one dares to make them go,
Whose hatchet lays their fixtures low?
A woman.
Who sways this mighty rising tide
That daily grows more deep and wide,
Until no rum shall it outride?
A woman.
Who then can raise her fearless band
And say 'twas "Home Defender's" band
Who drove this monster from the land!
A woman.
--DR. T. J. MERRYMAN.


THAT LITTLE HATCHET

The world reveres brave Joan of Arc,
Whose faith inspired her fellowman
To crush invading columns dark.
So, modern woman's firmer will
To conquer crime's unholy clan,
Crowns her man's moral leader still.

A century was fading fast,
When o'er its closing decade passed
A matron's figure, chaste, yet bold,
Who held within her girdle's fold
A bran' new hatchet.

The jointists smiled within their bars,
'Mid bottles, mirrors and cigars--
The woman passed behind each screen,
And soon ocurred a "literal" scene--
Rum, ruin, racket!

At first she "moral suasion" tried,
But lawless men mere "talk" deride:--
'Twas then she seized her household ax
And for enforcing law by acts,
Found nought to match it.

The work thus wrought with zeal discreet,
Has saved that town from rum complete;
Proving that woman's moral force
Like man's, is held, as last resource,
By sword or hatchet.

And following up that dauntless raid,
The nation welcomes her crusade;
All o'er the land, pure women charmed,
Are eager forming, each one armed
With glittering hatchets.

Talk of "defenders of the nation!"
Woman's slight arm sends consternation
'Mong its worst foes, on social fields,
Worse than the "Mauser," when she wields
The "smashing" hatchet.

Mahommed sought by arts refined,
To raise his standard o'er mankind;
But found success for aye denied,
Until at length he boldly tried
The battle-hatchet.

When soon his power imperial, shone
O'er countless tribes, in widening zone;
And wine was banished from the board
Of Moslem millions, by the sword
And victor's hatchet.

So may it be with this great nation,
When woman tests her high vocation;
Persuasion proves a futile power
To quell the joints, but quick they cower
At the whirling hatchets.

True chivalry must come again,
And men, more noble, but less vain,
Responding to its modern sense,
Guard woman, while in self-defense
She plies her hatchet.

When honor bright appeals to men
"The weak confounds the mighty," then
Side doors and slot-machines must close
And such games hide, when women pose
With sharpened hatchets.

'Else are men brutes, and all their pride
And gallant valor, they must hide
In coward shirking. This shameful end
They must accept, or else defend
The "home-guard" hatchet.

'Tis woman's crucial, fateful hour,
Her fine soul's test, 'gainst man's coarse power.
In war, she can not be man's peer,
But for home's weal, all men sincere
Bow to her hatchet.

Man's "Vigilance" is oft condoned,
When Vice and Crime has been enthroned.
Shall women then, be more to blame,
When she In Virtue's sacred name
Raises her hatchet?

'Tis she must grasp the nation's prize--
A pure, proud home, earth's paradise.
The joints must go, but, never till
Woman exerts her potent will
And holy hatchet.

As men, once slaves, their freedom gainedBy force, and power at length attained;
So, cultured brains and force combined,
Shall mark the sphere of womankind
And surely reach it.

In valor, more Joan d'Arc's are needed,
Woman's high social power's conceded,
But she herself, must blaze the path
To public morals, by her own worth
And "Little Hatchet."
--C. BUTLER-ANDREWS.


Dr. Howard Russell told in his address at Kokomo, Sunday, March 24, how when Mrs. Nation was on her way from Topeka to Peoria, a passenger on the same train came into the car where she was and sang a song of his own composition.  He was evidently a farmer with a large stock of mother-wit.  He was lame, and limped into the car, and hopped up and down while he sang.  A great deal of merry enthusiasm was aroused, and the car, packed full of people, expressed their appreciation by round after round of applause.  It is evident that Mrs. Nation is quite popular in that part of the country.

The song is as follows:

Hurrah, Samantha, Mrs. Nation is in town!
So get on your bonnet and your Sunday-meeting gown.
Oh, am so blamed excited I’m hopping up and down,
Hurrah, Samantha, Carrie Nation is in town!

Get you ready, we are going to the city,
Where the "Home Defenders" are all feeling gay,
And the mothers all exclaiming, "It’s a pity
That Carrie Nation does not come here every day."

I want to hear that mirror-smashing music,
And to look in Mrs. Nation's blessed face,
And to see the saloon men all cavorting
With that hatchet bringing sadness to their face.
Hurrah, Samantha, Mrs. Nation is in town!
So wear your brightest bonnet and your alapaca gown.
Oh, I am so jubilated I'm a-hopping up and down,
Hurrah! hurrah! Samantha, Mrs. Nation is in town.


OUTCAST.
(Found in manuscript among the personal effects of a prostitute, 22 years of age, who died in the Commercial Hospital, Cincinnati, Ohio)

Once I was pure as the snow, but I fell,
Fell like the snowflakes from heaven to hell;
Fell to be trampled as filth on the street
Fell to be scoffed, to be spit on and beat;
Pleading--cursing--dreading to die,
Selling my soul to whoever would buy,
Dealing in shame for a morsel of bread,
Hating the living and fearing the dead.
Merciful God, have I fallen so low?
And yet I was once like the beautiful snow.

Once I was fair as the beautiful snow,
With an eye like a crystal, a heart like its glow,
Once I was loved for my innocent grace –
Flattered and sought for the charms of my face!
Fathers, – mothers, – sisters, – all,
God and myself have I lost by my fall;
The veriest wretch that goes shivering by,
Will make a wide sweep lest I wander too nigh;
For all that is in, on, or above me, I know,
There is nothing so pure as the beautiful snow.

How strange it should be that this beautiful snow
Should fall on a sinner with nowhere to go!
How strange it should be when the night comes again,
If the snow and the ice struck my desperate brain.
Fainting, – freezing, – dying alone,
Too wicked for prayer, too weak for a moan,To be heard in the streets of this crazy town,
Gone mad in the joy of the snow coming down;
To be and to die in my terrible woe,
With a bed and shroud of the beautiful snow.

Helpless and foul as the trampled snow
Sinner, despair not!  Christ stoopeth low
To rescue the soul that is lost in sin,
And raise it to life and enjoyment again.
Groaning--bleeding--dying for thee
The crucified hung on the cursed tree,
His accent of mercy fell soft on thine ear,
"Is there mercy for me?   Will He heed my weak prayer?"
O, God! in the stream that for sinners did flow,
Wash me and I shall be whiter than snow.




THE LIPS THAT TOUCH LIQUOR MUST NEVER TOUCH MINE

You are coming to woo me, but not as of yore,
For I hastened to welcome your ring at the door,
For I trusted that he, who stood waiting for me then,
Was the brightest, the noblest, the truest of men.

Your lips on my own when they printed "Farewell,"
Had never been soiled by the "Beverage of Hell,"
But they come to me now with the bacchanal sign,
And the lips that touch liquor must never touch mine.

I think of that night, in the garden alone,
When whispering you told me your heart was my own,
That your love in the future should faithfully be,
Unshared by another, kept only for me.

Oh sweet to my soul is the memory still,
Of the lips that met mine when they murmured "I will,"
But now to their pleasure no more I incline,
For the lips that touch liquor must never touch mine.

O, John!  How it crushed me when first in your face,
The pen of the "Rum Fiend" had written "Disgrace,"
And turned me in silence and tears from that breath,
All poisoned and foul from the chalice of death.

It shattered the hopes I had cherished to last,
It darkened the future and clouded the past,
It shattered my Idol and ruined the shrine,
For the lips that touch liquor must never touch mine.

I loved you, O! dearer than language can tell,
And you saw it, you proved it, you knew it too well;
But the man of my love was far other than he
Who now from the "tap room" came reeling to me.

In manhood and honor, so noble and right,
His heart was so true and his genius so bright,
And his Soul was unstained, unpolluted by wine,
But the lips that touch liquor must never touch mine.

You promised reform; but I trusted in vain;
Your pledge was but made to be broken again,
And the lover so false to his promises now,
Will not as a husband be true to his vow.

The word must be spoken that bids you depart,
Though the effort to speak it would shatter my heart,
Though in silence with blighted affections I pine,
Yet the lips that touch liquor must never touch mine.

If one spark in your bosom of virtue remain,
Go fan it with prayer, till it kindle again,
Resolved, "God helping," in future to be
From wine and its follies unshackled and free.

And when you have conquered this foe of your Soul,
In manhood and honor beyond its control,
This heart will again beat responsive to thine,
And the lips that touch liquor must never touch mine.

--Unknown.



WAR AMONG THE POETS

From the Royal Arch News, the warhorse of the booze hoodlums, the snapdragon of the jungle, the siren of Hades.

"The Lips that Touch Liquor Shall Never Touch Mine," so sings– Miss Cora Vere, who writes jingle for the Anti-Saloon press, and this is the reply that the R. A. News would make.

The lips that touch liquor don't hanker to touch
The lips of a maiden like you -- not much!
If a man--not a milksop--should happened to wed
A creature like you, he had better be dead;
For never a moment of peace would he see
Unless he would bow to your every decree,
If he smoked a cigar, or drank beer, you would make
A hell of his home, and perhaps you would break
Into court and denounce him, in search of divorce,
And fools would uphold you, as matter of course.
Perhaps, like the Nation, a hatchet you'd take
And his bottles of beer and cigar-boxes break,
And get your name blazoned i-n all of the papers,
By your rowdy-dow talk and unwomanly capers,
No! the lips that touch liquor don't hanker to touch
The lips of a female like you are – not much!

I am not a poet myself but I am fortunate in having a friend that is, so I called on him to meet this antagonist with a nobler steel, and behold the defeat of this champion of a dying cause:


AN AMERICAN COUNTESS, OR LADY VERE.
"The lips that touch liquor, shall never touch mine;"
The meaning is clear, the sense is divine,
Bespeaks a clear head, an unsullied heart –
A fortune from which no sane man would part.
O, God!   Give us more of such women, we pray,
Then slop-pots of whisky we'd urge to the fray.
The hatchets of "Carrie," and Cora Vere,
Would knock out the spigots and bungs of whisky.

An army like those would drive them pell-mell;
For safety they'd Hazen, and think they did well
To escape from the jury of women turned loose
Who have drank to its dregs the damnation of booze.

The idea that women would "hanker" to touch,
The lips of a demijohn; I guess not – "not much;"
A forty-rod pole should line up between,
No nearer than that a fair lady be seen.

So now, "Indiana, of Royal Arch News,"
You've taken great pains to give us your views;
I take up the gauntlet, and venture reply;
I stop not to argue, but simply defy.

You say in one case one had better be dead
Than with a good woman in wedlock be wed:
But somewhere I've read your kind do not die;
But passing from earth, 'are hung up to dry."

Besotted with whiskey,--unfitting to tell,
Even Satan himself avoiding the "smell;"
Before then we part, I would bid you adieu,
Reform while you may – begin life anew.

If you have a surplus – like Lady Vere,
Please pass them around, turn them over to me;
"A la Hobson" – I'd venture to sample the store,
And look o'er the field – yes! and "hanker" for more.

Sparta, Mo. D. E. GRAYSTON



"GOD BLESS OUR CARRIE NATION."

May she live to see the day,
When the liquor traffic will be no more,
When the traffic of the devil
Will all be swept away
And God's peace remain supreme from shore to shore.

God bless the hatchet wielder,
May it never cease to strike,
Till it drives the cursed intemperance from our land
Let us stand for God and duty,
Till we gain the Eden of beauty
And be what God designed for us,
A happy union band.

God bless our Carrie Nation,
Give her courage, strength, and might,
To go forth in former battlements arrayed.
Till this cursed intemperance,
Will be driven from our shore,
From every village, hamlet and the glade.

O, God raise up a million,
Of our Carrie Nation minds,
That they may fight for freedom, from the thrall.
Let's join our hands with Carrie
And do not let us tarry,
Oh, let us toil for Jesus one and all.


AMERICA'S HISTORIC HATCHET.

Ere Yankee Doodle came to town,
And routed king and tory,
Three words sublime were writ by time
To live in song and story;
"George Washington"--immortal name
There's few or none can match it;
His father's favorite cherry tree,
And "George's little hatchet."
In Boston's harbor next we trace
The little hatchet's story;In smashing up the Crown's tea-chests,
It won a crown of glory.
And every time Wrong shows his head,
That weapon "bald doth snatch it,
For patriot hands are ever found
To wield the "Yankee hatchet."
A century and more has passed,
With blooms and blizzards blowing
O'er Kansas' plains--where corn and grains,
'Round happy homes are growing;
Where statutes pure close each "joint" door,
Forbidding to unlatch it,
There, in the fight, defending Right,
We find our "loyal hatchet."
The boy who 'could not tell a lie,"
The flag of freedom planted,
He shelled "Corn"--wallis to the "cob"
On Yorktown's field undaunted.
Since then, our tea is duty free
No Briton dare attach it;
While the new woman in the case,
Now poses with the hatchet.

She dares to fight a gorgon fight!
A cruel monster hell-born,
Whose hungry maw, ignoring law,
Mocks misery's tears to scorn.
She may not slay the beast, but aye
Her blows will badly scratch it;
All praise is due the woman true,
Who wields the "home-guard" hatchet.

When time shall build the marble guild,
That marks man's reformation,
Its arch of fame shall bear the name
Of dauntless Carrie Nation.
Her righteous scorn of rum and wrong--
May all creation catch it,
And join the "Woman's World Crusade,"
Armed with "our nation's" hatchet.

--Minna Irving, in Leslie's Weekly.  
Revised and second stanza added by C. Butler Andrews.


THE HATCHET CRUSADE.
(Dedicated to Mrs. Carry Nation.)

Oh, woman, armed with one little hatchet.
Fighting for justice and right,
And with your brave mother courage
Knowing your cause was right,

You've done more to hasten God's kingdom,
And to crush Satan's power o'er men,
Than countless numbers of creation's lords,
With the power of the ballot thrown in.

You've awakened the mothers to action
Whose powers have long dormant been,
While the minions of Satan have strained every nerve
To ruin our boys and our men.

Rouse, mothers, too long we've been sleeping,
Shall one of us let it be said
That we calmly stood by while those who are dear
Were down to destruction led.

American mothers, hear me,
If you think God will not send the warning
In hieroglyphics upon the wall?
God is not mocked, He is just the same,

And has given the power to you.
If you're weighed and found wanting our nation will fall
Because you did not your duty do.
Then let us unfurl our broad banners,
Fling their folds to the breezes high,
Let this still be our motto,
"We'll trust in God, and keep our powder dry."
– CARRIE CHEW SNEDDON.


THAT LITTLE HATCHET

The world reveres brave Joan of Arc,
Whose faith inspired her fellowman
To crush invading columns dark.
So, modern woman's firmer will
To conquer crime's unholy clan,
Crowns her man's moral leader still.
A century was fading fast,
When o'er its closing decade passed
A matron's figure, chaste, yet bold,
Who held within her girdle's fold
A bran' new hatchet.

The jointists smiled within their bars,
'Mid bottles, mirrors and cigars--
The woman passed behind each screen,
And soon ocurred a "literal" scene--
Rum, ruin, racket!

At first she "moral suasion" tried,
But lawless men mere "talk" deride:--
'Twas then she seized her household ax
And for enforcing law by acts,
Found nought to match it.

The work thus wrought with zeal discreet,
Has saved that town from rum complete;
Proving that woman's moral force
Like man's, is held, as last resource,
By sword or hatchet.

And following up that dauntless raid,
The nation welcomes her crusade;
All o'er the land, pure women charmed,
Are eager forming, each one armed
With glittering hatchets.

Talk of "defenders of the nation!"
Woman's slight arm sends consternation
'Mong its worst foes, on social fields,
Worse than the "Mauser," when she wields
The "smashing" hatchet.

Mahommed sought by arts refined,
To raise his standard o'er mankind;
But found success for aye denied,
Until at length he boldly tried
The battle-hatchet.

When soon his power imperial, shone
O'er countless tribes, in widening zone;
And wine was banished from the board
Of Moslem millions, by the sword
And victor's hatchet.

So may it be with this great nation,
When woman tests her high vocation;
Persuasion proves a futile power
To quell the joints, but quick they cower
At the whirling hatchets.

True chivalry must come again,
And men, more noble, but less vain,
Responding to its modern sense,
Guard woman, while in self-defense
She plies her hatchet.

When honor bright appeals to men
"The weak confounds the mighty," then
Side doors and slot-machines must close
And such games hide, when women pose
With sharpened hatchets.

'Else are men brutes, and all their pride
And gallant valor, they must hide
In coward shirking. This shameful end
They must accept, or else defend
The "home-guard" hatchet.

'Tis woman's crucial, fateful hour,
Her fine soul's test, 'gainst man's coarse power.
In war, she can not be man's peer,
But for home's weal, all men sincere
Bow to her hatchet.

Man's "Vigilance" is oft condoned,
When Vice and Crime has been enthroned.
Shall women then, be more to blame,
When she In Virtue's sacred name
Raises her hatchet?

'Tis she must grasp the nation's prize--
A pure, proud home, earth's paradise.
The joints must go, but, never till
Woman exerts her potent will
And holy hatchet.

As men, once slaves, their freedom gained
By force, and power at length attained;
So, cultured brains and force combined,
Shall mark the sphere of womankind
And surely reach it.

In valor, more Joan d'Arc's are needed,
Woman's high social power's conceded,
But she herself, must blaze the path
To public morals, by her own worth
And "Little Hatchet."
--C. BUTLER-ANDREWS.


A Song for Carrie Nation

Hurrah, Samantha, Mrs. Nation is in town!
So get on your bonnet and your Sunday-meeting gown.
Oh, am so blamed excited I’m hopping up and down,
Hurrah, Samantha, Carrie Nation is in town!

Get you ready, we are going to the city,
Where the "Home Defenders" are all feeling gay,
And the mothers all exclaiming, "It’s a pity
That Carrie Nation does not come here every day."

I want to hear that mirror-smashing music,
And to look in Mrs. Nation's blessed face,
And to see the saloon men all cavorting
With that hatchet bringing sadness to their face.

Hurrah, Samantha, Mrs. Nation is in town!
So wear your brightest bonnet and your alapaca gown.
Oh, I am so jubilated I'm a-hopping up and down,
Hurrah! hurrah! Samantha, Mrs. Nation is in town.
— by a Peoria Passenger


Bibliography Credit Sources

Direct Quotes and Excerpts
Excerpts from –  The Use and Need of the Life of Carry A. Nation — by Carrie A. Nation

Excerpts from interviews of Fran Grace’s discussions of her biography entitled – Carry A. Nation: Retelling the Life

Excerpts from Hatchet Hall — Arkansas Traveler – Russell Johnson
http://users.aristotle.net/~russjohn/history/nation.html


Information and Graphics derived from:
Autobiography of Carry A Nation
http://www.worldwideschool.org/library/books/hst/biography/TheUseandNeedoftheLifeofCarrieANation/toc.html

University of Arkansas
http://libinfo.uark.edu/specialcollections/findingaids/freund.html
http://www.arkansas.gov/dhhs/aging/hsjul98.html

Rogers, Arkansas Historical Museum
http://www.rogersarkansas.com/museum/donationOfTheMonth/04-05.asp

U.S. History — http://www.u-s-history.com/pages/h1058.html

Answers.com — http://www.answers.com/topic/carry-nation

Arkansas History and Culture
http://encyclopediaofarkansas.net/encyclopedia/entry-detail.aspx?entryID=458

Kansas State Historical Society — http://www.kshs.org/exhibits/carry/carry8.htm

The Freunds — http://www.arkansas.gov/dhhs/aging/hsjul98.html

“Walking Tours in Historic Eureka Springs” — Eureka Springs Preservation Society

John Mitchell — “Carry Nation Collection”

Bank of Eureka Springs — Photographic Collection


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