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Other papers now noticed us in most flattering terms, and the sun of prosperity seemed about to gladden us, for we did well and had some little money in hand; but funds are apt to fluctuate and clouds obscure the sun. A change came, and we were compelled for economy's sake to make more meals of codfish and crackers than was altogether agreeable. Like the babes in the wood,

"Other papers now noticed us":   As mentioned in a Chapter 2 Part 1 footnote, from the beginning of this tour  -  the Hutchinsons "grand start"  -  through the quartet's trip to the United Kingdom, Dale Cockrell's excellent book, Excelsior, is the source for further information.

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we sometimes picked berries from the hedge-rows, and fancied we had eaten a plentiful dinner. Imagination thus supplied the place of fact.

Little daunted, however, we went to Hanover, where we were well patronized by the Faculty and senior students of Dartmouth College. The ladies of Hanover, it would seem, were a little cautious, for at the first concert there was, wonderful to say, not a single bonnet in the building, somewhat to the embarrassment of the lady vocalist. But at the second they flocked in large numbers, for all voices had joined in the praise of the Hutchinsons.

Leaving Hanover, we now ventured into Vermont, in order to give the Green-Mountain State a taste of our quality; but fortune did not greatly befriend us. The tolls of the roads were very heavy and numerous, and in consequence of this and other causes, the exchequer began to assume an alarmingly small appearance. This caused us not a little uneasiness.

We were always glad when enough money was received at the door of our concert to meet the daily expenditures; and if a dollar or two were made over, we declared it a success. With the kind wishes of friendship won, more was in store for us, for we believed with Solomon, "A good name is rather to be chosen than silver or gold."

We succeeded in establishing a record which rose up to comfort in subsequent visits. Kind, encouraging words, printed in the papers at Rutland, helped us and partially established confidence among the curious, doubting ones on our way.

Whitehall, N.Y., was the next town where we attempted to hold forth. As we were not heralded, the audience was a motley crowd, made up of town boys and

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men who catch a handbill and take a man as they find him. A few musicians and one quite intelligent colored man were there. The barber of the village, Brown by name, seemed to be the oracle of the music circle. He boldly proffered his influence to assist us, and advised another concert; but the inhabitants heeded not the call, and did not come in to swell our receipts. Expenses at the hotels were just as exorbitant, regarding not the least the diminishing condition of our purse. This was a blue season for us, six weeks from home, and faith growing weaker. We walked to the top of the hill and thought of the martyrs and those who had suffered, hoping to gain consolation; but the present trouble was our own, to be realized and not to leave us. To return home without accomplishing our object was a disgrace; to send to friends for relief was mortifying; so we resolved to "go forward."

Just then we came across an old friend, a fellow-townsman, who some years before had left Milford, and was on a vacation from his Academy in Bethlehem, N.Y., over which he had presided for some five terms. This kind man, Mr. Josiah Fuller, gave us a word of cheer and invited us to his town, and the hospitalities of his Dutch settlement.

Bidding Whitehall and the kind musical ones good-by, we put out for the harbors of Sandy Hill and Glens Falls. Here many friends were made, but there were small additions to our sinking funds. Leaving Judson and Abby and the heavy carriage, Asa and I, with a light vehicle and the old white mare, rode twenty miles to investigate our chances in the land of the medicinal waters, Saratoga Springs. It was over a difficult, sandy road. After several unsuccessful attempts we arranged to hold entertainments at a pavilion near the recently

"Just then we came across an old friend, a fellow-townsman":   This Josiah Fuller is thought to match the Josiah Fuller who died in California in 1889. But in the 1880 United States Census, Josiah Fuller's wife is said to be widowed. Clearly, then, we don't know all we would like about this childhood friend of the Hutchinsons.

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discovered springs. The conditions were one-half net receipts.

We hastened back to Glens Falls through the sand, the most tedious road we encountered in all the summer route, fulfilled our engagements, hitched up the team and came to the famous resort of fashion, frivolity and frizzles, to say nothing of frailties. Twenty-five years after[,] I published this song, presented to me by John G. Saxe:

Expecting to prolong our stay, we unloaded, and turned the horses out to grass. Though sanguine of success in the enterprise, we soon discovered we were a side-show, as the pavilion and springs were then little known and the management unpopular. Small audiences

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assembled, and only a sprinkling of the moneyed class from whom we had, by the novelty of our manners and song, hoped to replenish our waning spirits and wasted purse. First three nights, no dividend; third, fourth and last, some three dollars and seventy-five cents were handed us by the doorkeeper as compensation. We drank of the bitter salina bubbling from the sparkling fountain, as the servant politely raised the cups in the reservoir when we stood by Congress Springs (as also at the several others in the vicinity), and saw from early morn till late at eve the throng of invalids come and go, leaving a little perquisite for the attendant, as they listened to Frank Johnson's Philadelphia Band, discoursing sweet music with hearty good cheer, while anon a good laugh from that inspiring son of Africa, came swelling up like a refreshing gust of pure air on a hot, sultry day. As the music from his bugle and band had suspended for a respite and the light gabbering compliments were spontaneously bestowed upon this merry master of music, Orpheus must have shook his sides to see so musical a soul flourishing amidst so shallow and heartless surroundings.

'Twas now we first observed our slave-holding neighbors, clothed in their wealth, displaying the elegance of their equipages, as they rolled in extravagance and splendor on the avenues, while we remembered this show was the product of the blood and sweat of the slave, who being forced could do no less than obey his master and submit to his fate. It seemed as though such inconsistency could not long survive in the republic.

Well, we looked and listened, and we also enjoyed, when we could forget our own deplorable misfortunes. But we had to drink the bitter cup almost to the dregs;

"First three nights, no dividend":   This account seems to combine time in Saratoga Springs and Ballston Spa.

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for when fate declared we must move away to other climes, when our bills were adjusted at the boarding-house, and the old red and white horses once more in the carriage by the door, Sister Abby's little hair trunk lashed on the back, the bass-viol on the top, the bag with the entire wardrobe of Judson, Asa and myself in its place in the carriage, and we were seated in it, up came an officer with a charge that our horses had broken into his field, and had committed sundry and divers damages. This was a demand that must be met at once; so groaning in spirit, we drew forth the only money we had and gave it to him, and he went off satisfied.

I was no Methodist, but I felt like taking off my hat and asking for a collection. Still a little plucky, yet dreadfully disappointed, off we went, rather glad that our case was no worse, for we had joy in our hearts in the fact that we were together in misfortune, and sweet sympathy strengthened us. These trials could but knit us closer together.

Schenectady was our next halting-place, and securing the co-operation of a New England man, Mr. Stevens, we were persuaded to announce a concert in the public hall, to be given free. Quite a large number of men and boys assembled. We sang with considerable spirit and freedom. The hat was passed around, and the sum of three dollars was collected, but on examination we found one of the bills was counterfeit. Availing ourselves of a chance to earn a little more, we went serenading with a party of young men; so with the collection given us we settled our hotel bill next morning, and leaving valued friends behind we travelled toward Albany. Arriving there, we took quarters at the old Delavan House, then, and for many years, a famous resort of travellers.

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Earnest for another trial, we contracted with the polite Albany caterer, Mr. B. F. Brier, to hold a series of concerts in his beautiful hall.

During the period in which the series of concerts were being advertised, we went to Bethlehem to spend a few days with our friend, Professor Fuller. While en route at night, we came on a strange road and were forced to inquire our way. Judson, then the pilot, testing the surroundings, nearly committed an unintentional assault and battery on an innocent villager. With whip in hand he was about to knock at the half-open door of a house; he raised the stick, but discovering a man standing in the doorway modestly withdrew it, and learning the way passed on to the home of the Yankee school-teacher.

While in Bethlehem we joined in a temperance gathering and witnessed the destruction of the remnant of a bar-room. A procession was formed at the tavern, and we marched to a hill, where the liquor was poured out of a demijohn, and fire set to it. We sang some temperance songs, and had a jubilee over the downfall of this potent instrument of Satan; for we still adhered to our temperance principles. A melancholy mishap occurred here; an insane woman climbed into our carriage in the barn, and busied herself by tearing our blank posters and programmes into little bits, leaving them as rats or mice would do, pulverized for their nests. We could but pity and not blame.

These Dutch settlers fed on what they called "Albany beef," alias sturgeon, a kind of coarse fish caught in the Hudson River. We were very lonesome, for in front of the house in the adjoining field, was the family burying-ground, where were interred the members of three generations  -  a solemn reminder.

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And the people seemed to glory in rolling o'er our hearts a stone, by this burial-ground always in sight.

Bidding adieu to our Dutch and Yankee friends, we returned to fill our engagements in Albany. As before, the effort as far as finances were concerned proved unsuccessful; a small surplus at the end of the week was handed us for our labor. We found a relative in the city who extended us some courtesy. Settling the hotel bill we had one shilling remaining, when up came the ever-importunate porter who pleaded for his usual perquisite. One of the brothers handed him our last shilling.

For a night or two we took cheaper quarters, twelve-and-a-half-cent lodgings on Broad Street, getting trusted for it, of course, and obtaining our food as best we might. Poverty stared us in the face. We seriously contemplated disbandment. A plan was devised to sell the team and take money enough to go home with Abby, for we had already kept her away from mother beyond the promised time. The lot fell upon me to go with her to New Hampshire, and leave Judson and Asa, who were to put off into the country and work their board until my return.

In the midst of these unsettled plans, there was a rap at the door and in stepped a tall gentleman, who introducing himself stated his errand. "Can you remain in the city till next Monday evening," said he; "I will give you a hundred dollars if you will sing for me that evening." A simultaneous smile passed around, and was equally shared by the brothers and sister. "A

"The marble doors are always shut":   From "The Two Villages" by Rose (Terry) Cooke.

"We found a relative in the city":   Nathaniel K. Leavitt, an older brother of the singers' mother, Mary Leavitt Hutchinson. If you know what became of Nathaniel K. Leavitt and his family, please use the contact link toward the bottom of this page to e-mail us. We know a little, but not enough.

"Can you remain in the city":   There were several important turning points early in the career of the Hutchinson Family singers, but none of them was as dramatic as this one  -  at least as told by John W. Hutchinson.

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hundred dollars all to be ours!"  "Who can this gentleman be?"  "What good spirit has been laboring with his own and led him to this place?" We had witnessed a kindly-looking person at our little concerts, who seemed very delighted, and the hearty cheers that came from his vicinity were noticeable. "I may be a stranger to you, but you are not strangers to me; I have heard you sing, and am very anxious our Albany people should have the same privilege." We consented to stay "very muchly," and our hearts  -  though our thanks were modestly expressed  -  were jubilant. The dark cloud was swept away; for this noble Scotchman, Luke F. Newland, by his kind interposition at the nick of time had lifted our hopes into a realm of joy.

He arranged that we should sing on the Sunday following in three of the principal churches in the city. The Evening Journal, edited then by Thurlow Weed, announced the fact, while twelve prominent business men allowed their names to appear as high complimentary indorsers of the plan, which meant business. We took the hint thus furnished, and ever after sang in churches wherever opportunity was offered.

In acknowledgment of these kind offices, we were invited by an acquaintance to call around on some of his friends. He therefore took us on a serenading expedition, and among other calls we visited the house of Thurlow Weed. Surprising him with our songs in the open air, he invited us into his parlor and treated us with the greatest courtesy. After a collation, we bade him good-night and departed with his blessing, fully satisfied that we had been introduced into the presence of a great and good man, whose principles and patriotism were universally acknowledged, and sure that we had made the acquaintance of one who at all our subsequent

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visits to Albany, as the sequel proved, would be foremost in extending to us the freedom of the city, by giving us the influence and patronage of his valuable paper. Through the long vista of years that elapsed, we watched with intense interest his great political career  -  though politic, yet always advocating the best interests of his native land and people. From time to time we met and held pleasant converse with him, and on one occasion during his riper years, in company with my little family and my sister Abby, we visited him in his home in New York City. We sang him the old song "Good Old Days of Yore." Though very aged his memory was good and he referred to this visit to Albany long ago.

Sunday morning, accompanied by our new sponsor, we were escorted to the church of Rev. Dr. Sprague. The house was packed, and we sang our new sacred songs with spirit and understanding, the congregation, in respectful acknowledgment, rising at the conclusion. The pastor gave a notice of the concert, advising his people to go and hear the singers again. In the afternoon we were taken to the Dutch Reformed Church, where a similar effect was produced, the plan being indorsed and highly recommended. At our evening appearance the songs were most enthusiastically received, and Rev. Mr. Stillman, a Methodist Episcopal clergyman, complimented the singing and the singers, and like the rest advised patronage. How gratified were we to be thus received by the cultured and Christian citizens of the "West" as we deemed it then. The large congregation gazed with seeming admiration as they lingeringly passed by the orchestra into the street. The duty of the day was done, and all were satisfied.

"How gratified were we to be thus received":   As mentioned elsewhere, in 1905 John W. Hutchinson told a Boston reporter that at age 18 he spent a summer in "the West," working on a farm. If he correctly recalled his age at that time, then he was speaking of the summer of 1839. John didn't say where in particular he was in the West. Available information suggests Ohio. But reference to the West in this passage of Story of the Hutchinsons shows that he could have had something much farther east in mind.

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The neat, acceptable hall of the Albany Female Academy was the scene of much interest the night of the concert, August 29, 1842. The wealth and the fashion of that town were there, it being advertised as a complimentary concert. We were introduced to as large an audience as could be convened, while hundreds were crowded out. We were cheered, and every selection sang elicited an encore. The evening passed swiftly away, and at the conclusion we received inspiring congratulations for our brilliant success. "God bless and prosper you, my young friends," came from many of the leading citizens, as they warmly shook our hands.

The programme consisted of selected and original songs and ballads, with humorous ditties, quartets, trios, duets, etc.  "The Cot where we were Born,"  "The Grave of Bonaparte,"  "Snow-Storm,"  "The Irish Emigrant's Lament,"  "Crows in a Cornfield,"  "Indian Hunter,"  "Matrimonial Sweets,"  "The Land of Canaan,"  "The Angel's Invitation to the Pilgrim,"  "Alpine Hunter's Song," from the Swiss, "The Maniac," etc.

We did not attempt any performance that we could not master. At the suggestion of our amiable friend, Mr. Newland, we doffed the assumed name which we had sailed under, and resumed our own family name. "The Æolian Vocalists" were no more, and the "Hutchinson Family" thereafter took all responsibility of praise and blame. He also suggested our giving up instrumental performances as a prominent feature in the programme, and only using the stringed instruments as an accompaniment to the songs, thus making the instrumental music subordinate to the voices.

The leading characteristic in the "Hutchinson Family's" singing was then, as it always has been since, the exact balance of parts in their harmonies, each one

"The leading characteristic in the Hutchinson Family's singing": Here begins a classic description of the Hutchinsons' harmony singing.

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striving to merge himself in the interest of the whole, forming a perfect quartet, which was rare in those early days. How often have we been questioned, "Which of you boys sings bass, tenor or the air?" So united were we in our movements there could be no strife and neither's voice could be distinguished until he arose and sang a solo; then the characteristic features of each voice could be identified. Judson took the melody, John the tenor, Abby sang a rich contralto, while Asa gave deep bass; each being adapted by nature to the part necessary for perfect harmony.

Judson accompanied his own ballads with his violin, while Asa with 'cello and I with violin, played accompaniments for him also. Abby played no instrument, and sang as did I, with Judson's and Asa's playing. The latter up to this time [August 1842] had not ventured any bass solos. Here we left our first original song to be published; and, not long after, we saw the "Vulture of the Alps," a descriptive song, issued in sheet form, displayed at the music-store of our ever-to-be-remembered friend [Luke Newland], who, it should be added, extended us as the result of the concert one hundred and ten dollars, more being sent us after we reached our home in New Hampshire. So we bade adieu to the precious friendship so pleasantly formed, to seek other climes and new relations. "Come home," said father in his letters, and all the household repeated the same beseeching words. So we started for New England once more.

"We stopped at Pittsfield, Mass., where we gave a concert that had been arranged in advance by an uncle, Colonel Nathaniel Leavitt, who had come to our assistance, and was our agent until we reached Boston, where in due time we arrived, singing in Springfield and Worcester on our way.

"Here we left our first original song":   For quite an interesting look at "The Vulture of the Alps," I highly recommend reading Dale Cockrell, ed., Excelsior: Journals of the Hutchinson Family Singers, 1842-1846 (Stuyvesant, NY: Pendragon Press, 1989), 120-125).

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We boldly entered Boston, and advertized a grand concert in the Melodeon, at fifty cents a ticket. In this concert we made little money.

"How dare you come to Boston and take that great room to sing in, and at such a price too?" asked that hearty, prepossessing old basso profundo, Mr. Richardson, of the Handel and Haydn Society, as he accosted us in rather a John Bull style in the anteroom, at the close of the concert. He was literally the "heaviest" bass singer in the country, his weight being upwards of three hundred pounds. I love to see size and sound correspond. (I sang tenor but admired bass.) The Handel and Haydn Society could boast of their "Lablache," as well as London; and the play was well cast when he sang in his chosen part "Goliath of Gath" in the oratorio of "David," "The youth as a feeble antagonist," "Come unto me and I will give thy flesh to the fowls of the air and the beasts of the field." Mr. Richardson never appeared to a better advantage; still the current of sympathy centred the more on the verdant country stripling with his sling.

So when we had declared ourselves and broken the ice by the first public concert in the Athens of America, and, by the novelty of our performance and variegated programme won the commendation of the lovers of music, our future coast seemed clear and success certain. The receipts at this effort reached very little above the expenses, but many valuable friends were secured, among whom was the notable Jacob Chickering, the eminent pianoforte-maker, and Prof. Benjamin F. Baker, who always expressed themselves friends of the "Hutchinsons" and of their efforts for musical improvement.

Meeting Professor Webb, a man of great culture, we

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solicited criticism; and to the query, "What is your advice to us?" he answered, "Please yourselves, my boys, and you will please the public."

By this favorable début in the most cultured city of America, we felt our efforts were well repaid and we were ready for new conquests. The press was in our favor, and we felt true aspirations to devote our lives to the greatest usefulness in the divine art.

We resolved on a visit to the southern country, but first we must fulfil our duty to our parents and go home to New Hampshire. After singing in several of the largest places east of Boston, where we had a fair attendance, we came to Portsmouth and found the people ready to greet their old friends of a year's standing. We were pleasantly entertained for a time at the house of ex-Governor Levi Woodbury, he riding ahead of us on horseback as we entered his grounds. He was then a member of Congress with a strong Granite State Democratic constituency. He worshipped at the shrine of "Old Hickory"; and while in the mansion, we were shown a lock of gray hair that some Southern friend had sent to the ex-governor as a memento, it having been cut from the head of the hero, recently deceased. This, no doubt, is still cherished as an heirloom in the Woodbury family.

The Woodbury household patronized our concert and with most encouraging words advised us to come to the Capital, Washington, which invitation we subsequently accepted. We were very well received by popular audiences at the Camenium, an amphitheatre-shaped building which made a very pleasant concert-room.

To the ancient town of Portsmouth we bade farewell, and taking the city of Lowell in on our route, gave two

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concerts to sympathizing listeners; and this place ever afterwards gave us a warm welcome.

At Nashua we halted for the last effort previous to reaching our mountain home, for it was now November, 1842 [actually, close but not quite]. Then we sang once more the precious "Sweet Home" to and among our own, while the old mansion rang with shouts of "welcome home again," all being gratified at the reunion. Mother seized hold of her darling child Abby, with a grasp that meant "Henceforth you are to stay with me forever." She had been apprised of our intention to go again into the field of concerting labor, to the far-off South. Dread seemed at the thought to paralyze her usual sympathies, and congratulations and her wonted courtesies were dispensed with toward the sons and her brother Nathaniel, who had been long absent in the West, but had returned with us.

I was more anxious than I have ever been since. We had struggled to reach this point of success and would not consider being disappointed in our aspirations. Our agent, Uncle Nat, was dispatched in advance, for the long autumn evenings, favorable to concerts, were upon us. Father tried to be reconciled, for he saw the union of our harmonies had resulted in success. Mother was fearful, and could not consent willingly that Abby should again go away from home  -  she, the youngest of sixteen, the baby, only thirteen years of age! We were very sorry to entreat her in this way, but could not return to the cities where we had just given such successful entertainments without Abby, so with a "God bless you," though grief was in the heart, we again launched our bark with hopes of luck.

At Nashua, early on the morning after we had given

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our first concert in the Town Hall, I observed a team coming down the street. I soon recognized the old white horse, and my father sat in the carriage. "What's the matter? something is up or father would not have driven fourteen miles this early in our direction." My apprehension was soon verified. Father alighted, tied the horse to a post, and requested a private interview. The family were all summoned to our room, and the errand stated. "I have come," said father, "to take Abby home with me. Your mother has not slept all night, and is almost crazy." This was a trying hour; we felt it would be wrong to disappoint the public, and equally so to lacerate the heart so filled with grief. So a compromise was effected; we promised with a solemn attest to see Abby home in three weeks; so father believing us, bade us good-by, and we passed on towards our destination. I confess my name was not given on the document without some misgivings. However, we trusted in Providence, knowing "He doeth all things well." We were frustrated in arrangements, and our Southern tour was very doubtful. We next visited Lowell, where a concert was given. Here I met the young lady whom I subsequently married. With some reluctance we passed next day to Boston, and gave a popular concert in the Melodeon.

While many dear friends gathered to bid us a long farewell, as they supposed we were bound far away, Judson, who seemed before anxious to return with Sister Abby, acted at times unusually pleased, and a smile would play over his face when he was unconsciously oblivious to the subject and the audience before him. Judson was noticed by the clerk in the old Marlboro' House to go out quite early. He was missed from his

"Here I met the young lady whom":   John W. Hutchinson's sweetheart's name was Frances Burnham Patch, though her name was more commonly given as Fanny B. Patch. Fanny's part in the Hutchinson Family story has not been told at all fully. We know that she kept a scrapbook. If you know it's whereabouts, please use the contact link toward the bottom of the page to e-mail us. Also, please e-mail us if you know of photographs or other likenesses of members of the Patch family. A Patch family genealogist is seeking pictures for her records.

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room and from the breakfast table, but nothing more could be told of his whereabouts. Finally, some one discovered on the table of the public reading-room a note to the "Hutchinson Family." Being opened, in it was found hurriedly written these words:

Remembering Judson's sometimes desponding mood, the greatest alarm was excited among us. Suicide occurred to our thoughts. Search was vainly instituted and every probable place visited. Depots, and other points of the city, including the wharves, were scanned by the friendly ones. We examined many places where we hoped not to find him. Abby and I put off for Lynn hoping Judson might be there with Jesse. Asa made a forced march to Milford, which place he reached by express from Nashua, at ten o'clock at night. With a nervous hand he rapped at the door, which after a tedious wait was opened by Brother Benjamin. Asa's first anxious question was, "Have you seen Judson?" Benjamin, smiling, said, "Where are John and Abby?" Then he said, "Come in; he is safe. He has gone to Bedford to see his Sally." The fact was Judson had been seized with a love-fit and had gone a-wooing. Meanwhile Abby and I were in Lynn in suspense, till the news of the safety of our brother was sent us the next morning.

Notes by Alan Lewis