USA > Massachusetts > Franklin County > Ashfield > History of the town of Ashfield, Franklin County, Massachusetts from its settlement in 1742 to 1910 > Part 28
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the eloth for family use is to be made, towels, table linen, bed linen, bags for grain, in short, everything.
This was searcely finished before we must begin to prepare for winter. The sheep are sheared, wool for family use brought into the house to be eleansed, some to be dyed in the wool, and when properly prepared sent to the carding machine to be converted into rolls, which were spun into yarn. Some of this we dyed blue or any other eolor desired to make cloth for our winter gowns, or perehance for the fulled cloth for the elothing of the male portion of our family. Sometimes this part of our winter's outfit was eolored at the mill "Butternut," "Snuff eolor," "London brown," blue or even blaek, but not often. The dyeing was usually done at home, to save expense.
When my eldest brother left home, at the age of twenty-one, he had never had a suit of elothes that was not of home manu- facture and "made up" in our house. My second brother's first suit of "boughten eloth" was his "freedom suit." Some of our homespun we thought very niee, and think so still. Our best towels we were very proud of and like to show them even now. Then our blankets were fine, I have the remains of one of them yet and show it with mueh pride. I spun the yarn of which it was made, got in the pieee, started the weaving myself, long, long ago. Could again do the same had I the strength. We also spun, colored the yarn for, and wove our stair earpet. It was a beauty, and for durability was worth several of sueh as we ean buy at the present day.
All this meant labor; girls of my aequaintanee seldom went to sehool in the summer after the age of thirteen. Their ser- viees were required at home. We did oceasionally have a ealieo dress for ehureh wear, and as we outgrew them, passed them on to younger members of the family. Mine, at an early age, were paid for in men's soeks which were knit by myself; one pair of these would pay for one yard of ealieo. When this was pur- ehased I was a very proud and happy girl.
Our house was small, without plaster or paint at the time of my earliest reeolleetions, but after some years was plastered and painted on the inside, but never externally. After many years my father built a modern house, but not while my mother lived.
A man's wages at this time seldom exeeeded fifty cents per day, even in haying; and six dollars a month was great pay. Still we lived on our farm in a small house in a small way. Our supper was usually bread and milk. Pork, beef and mutton were raised on the farm and if in autumn our supply ran short, a spring lamb or a ehieken was slaughtered. Every family kept
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MRS. MILES' AND H. M. SMITH'S REMINISCENCES 337
geese; these were picked twice every summer for the feathers for our beds and pens from the quills. Plenty of corn was raised on every farm, also rye and oats and sometimes we raised a little wheat. I distinctly remember the first barrel of flour in our house; it was brought to our house from Albany by a team- ster and it was on the road more than one day but it came and we had a whole barrel of flour. The man owed my father and could pay in this way or very likely we might not have been so extravagant as to buy such an amount at one time.
Our wheat when we had any, and our rye were carried to the mill, converted into coarse flour, fine flour, and bran. The fine flour was for pastry, and this was done by bolting. Our rye was only made into meal, which was much better for mixing with corn meal for our brown bread; this was baked in large pans in our brick ovens and was much superior to the brown bread made at the present day, for in baking the heat was greatest at the outset and gradually diminished as the baking proceeded. This bread, thoroughly baked, with butter, cheese, or even with milk was not to be despised. Our cheese found a ready market whenever we had more than was needed for home consumption. These were made during the summer. Very little butter was made in the hot weather, till many years later, when it was sent to Boston. Before this, ten or twelve and a half cents was paid for a pound, sometimes less.
I have done many a washing for a neighbor who was in need of some aid, received twelve and a half cents for the day's work and felt amply compensated. Nearly every family of my acquaintance did their own work, even if their means would allow them to hire. When help was needed no one wished to take advantage of those in need of assistance. No girl of that day would think of asking a dollar a week for her services, even if she worked from sun to sun. My older sister engaged to teach a school and "board around" and was promised seventy-five cents a week; but if she did well, she should receive five shillings instead. At the close of school she received ten dollars for the twelve weeks, for "doing well" and felt well repaid.
After providing food and clothing for the household, many other things must be looked after. Our houses must be lighted in some way during our long winter evenings and this was done by means of tallow candles. We first spin some tow with great care; it must be twisted only just enough to hold together, for if twisted too much we should get almost no light from our candles. This being rightly prepared, it was cut into proper lengths and twisted on the rods, a quantity of tallow was melted
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and the "dipping" began. The first dip was the most import- ant; after this was done, every incipient candle must be made straight; this required the pressing of the thumb and finger down each, rolling it carefully all the way down, then the rest was more easily done. One rod after another was immersed in the tallow till they were as large as desired. Sometimes this required many hours, as they must be cooled before the next dip, or, if too cool, the successive layers of tallow would not unite.
Soap making was very disagreeable and our small house was then in a very confused state. The male portion of our house- hold were not unwilling to absent themselves from home at this time, as well as when a barrel of cider was boiled down for apple sauce, as was done every autumn. Women of that day stood in no need of devising means by which to amuse themselves or for exercise, perhaps a little too much exercise was required to provide for their families. But were people less social in those days? I trow not. My mind goes back to my childhood, when on many winter evenings the merry chimes of sleigh bells announced the coming of two or three of our remote neighbors for a long winter evening's visit. Were they invited? O no, they came for a good time, and then our near neighbors came in to add to the pleasure of all concerned. During the evening the hostess is expected to cook a meat supper for her guests. This is to be done in the open fireplace, as there was not at that time a cook stove in our school district; everything was cooked by the fireplace or in the brick oven. A kettle was hung on the hooks over the fire and when the water boiled the potatoes and other vegetables were added; next we wanted a good bed of coals on which to fry the ham or sausage, as well as coals for making the tea, and still another bunch to warm the mince pie. When all was in readiness the guests were called to the table, a blessing asked, and a more happy group you will not often meet. Our next neighbor (Nathaniel Clark) was of a happy, jovial nature and wherever he was there was innocent mirth and jollity.
Matches, now in daily use, the value of which we appreciate very little more than the air we breathe, were not known or thought of at that time. If, through any oversight or neglect, we had permitted our fire to go out, what was to be done and how make the fire? We go to our neighbor for a few coals, but if none could be obtained on our side of the hill-which some- times did occur-we were in a dilemma indeed. If my father was at home, he, by means of two pieces of iron, struck fire, and every family was provided with a tinder box, then by striking, a spark was to fall on some tinder which was ignited, and a few
MRS. MILES' AND H. M. SMITH'S REMINISCENCES 339
very thin shavings added, then larger ones with wood above on the andirons and thus started our fire. Another way of getting fire was by rubbing rapidly together two sticks of wood, one hard and the other soft, igniting them by friction. Sometimes my father got fire by means of his old flintlock gun; a little powder was placed in the pan, the lock snapped sending the flash upon the tinder. This state of things seldom occurred. My mother was usually the last one up in the house and was careful to see that a good bed of coals was so deeply buried in ashes that on raking them open a fire could be started at once.
Our huge fireplace was some four feet long and so deep that a log two feet in diameter was placed against the back, another half as large upon this, the andirons set against these and a fore- stick of good size upon them. A space was left between the back- log and forestick in which with great care small pieces of wood were placed, then underneath, the incipient fire was put and we soon had a roaring blaze pleasant to see. In the hot days of summer the backlog was omitted, and the fire being so far back in the fireplace, most of the heat went up the chimney and our houses were not more uncomfortable than at the present day. Ventilation was secured by means of the large chimney as well as by the many cracks and crevices about the windows and doors and in the unplastered walls. In 1840, we had our first cook stove with its elevated oven.
On our side of the hill there was no clock; and in my early years they were rarely found in farmers' houses. But every house had its noonmark; and our town, or rather church, bell was rung at noon and at nine o'clock in the evening. But on bright sunny days our parents could tell by the sun almost any hour of the day, and at night by the moon and stars, with the Almanac only for their guide. Sometimes my brothers wished to join their companions for an excursion at an hour or two before sunrise. My father though not an astronomer, by con- sulting the stars, would give the call at the right time. Having been obliged to observe the stars from youth he had become quite proficient and in a cloudless night could tell the hour almost exactly.
The old Steady Lane schoolhouse was built on a ledge of rock with the old chimney made mostly of unhewn stone laid up with mortar but topped out with brick. In the winter when the fire was roaring up the chimney a baker's dozen of children were standing before the fire, shielding their faces from the intense heat while those in the seats were shivering with chattering teeth and nearly freezing waiting their "turn" at the fire. In summer this
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hugc, rough, gaping fireplace was filled with bushes; oak bushes were preferred as their leaves did not wither so soon. Thc scats were on three sides of the room, the back scats commencing near the door and extending in one unbroken line around three sides of the house, the floor for these seats being two steps higher than the main floor. The second row was not continuous like the first but had three alleys, one in the middle and one on each side. Then came a seat across cach side of the south aisle and lastly seats with no desks around the three sides. The schoolhouse was built in part by Elisha Wing, Sr. The seats were very high and on the front benches children could not touch their toes to the floor but studied with their feet dangling. It was a per- ennial joke that Uncle Elisha's legs were so long that he had naturally no idea how high a seat for a child ought to be. The entry extended across the house on the north with the rough chimney unconcealed. Stepping out of the door two or three feet away and nearly on a line with the house to the north was a huge boulder nearly as high as the eaves and more than half the width of the house. This rock was the favorite playground of generations of children. It was covered with a merry group as soon as "The playful children just let loose from school" could mount it. The last to mount was the catcher; then followed a merry game of which we never tired. Not far distant was another of the huge boulders, nearly as long but not so wide or so flat on top, indeed at the north end it was scarcely two and one-half feet high and seven or eight at the south end; this also was a favorite spot for us but far inferior to the "great rock." These rocks were blown to pieces when the new schoolhouse was to be built to the great regret of "ye olden time" pupils of Steady Lane. One of these old pupils, the Rev. Charles Porter of Boston, in his address at the Ashfield Centennial in 1865, termed the destruction of these rocks a piece of Vandalism. "That old rock" said he, "was my greatest help in getting an education." The old landmark is gone, and now nothing re- mains to show where rock or house once stood. Play, though an important factor, was not all we enjoyed at school. O, no; our games ended at once when the teacher, ruler in hand, appeared and rapped on the side of the door, which was a signal that we were wanted within. Then came our various lessons; we had no blackboards and each lad and lass came to the teacher's chair and was duly taught their a-b ab's, and to pro- nounce the same. When one lesson could be read correctly the next was taken, then lessons with three letters, and in process of time we came to the "Baker page" feeling very much elated;
MRS. MILES' AND H. M. SMITH'S REMINISCENCES 341
and ere the summer ended were able to read in the "Readings." Our only reading book for a long time was "Webster's Spelling Book." With "Old Webster" and "Colburn's Arithmetic" which began with fingers and thumbs on our hands and by degrees took us to very abstruse questions at last, we were furnished with such knowledge as would enable one to do business very fairly. In our schools in the twenties, all were expected to attend to "the three R's;" further than this was elective. There were no regular classes in written arithmetic. When one needed help, the "master" was expected to render it, but it was given with as few words as possible. In writing our teacher must not only "set the copy," but also make the pens with which we wrote, from the quills of the goose. These were soon rendered unfit for use and must be mended, thus keeping him so busy that he was obliged to do two things at a time.
In our school, numbering anywhere from eighty to one hun- dred pupils, it could not be possible for the teacher to give any lengthy explanation. A teacher who fairly succeeded with such meagre equipments richly deserves praise and a grateful re- membrance. Among my teachers, some who stand out promi- nently are Betsey Smith, Amelia Butler, Mercy D. Williams, and in after years, Wait Bement and Rev. Otis Fisher, who was not of the common order, but was a born teacher.
The next year we had "Adams' Arithmetic," but no blackboard and no regular recitations; still we made some progress. In addition we had "Goodrich's History of the United States." Now every alternate week we were to "write a composition." This, we felt, put us in the condition of the Israelites when they were to make bricks without straw, but it had to be done. One girl wrote of her troubles in coming to school; sometimes detained altogether by fierce storms and winds, again in passing almost insurmountable drifts of snow, then at last defeated by a "con- bominable drift."
I was now in the first class, in the back seat, the highest of all, reading in "Scott's Lessons" but still in "Webster's Spelling Book," for all were drilled in that book as long as they were members of the school. This winter I had "Blake's Natural Philosophy" added to my studies, but I liked my "Adams' Arithmetic" best. This was my last year of schooling in "Steady Lane," and indeed my school days were nearly past, for two terms in Franklin Academy at Shelburne Falls and one in Sanderson in my native town were all that followed.
In the spring of 1835, I went to Shelburne Falls and entered "The Franklin Academy." The village was then destitute of a
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single church, but the first Baptist church was built that sum- mer. Service was held in the chapel in the school building. There were scarce a dozen houses in the village at that time; no store, no manufactory save a shop where scythe snaths were made, a grist mill and tannery; a very quiet place, indeed. Most of the pupils boarded at the Mansion House with the teachers. Some roomed in the Academy building, as did also our good teacher, Rev. Otis Fisher. My boarding place was near the bridge, in the old "Shaker House, " with seven others. At five o'clock the Academy bell rang, when all were to be in their places in the Chapel for prayers. One of the older students stood, pencil and paper in hand, to mark as absent any delin- quent; and when school met for "Rhetoricals," the absentee was called upon to give reason for such absence. Frequently, we went back to our beds on our return, as our feet, and at times our clothes, were wet and we needed to put on fresh ones before breakfast at half past six. Then came our "study hours" in our own rooms; going to the Academy to recite at the ap- pointed hour. The entire school never met but for prayers and "Rhetorical Exercises." We were not to leave our rooms during study hours but for recitations. Thus passed many happy days during two spring terms of '35 and '36.
At the close of this last term I was greatly surprised by being invited to take charge of the "South Centre" school of Shel- burne. At first I demurred, but finally consented, if my good teacher, Mr. Fisher, thought me qualified for the place, which I doubted. With a favorite classmate, who had before made her début, I called on the august teacher and stated the case with fear and trembling. He listened, then seated himself, tore off a scrap of paper, wrote a few words and gave me, which I have to this day. He was chairman of the committee of Shelburne and this was my "Certificate." Soon I was installed teacher, with more than forty pupils of ages ranging from three to fifteen years, the dearest children, I soon thought, that the world had ever seen.
Thus commenced the teaching of "Aunt Lydia," which was kept up almost continuously for nearly forty years, most of the time in Ashfield schools. Thirty years ago it was said that a majority of the adult people then living in town had been at some time her pupils. She records that the next winter, not . feeling fully prepared for her work as teacher, she remained at home assisting about the house and spending her leisure hours in study.
MRS. MILES' AND H. M. SMITH'S REMINISCENCES 343
Early in the spring I was engaged to teach in my home dis- trict. This again was a school of over forty pupils, with ages from three to fifteen and from those commencing the alphabet to the class in United States History. Every minute of my time was filled, and nearly every day I found it impossible to hear all the lessons, so the older classes would wait until after school hours, usually until five o'clock. Three of my older pupils were afterwards college graduates. At the close of the term I received one dollar and twenty-five cents perweek, nor did I feelaggrieved at this small sum, for some of the teachers had one dollar a week, but never again did I teach for so small a sum. The following winter I was a student in Sanderson Academy spending all I had earned in teaching, as I had my own bills to pay. I partly paid my tuition by teaching the advanced class in Arithmetic, and helping in some other ways. At the close of the term I took charge of the village school for six weeks, then engaged to return to my own district, but was to have one dollar and fifty cents per week for the summer of 1838.
The next year I had an early offer to teach at the "Round School" for two dollars per week which I accepted to the disgust of my home friends.
After teaching a winter school in Wardville, the spring of 1840 finds her back again in the "Round School" district. She speaks of this as being a very pleasant school. She notes that this was the year of the Harrison campaign and of seeing the wagon with its log cabin and barrel of hard cider and its load of Whigs cheering for "Tippecanoe and Tyler too," and singing the popular campaign song, with the chorus
"For I never will be a locofoco, locofoco, For I never will be a locofoco any more."
This wagon starting from Plainfield was on its way to the great Whig convention at Greenfield held in August of that year. Every loyal Whig on the route was expected to hitch his yoke of oxen to the string and jump aboard, cheering for "Log Cabin and Hard Cider," "Tippecanoe and Tyler too." A fine description of this gathering is given in one of Mary P. Wells Smith's charming books, I think in "Jolly Good Times at Hackmatack."
In May, '41, I went to New Boston and found the school room so crowded that it was difficult for those who wished to
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write to do so. After considering the matter, I suggested that we come at eight o'clock when we could have the house to our- selves. The teacher was still obliged to make and mend the pens for the writers as steel pens had not yet made their appear- ance here.
After this, several terms followed in the Spruce Corner school. She says:
Here, as before, a house full of small children as well as young men and maidens greeted me. Every seat was filled, even the teacher's desk, but this mattercd not as 'Teacher' seldom had a moment to be seated. The short winter days were not long enough to do all that seemed needful, so some who deserved more attention were invited to my board- ing place for study in the evening. Sometimes we had an even- ing school at the school house, the parents often coming in with the young people.
The Reminiscences record the various schools taught, mostly in her own town, once as assistant at the Academy, many times in her own district, until 1873 when she taught her last school.
In 1875, she married Mr. Seth Miles with whom she lived about fifteen years. A few years after his death she left the village and went to live with her brothers and sister on the farm. Her sister Clarissa died in 1899, Orville in 1903, and Alvan, aged 98, in 1906.
We quote some of the words penned by her on the death of her brother Orville, words which those who knew him can appre- ciate:
He, who had all his life been the one to care more for others than for himself, was now laid away. His benefactions will never be known on earth. Did a poor boy wish to go to the Academy, his purse was open, tuition paid and sometimes something more was done in the case. "Let no one know, " he would say. His motto was, "Let not your left hand know what your right hand doeth." His life was a busy one. He served years in a number of public offices, and was public spirited in cvcry sense of the word.
For her old mates and pupils she has tender recollections.
Of all the members of the old Stcady Lane school contempo- rary with myself I know of but two who still survive, both now
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living in Michigan. Most of my pupils have left life's busy mart, and gone to their final reward. One little red headed lad, whose smiling face was a pleasure to look upon, went West and all trace of him to me was lost. After years and years had passed he wrote me a nice letter from Minneapolis saying he had just heard by way of a friend that I still lived in my native town and that he was desirous of hearing from me. He had been pros- perous, was a member of a noted firm in that city and was a useful member of society. These little "puffs" occasionally received are a source of gratification to a lone, garrulous old woman, for you know that I said at first I loved praise, and I like it still whether deserved or not.
A little further on towards the close:
Now Alvan and I alone are left; he an old man verging on a century, I over ninety, both feeling the weight of years. Even "the grasshopper is a burden," the few duties of the day arduous, the night very welcome. The sands of life are nearly run, mem- ory impaired, "the grinders cease because they are few, they that look out of the windows are darkened, and the doors shall be shut in the streets." And now with only a wreck of our former selves, I cannot see what would be our fate were it not for the kindness of our many friends showered upon us almost daily, unworthy as we are. That the Giver of every good and perfect gift may reward them abundantly is the wish of my heart.
LYDIA HALL MILES died August 25, 1909, aged 92 years, 7 months, 10 days.
The following Reminiscences were written by Horace M. Smith for the benefit of his relatives, a few years before his death.
My grandfather was Chipman Smith and to the best of my knowledge was born and spent the early part of his life in Haddam, Connecticut. I do not know just when he was born, probably about 1760. His tombstone in Ashfield will tell. I do not know just when he moved to Ashfield. He married Mehetable Haskell who to the best of my knowledge was born in the town of Greenwich, Mass. In Ashfield they settled on "Peter Hill, " the very top of it and the spot can now be located. They afterwards lived where Frank Howes now lives. There
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