USA > Massachusetts > Essex County > Newbury > Reminiscences of a nonagenarian > Part 5
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kle, as the thin, firmly cut lips gave ut- terance to some witticism, or droll- ery, in a mirth-evoking manner wholly his own.
After supper, Capt. Moses Brown, whose premises adjoined my uncle's, came in to invite the family to visit the ship of war Merrimac, a vessel the town had built and presented to the general government. It had been con- structed in an incredibly short period of time, and was the great focus of at- traction to the people of that vicinity. Capt. Brown was to command the ship, which, then lay, nearly ready for sea, just back of what is now the City railroad depot.
As there was quite a party of ladies and gentlemen, Aunt Peabody thought Sophronia and I had better go another time. My cousin went to the next house, and returned accompanied by a boy and girl, whom she introduced as my cousins, John and Lydia Kettell. We seated ourselves upon the front door step for a while, then my cousin proposed a run over to the meeting- house. It was a warm, moonlight eve- ning ; what is now Market square was soon reached. A large, unpainted building, its heaven-pointing spire, white in the moonbeams rose before us. This, the third Church of Newbury and the first of Newburyport, stood where the city pump is now located. Having run about the meeting-house for awhile, we mounted the steps, and sat down to enjoy the evening and the moonlight, talking the meanwhile as children talk.
The next day Uncle Peabody took us to see the ship, and Mary Smith, a connexion of my uncle's, who resided in his family, invited us to accompany her, in the afternoon, to visit a famous new house then in process of erection
on the ridge on High street. Its build- er was a Major Shaw. This gentleman failed, and moved from the place ere the edifice was completed. It was pur- chased and finished, after a while, by Captain Elias Hunt. The following morning I went to school with my cousin. She attended a private school kept by "Marm Emerson," a very good, stout old lady, who taught reading, spelling, the catechism and plain sew- ing to a flock of the neighboring little ones. In the afternoon Aunt Bartlett took me to call on my father's unele, Mr. Richard Smith, and at the resi- dences of the two brothers of my grand- mother Little, Mr. Daniel and Mr. Brad- street Johnson ; she also called on her cousins, Coombs and Wheelwright. On Saturday I returned home, having en- joyed a most pleasant week. Every- where I had been welcomed and petted, and I took back an enlargement of ideas, that greatly edified and amused the family, with an enhancement of im- portance in the eyes of my country mates, which produced a deference due to one cognizant of town elegance and polish.
A short time after this visit the yel- low fever, brought from the West In- dies, broke out in Newburyport. From the first few cases it rapidly grew to an appalling epidemic ; over forty persons died from the disease, amongst them, Doctor Swett, one of the first physi- cians. Fear and consternation seized the population. Few from abroad ven- tured into the place, which, as the fever increased, became completely panic- stricken. Many hurried away ; others shut themselves in their houses. Busi- ness and pleasure were alike suspend- ed. A pall seemed stretched over the summer sky, and death appeared borne
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upon its soft breezes. Ropes were drawn across Water and other streets, barring off the infected district. It was difficult to obtain attendants for the sick ; and the dead, without funeral rites, in tarred sheets and pine coffins, were, at midnight, carried to the grave in a rude vehicle constructed for the purpose of rough boards. Thus, un- shrined, unknelled, in all haste, the corpse was covered from sight, and a new mound, that for a time every one would shun, rose on the old bury- ing hill.
When the fever first appeared, before its presence was really known, my un- cle Peabody's family received a fright, which happily brought no evil conse- quences. The eldest daughter, when returning from school, was informed, by a little acquaintance, that a dead man lay in the house they were passing. "Come in and look at him," she said to Sophronia, "he looks real funny. He is just as yellow as saffron." The corpse was laid out ready for burial, in one of the front rooms. The front door was open, and people were passing in and out. Childlike, Fronie peeped in, then tiptoed forward. Sure enough, the dead man's face was of a deep yel- low. At dinner she mentioned the in- cident, inquiring what could have made the corpse so yellow. Her mother could not imagine, but my uncle, who had heard a rumor that there had been cases of yellow fever in the place, too truly divined the matter. Every pre- caution was instantly taken ; Fronie was kept from school, but none of our relatives took the fever. Aunt Bartlett was suddenly and violently seized with a bilious attack, to which she was sub- ject. The family were alarmed, and Grandmother Little was summoned,
but she was quickly relieved. The neighborhood was greatly frightened, and the morning after grandmam's ar- rival , what was her horror, as she drew aside the curtain in the early dawn, to descry the dread dead-cart drawn up before the back door, awaiting what was supposed to be another victim to the pestilence. She lost no time in sending it away, but it was hours be- fore she recovered from the shock the fell sight had given, and I never heard her recount the incident without a shud- der. Frost subdued the plague. The fever entirely vanished, and the " Port" gradually resumed its wonted life and appearance.
CHAPTER X.
The following spring I was prostrat- ed by an illness, the vestiges of which have remained through a long life. My head began to ache, Friday, in school. Master Stephen Longfellow was the teacher. Contrary to my inclination he sent me home. Mother administered camphor, I retired early, and the next morning thought myself well enough to attend school. I loved study, and it was a disappointment to lose a session. Though not feeling strong, I managed to go through the morning creditably. It was the latter part of March ; the' road was sloppy, the walking tiresome. Just as I reached the lane leading to the house, I was seized with a terrible pain in my right knee. Unable to walk another step, I sank upon a stone by the roadside. My little brother, who was my companion, much frightened, ran for mother ; she and Aunt Sarah
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bore me home. Mother bathed the limb, and I was kept warm and dosed for a cold. The next morning, I was so comfortable, it was not deemed necessary that mother should remain from meeting, and I was left with my brother. A short time after the others had gone, Jim ran in, with the informa- tion that the pigs were out of the pen. "They are rooting all over the garden, Sallie. What shall I do? I can't get them back into the pen alone. They will spoil the garden ; they have rooted up one bunch of daffies a'ready." Look- ing from the window, I saw that the little boy was right. The porkers were making sad havoc. I hesitated about venturing forth, but at length decided to go. Putting on my thick boots and wrapping myself up, we sallied forth, and, after a while, managed to get the obstinate animals penned. I was much exhausted by the effort, and when the family came back they found me in a raging fever, stiff, and in pain. Doctor Poore was brought. The worthy doc- tor examined the case, took a long pinch of snuff, and then pronounced it rheumatic fever. Blisters were applied, and the usual remedies given, but I suf- fered fearfully. It was three or four weeks ere I could move, and as many more before I could sit up or step. Months passed, and still I remained an invalid. Autumn brought somewhat of the old vigor, but I was obliged to be very careful, and could bear no fa- tigue nor exposure for a long time. Relatives and friends were most kind in their ministration during this sick- ness, and at my convalescence every means was used for solace and amuse- ment. It was a perfect boon to be able to read and sew. Pilgrim's Progress and The Arabian Nights were abso-
lutely devoured. Opportunely, Miss Betty Bradstreet paid one of her much prized visits. She devised many soure- es of relaxation from the dullness of a siek-room. I still have an embroidered pocket, the pattern of which she de- signed and drew.
Mother was always hurried, and, as I grew stronger, I felt it a duty to as- sist her; but after I had sewed my scam or knit my stint, I would steal up to Aunt Sarah's chamber, to read, or work upon the border of a skirt which Aunt Sarah, who had a universal gen- ius, had drawn : a lovely vine of roses and leaves. I feared mother would consider this too much of a tax upon my health, so the work was carried on surreptitiously for several weeks. At length it was completed and exhibited in triumph. The flower garden be- came a source of gratification, and as soon as possible I limped over to our next neighbor's. Mrs. Thurrill was my mother's aunt, my grandfather Little's sister, but her youngest son was only one year my elder ; from infancy we were playmates. My little brother used to run, in shouting, " Here's Bill Thuddle, Sallie ; Bill Thuddle has come to help you over to his house." Mother would put on my things, and with Bill's and Jim's assistance I would manage to cross the foot-path through the mowing lot, and climb the stile in the stone wall that divided the two farms. Aunt Thurrill was always " so glad to see her leetle gal ; she was get- ting smart, yes indeed real spry !" Then the company loaf of pound cake would be cut and a glass of metheglin presented. Though she would tell the boys to go to the cupboard and get something to eat, that doughnuts and apple pie, and sweetened cider and wa-
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ter were good enough for hearty boys, the urchins never failed to receive a bit of cake and a sip of the honey wine. After I had rested I would crawl up to the spinning room to gossip awhile with Jenny Wheeler. Aunt kept a hired girl through the year. In the summer she helped in the dairy and housework, but her chief employment was spinning.
Uncle Thurrill kept a large flock of sheep. In the winter he fatted weth- ers, which he slaughtered and market- ed; the fleeces the maid spun into yarn which the old gentleman (he was a weaver by trade) wove into cloth, which met with a ready sale. After a hard day's work out of doors, it was no infrequent thing to hear his loom till twelve or one o'clock at night. He was also abstemious in food, rarely eating meat. There was usually a loaf of brown bread, a cut cheese and a pan of milk in the chimney corner ; these were his staple viands. Still he was a healthy, strong man, never own- ing to fatigue. Besides the sheep, he butchered and sold a large number of swine. The first families at the "Port" regularly sought aunt's lard and sausa- ges ; and uncle's pork was in great de- mand. He was also a great orchard- ist. The best varieties of apple, such as the "Baldwin " and " Russet," were then just becoming known. The " Baldwin" in that region was then called the "Hooper," from its having been introduced by Squire Stephen Hooper, the owner of an elegant coun- try seat on the main road. My father also took great pains to procure the best fruit for his thrifty, young orchard. I have spent many hours helping him. graft.
Amongst our near neighbors was a
somewhat uniqne family. Their name was Dole and they lived at the foot of the hill. There were three brothers and four sisters, all unmarried, and, as is often the case with single people, all seven were always addressed by the affectionate appellation of uncle and annt. Uncle Amos and David tilled the paternal acres ; Uncle Moses, a blacksmith, carried on his trade in a shop by the roadside, opposite the dwelling. He boarded with his broth- ers, paying them the enormous price of one dollar per week. Aunts Jemi- ma, Eunice and Judy attended to the house and dairy, receiving their living, as in their parents' life-time. Aunt Susy, an invalid, was cared for and petted by all. This family, especially Aunt Judy, had been unusually kind during my illness, and they were solic- itous that I should take tea with them. As soon as I was able to walk so far, Aunt Sarah took me down. The house, large and commodious, stood a little back from and end to road ; a path led up to a door which opened directly into the kitchen or living room. The front commanded a pleasant view of Dole's pond, and a wide stretch of meadow and forest, the Clark homestead, peeping through the woods, being the only house in sight. We were received with great cordiality, and seated in the large, cool room to rest. This apart- ment had the usual huge fire-place, long dressers, heavy table and flag- bottomed chairs. After awhile we were invited into Aunt Susy's room at the back of the house. The invalid was seated in a chair covered by a coverlet, and the room was hot and oppressive. I was glad to accompany aunt Judy when she went out to begin prepara- tions for tea, which were a source of
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great entertainment. The good woman moulded a pan of short cake, which she rolled out and placed on six pewter plates ; placing the long iron oven shov- el across the andirons, the six plates were deposited before the fire. I dis- tinctly recollect the interest I felt in watching the bannocks; seeing Aunt Judy turn them, and, when done, split and butter them. They were very light and nice, and eaten with stewed straw- berries they tasted deliciously. The three uncles came in to tea; uncle said a lengthy grace, then we all did justice to the viands. I greatly enjoy- ed my visit, and on my return made the household laugh heartily with the description of aunt Judy's six Johnny cakes.
That summer our neighbors, the Pillsburys, put up a new house. It was raised in June. This brought a festi- val. A sumptuous entertainment was provided. Aunt Sarah lent her assist- ance, and the whole neighborhood were on the qui vive for several days. On the afternoon appointed most of the parish, and visitors from the vicinity, thronged to the place. The stout tim- bers of the sturdy roof were reared with the usual ceremonies, christened with prime Santa Cruz, then the re- freshments were spread. Jollity and sport sped the hours till sun-down, when the crowd dispersed. Notwith- standing every precaution I took cold, and the next morning could not walk one step. Great was my anguish, but nursing and care soon brought the use of my limbs. When I could walk I was invited to spend the day at great- uncle John Little's. His farm lay be- low, a little farther down the hill. The house, which commanded a pleasant view, stood back from the road, a
thrifty orchard extending in front. The two sons and the only daughter had been married several years, and the family consisted of only uncle, aunt and a hired man. I always en- joyed a visit to this quiet domicile. After dinner Ruth laughingly said, " seeing she had distinguished company her weaving should be set aside." Put- ting on her brightly flowered ehintz she took her knitting and called me to join her in the cosy back parlor. We had scarcely become seated when her grandson, David Emery, and his step- brother, Jeremiah Colman, galloped up the lane on two mettled studs. Spring- ing from the saddle the two youth, lads of twelve and fifteen, entered with the information that their father, mother and younger brother were just behind.
Betty Little, at the age of nineteen,
had married David Emery. This young man, with his brother Ephraim, left orphans when mere boys, were heirs to a considerable property. They were still young when the Revolution- ary war commenced. At the return of the "six months men," called out after the battle of Bunker Hill, another sum- mons for troops came. The militia were drawn up on the training field ; a draft was about to be made, when out stepped young David Einery and vol- unteered his services. His example was instantly followed, and the quota was obtained without a draft. His older brother, Ephraim, fired with mili- tary ardor, also entered the army, in the capacity of fifer, returning, at the disbanding of the officers at the end of the war, with a captain's commission. He afterwards reentered the army with the rank of major, and died at an ad- vanced age, in the enjoyment of a lib- eral pension. He was one of the found-
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ers of the Society of Cincinnati. His commissions from the records of that Society are : ensign in Wigglesworth's, afterwards C. Smith's, thirteenth regi- ment in 1777 ; and served in Sullivan's R. I. company in 1779, commanding lieutenant and paymaster, April 10th, 1779 ; in Tupper's sixth regiment in. 1783.
David was with the army till after the battle of Brooklyn. His time of ser- vice having expired, he returned home. His health, which had never been good, had become much impaired, and it was not deemed prudent that he should again assume the life of a sol- dier. His marriage with Betty Little soon followed, but consumption had marked him for a victim. Ere a year had sped, and two months prior to the birth of his son, he passed away, Octo- ber 21st, 1785, at the early age of twen- ty-two. Though short, as we count time, his life was long, in gallant acts and noble deeds. Few, even of those whose years number the allotted three score and ten, could give a better rec- ord, and his name has been handed down through the succeeding genera- tions in affectionate remembrance.
Two years after her husband's death the widow Emery contracted a second marriage, with Mr. Moses Colman, of Byfield. Mr. Colman, a widower with one little boy five years old, at the time of his second marriage, owned and re- sided on a farm, delightfully located near Dummer Academy. He also car- ried on a large butchering business. For years the market at the Port was largely supplied from his slaughter- house. The year after this second marriage a third son, Daniel Colman, was born.
David Emery had passed much of his childhood at his grandmother Little's. I had known him from infancy. His mother and mine, as girls, had been es- pecially intimate cousins. Her little son had been my playmate at home and companion at school. We had often sat upon the same form and read from the same book. Our greeting was that of close friends ; but the fifteen-year- old Jerry inspired me with much awe. David took down the old king's-arm from the brackets where it hung, over the kitchen fireplace, and, getting the powder horn and shot bag, told his grandmother that he was "going into the pasture to shoot that woodchuck that was plaguing grandsir; when Daniel comes send him along." Call- ing to Jerry, who had been stabling the horses, the two went whistling mer- rily over the hill. The chaise soon ap- peared, turning up the lane, and Mr. and Mrs. Colman, Daniel seated be- tween them, drove to the door. Mrs. Colman came in, Daniel ran after his brothers, and Mr. Colman, turning his horse, after a moment's chat with Aunt Little, drove away. He was one of the overseers of the poor, and had business to transact in our part of the town.
Mrs. Colman desired to call at my grandmother Little's, and I accompa- nied her. After Mr. Colman's return, David came to take us back in the chaise. He had killed the woodchuck, and was in high spirits. We found the other boys jubilant over the afternoon's work. They had assisted in unearth- ing the prey ; and David had also shot an enormous hen hawk on the wing. His grandparents, though affectionately attentive to the other boys, were evi- dently exceedingly proud of " their
6
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boy," and his mother, with sparkling eyes, said : "He's a chip of the old block."
Mr. Colman, a stout, handsome, jolly man, posted me, much to my chagrin (for I was beginning to assume young lady airs), upon his knee, and, with a hearty kiss, pronounced me a beauty, a perfect black-eyed queen, and said that I should some day be David's little wife. "Now don't blush and squirm, my pretty, but expound this riddle : My wife has two sons, and I have two sons, and there are only three in the whole." I was as much mystified as a great many other people I have since seen at this favorite enigma, which the old gentleman, to the end of a long life, never failed to propound to stran- gers, always ending the explanation with : "and we mixed 'em all up like hasty pudding ; never knew any differ- ence, they are all mine and all hers." This was true, and no three brothers could have been more attached to each other ; and, in after years, Colonel Jer- emiah Colman was as fond of repeat- ing the family riddle as his father had been.
CHAPTER XI.
Six years had elapsed ; still our par- ish was destitute of a pastor. Numer- ous had been the candidates, but a call had been extended to only a few. Amongst these favored ones had been the Rev. Abraham Moore, and the Rev. Daniel Dana, but those gentlemen had accepted other invitations. The fourth parish, adhering to the teachings of Parson Johnson and Dr. Toppan, for
several years leaned strongly to the an- cient faith, but the new and somewhat popular idea crept into the congrega- tion, and doctrines began to be promul- gated and received, which the fathers would have vehemently denounced. A young candidate by the name of Clark, caused a great sensation. Some ac- cepted his views with enthusiasm, while others denounced his words as a sacri- lege to the pulpit, which had been so ably filled. I well remember a call this clergyman made on us. A tall, pale, light-haired man, with homely features, and a rigid, austere air, his ap- pearance was most unprepossessing, es- pecially to children. I had been a fa- vorite with Parson Toppan, and unlike so many children at that day, never dreamed of feeling awe or fear in the presence of the minister; but Mr. Clark's manner was so restrained and frigid, there was such an assumption of sanctity, that I instinctively drew aside, and quietly stole into my low chair in the corner of the room, while my little brother crouched on his stool beside mother, hiding his head under her apron. The clergyman seated himself in the arm chair mother offered, and after hesitating, hemming and hawing, in- quired "if she was the late Parson Johnson's granddaughter?" Having been answered in the affirmative, with an accession of sanctimony, he asked, "if she held to his tenets?" The good woman was too much occu- pied, with her dairy and her family, to trouble her head much about doctrines, but father was a staunch supporter of the old creed, and somewhat timidly, but with decided firmness, she replied, "that she had never seen cause to de- part from the teachings in which she had been reared." Our visitor, hummed,
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hawed, drew his fingers through his lank, white hair, then wheeling round facing my poor, trembling, little self, he abruptly asked, "Child, where would you go if you were to die ?" I could have truthfully told him, I did not know, but my tongue was palsied, I quaked all over with terror. In a still more severe tone he continued, "Child, do you know the catechism?" I man- aged to enunciate, "Yes, sir." "Then you know that, as a child of Adam, you were born totally depraved, and unless you are born again in Christ you must be eternally damned. There are many little children in hell, yes, children as young as you, suffering fiery torments." I do not know what farther he might have said, for with an hysterical scream I sprang to my feet, and mother led me from the room, leaving grandmam, who was deaf as a post, to do the parting ceremonies. Father upon learning of the afternoon's occurrence, was posi- tively furious, and he neither went him- self nor permitted any of the family to attend divine service through Mr. Clark's ministration. The summer of 1798 the Rev. Leonard Woods came to preach, and after considerable disagree- ment and hesitation, a call to the can- didate was given and accepted, the cer- emony of ordination being fixed for the fifth of December. From the first Sun- day my father had not been exactly pleased with the new preacher, and as the weeks passed this distrust and dis- satisfaction increased. These senti- ments were shared by a respectable mi- nority, but with the true democratic spirit, they gracefully yielded to the will of the majority, and the preparations for the ordination were commenced with the accustomed hospitable bountiful-
ness. A few families, zealous for the ancient regime, declaring the pastor elect "a wolf in sheep's clothing, at heart a true blue Hopkinsian," de- clined to open their houses, or take any part in the festivities or solemnities. Amongst these were my father, the Doles and Master Chase. Aunt Ruth Little was one of Parson Wood's most enthusiastic supporters. She devoted a whole evening to the vain task of bringing my father to a coincidence in her views. Her rhetoric was complete- ly wasted, and, quite angry, she re- turned home, to wonder at "that obsti- nate Jim Smith. He was a real Jacob- ite infidel. Prudy was to be pitied ; a minister's granddarter, too ; it was scan- dalous !" Her preparations for the or- dination were upon the grandest scale. Mrs. Colman came to assist two or three days prior to it, and quiet Uncle John was stirred up into an unusual in- terest and activity. The best of viands were procured, the case bottles replen- ished with choice liquors, and a good supply of New England rum provided for the refreshment of the more humble class of visitors. Grandmother Little had everything in readiness for the ex- ercise of due hospitality, but there was no fuss nor parade. Deacon Tenney, a dignitary of the church, of course, was obliged to keep open house. Aunt Sa- rah went to help her sister. Our house- hold were habitually in readiness for company, as, living on the old family homestead, we were any day liable to unexpected guests. Our Thanksgiving mince pies and plum cake were fresh ; there were plenty of pickles, apple- sauce and preserves ; but mother quiet- ly baked an oven full of pumpkin and apple pies and fried a large batch of
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