Saco Valley settlements and families. Historical, biographical, genealogical, traditional, and legendary, Part 10

Author: Ridlon, Gideon Tibbetts, 1841- [from old catalog]
Publication date: 1895
Publisher: Portland, Me., The author
Number of Pages: 1424

USA > Maine > Saco Valley settlements and families. Historical, biographical, genealogical, traditional, and legendary > Part 10
USA > New Hampshire > Saco Valley settlements and families. Historical, biographical, genealogical, traditional, and legendary > Part 10

Note: The text from this book was generated using artificial intelligence so there may be some errors. The full pages can be found on Archive.org (link on the Part 1 page).

We must now take leave of our old gossiping dames and turn our atten- tion to their husbands, who have entered the door-yard on a brief visit to Uncle Eben, who had come in from his work early to enjoy the company of these good neighbors. They were a sociable group. The autumn day was not done and they took a turn about the fields and down the pasture lane to view Uncle Eben's stock. There were ten "horn-ed cattle," a mare, colt, and divers swine-beasts. With arms under their coat-tails-a habit common with old yeomen -and a bit of chip, or twig from an apple tree, between their teeth, they walked about the great high-horned oxen, cows, and sparked young "critters." They canted their heads first to one side, then to the other ; they closed one eye and squinted over the broad backs of old "Line" and "Golden," rubbed their supple hide over their ribs as a woman does the wet blanket over her washboard, gave their tails a twist to see if their spinal cord was elastic, pinched their hips and flanks, and declared them to be a " well- made pair."

To the cows they went with many a soothing "so-mollie," as they stooped to see if they were "easy milkers" and if they had a "yarler hide." They studied cow-chronology by counting the wrinkles on the horns of the vener- able buttermakers, "Spark " and "Tansey"; inquired how much they gave in the pail and how long they went dry and "farrer."

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As they approached Unele Eben's old mare, she exhibited pronounced objections against inspection by showing the depravity of her eyes, and ivory of her grazers; by the vehement switching of her sprig tail, and snorting angrily, "take kear there." They didn't pinch her hips nor feel of her Hanks; no, no; discretion, in this instance, certainly, was the better part of valor. Uncle Eben said she was an on-easy, techy critter, that had a wicked habit of "liftin' behind " when approached in the "parster."

Uncle Eben led his company to the pigs' parlor, where each guessed the weight of the fatted porkers; thence, down to the well-filled hay-barn and showed them his mows of timothy and clover, oat-straw and corn-fodder, bins of beans and grain ; thence, down into cellar and showed thein his well-filled potato-pens, his stores of " garden-sarce," and a pork-barrel that hadn't been empty for four-and-twenty years.

But they are summoned to the supper-table by a blast from the tin horn in the hands of Darkis, and go gabbling in-doors. The company had increased to such an extent that by "counting noses " Aunt Sally had found it expedient to extend her table with an annex formed with a second table which did not tally in height with the principal family board. The whole was covered with a snow-white spread of Aunt Sally's own weaving, and "set out " with the dainty, figured tea set purchased " at the westward," and presented to her on her wedding-day. The occasions were rare when this precious treasure was placed upon the table. When all had been seated, Uncle Eben suggested to Abram Kankins that it was his "oppertunity." and the venerable brother said the grace. The company being composed of persons of robust attributes. they honored the excellent culinary provision upon the tea-table, and the cheer- ful spirit that prevailed wonderfully enhanced the enjoyment of the meal, and also, by facilitating digestion, contributed to the health and comfort of the partakers afterwards.

As the evenings were now cool, Uncle Eben removed the fire-board from the hearth, adjusted the andiron, and kindled a flame there to "take off the chill " and add a cheerful light to the room. The genial warmth and bright- ness of the capering flame drew all around the hearth-stone as millers are drawn by candle-light, and the men with their pipes and stories, the women with their sewing and gossip, passed the evening in great communion. At a late hour the usual old-time compliments. "Come out and see us," were exchanged, and all wended homeward. Verily, visiting and paying visits had a salutary and helpful influence.

The Medicine-Chest. The professional doctor was seldom called to the home of the pioneer. Medicinal treatment was rarely resorted to. The natural conditions of every-day life were conducive to robust health. Women did not then, as sentimental women do now-a-days, talk about " my physician " and "my doctor ": had they indulged in such nonsense they would have been

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regarded as witches, persons possessed of the devil, or, more properly, as " deficient in the upper story."

Were they never indisposed or very sick? Of course they were; the old burial-places are a sufficient witness to their mortality. But the old mothers anticipated the hour of illness and made due preparation to ward off disease and to heal any malady that might steal into the household. These watchful and prudent guardians of the home, did not depend solely upon the curative properties conserved in the great pharmacy of the vegetable kingdom, but became herbalists in a small way and cultivated such plants as were known to possess medicinal virtues. Who that was reared on a Saco valley farm does not remember the old garden and its beds of aromatic herbs. There were chamomile, tansy, southernwood, sage, yellow-dock, horse-radish, catnip, pep- permint, spearmint, wormwood, rhubarb, blossoming marigold, and poppies enough to put the whole family to sleep.

Such useful herbs were cultivated with much care from year to year, were not suffered to die out, and were gathered, tied in bundles or packed in birch- bark boxes, and stored in the unfinished attic.

Before the dog-days came-after that, herbs were supposed to lose their virtue - the wives of farmers, and the farmers too, gathered such roots, wild herbs, and berries, as grew in field-sides, pastures, and woodlands; they stored away thoroughwort, pennyroyal, horsemint, yarrow, ragweed, burdock, mouse- ear, plantain, cure-all leaves, gold-thread, Jones'-root, sumac, and elderberries.

From such simple, harmless, medicinal herbs, teas, syrups, and healing salves were made by boiling and simmering, and administered to any member of the family who had taken cold or who had a wound to mollify. Such rem- edies, when faithfully taken and well rubbed in, usually proved effectual; when the list had been gone through with, and had proved unavailing, the sick were doomed for the winding-sheet and narrow house - a miracle excepted.

In some of the early communities there were decayed maidens who had studied "rutes and airbs," and were called "doctress women." We suppose they ranked, in the professional calendar, with the tailoress and female ex- horter. They graduated in the herb-garden and garret, but were, so far as we know, deficient of any honorary degrees. But they were profound and filled with wisdom as their appearance indicated. When called to the bedside of some afflicted neighbor they would take a seat, hold their long, bony fingers upon the pulse, elevate their crescent-shaped eyebrows, look away to the other side of the room and-consider. After some inquiry anent the symptoms developed, these old frauds, or primitive quacks, would unroll their batch of "rutes and airbs" and "conjure up" some horrible-tasting decoction and prescribe, with great precision, a course of treatment for the invalid.

These "wimmin doctors " compounded ointments for human unfortunates who had a contagious sort of itches and scratches that sometimes went through

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the settlements ; they made salves for sore heads and hearts, for wens on the scalp and wolves on the jaw, for "biles" and barnacles, carbuncles and can- cers. Of plasters they had great store : plasters to stick and plasters to crawl. This latter sort were supposed to possess supernatural powers and were said to follow the pain wherever it went when romping through one's body: in consequence of this quality, they sometimes caused great inconvenience to the wearers by halting on unlooked-for parts of their anatomy.

The old rogues used to relate how one of these "doctress wimmen " was made the subject of much humor by a rather serious piece of imposition prac- tised upon her by one of the queer old fellows who lived in a primitive com- munity. It seems that he had been assisted by some evil spirit while awake on his bed, and his wife at his side was startled from her slumbers by a terrible groan. She immediately inquired with great solicitude and pitifulness of voice what ailed her distressed husband, then writhing like a martyr in the flames. He gave utterance in scattering syllables to a few nearly inarticulate words that indicated awful agony of body. Springing from her warm nest she hastened to light the candle, and holding the pale flame over Archibald's face it appeared to have an ashen color and exhibited unmistakable evidence of the keenest anguish. Now it came to pass that not an herb could be found about the house, although Dorothy knew she had put away divers kinds. This seeming misfortune was fully understood, and, to let out the truth, had been provided for by the groaning Archibald. "What shall we do; what shall we do?" cried Dorothy, who was now at her wits' ends. "Do? why send for old Judy Elecompain, the doctress; send quick, too," answered Archibald.

Sallymantha was called down from the chamber, and being afraid in the dark, remained with her father while the anxious mother made haste across the dew-laden field to the dwelling of Judy Elecompain. Now Judy was entangled in the mysterious labyrinths of a dissolving dream when Dorothy pounded on the window-sash and screamed : "Judy! Judy ! come quick, come quick and see my Archible ; he's dying sartin." Being so far out upon the sea of slumber, Judy only heard a faint, indistinct sound like a wind-wafted hail from a distant strand, and found it, as she supposed, to be a part of the drama that was being acted in her mental auditorium. She sighed audibly. which sigh Dorothy heard without and supposed the doctress was awake. Seeing no light of candle. she looked in and the slanting moonbeams, shoot- ing across the pillow where Judy reposed. revealed her with an expression of rapture beaming upon her bilious face as the pleasing footlights illuminated the pictures of delectable hills and valleys that were passiing before her in- toxicated spirit.

"Say, yon old numb-head," shouted Dorothy with an exceeding great noise, "wake up! wake up! my old man's a-dying." This agonizing scream broke the spell of Judy's entanglement, and springing up in her bed, she

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clutched the coverlid nervously, and with a voice that left a crack in the atmosphere, shrieked: "What -what-what on airth's the matter; what's the matter?" Dazed by such sudden transition from the transports of her blissful dream to the world of reality, and by a salutation involving such sol- emn issues, the old professional scarcely knew whether she was still asleep. But Dorothy was watching her through the window, and fearing that Morpheus would again carry her captive to his misty dominion, she kept calling, "Judy ! Judy ! ( Judy ! du git out o' bed, and come quickly, for ] tell ye Archibald's a-dying." "Who's there?" shouted the doctress. "Why, I'm Dorothy, wife of Archible Hussey ; my old man's a-dying an' we haint a sprig o' penny- rial nor lady's-delight in the house. Du, Judy, you hurry and find your rutes and airbs and come follow me." The old rickety bedstead now began to creak, a chair was heard to rattle, and a tall, spectral-looking form in flum- meried cap and etherial robe might have been seen darting about the room.

At last the doctress was dressed, found her rutes-and-airbs basket and, with a pair of old stocking-feet pulled over her shoes, she followed Dorothy Hussey home. Archibald had his ear bent and heard the ground jar near the house with the pronounced tread of Dorothy and Judy. As they entered the door-yard they heard a terrible groan and Dorothy sighed with a degree of relief as she exclaimed, "Archible's a-livin." Softly the two women entered the room of the sick and dying-bed. Archibald was lying with his face to the wall; the place dying people are said to look at last. Such agony as racked his frame ! Bending over him his sweating consort inquired in tones soaked in pity: "Archi-ble, Archi-ble, be you a-dying?" "I d-d-do-n-t k-n-o-w, I'm in an aw-ful con-dit-ion. Where's the doc-tress?" "Judy, she's right here; she cum's quick's she cleverly could."

One of Archibald's arms lay limp upon the outside of the bed and the doctress lifted the heavy hand and touched the pulse. Archibald held his breath and the anatomical machinery seemed to stop, as the "clock stopped short when the old man died." Judy shook her head, laid down the hand, and tiptoed out of the room, beckoning Dorothy to follow. Going to a corner of the great kitchen, and looking toward the door through which they had emerged, with a terrible expression upon her long visage, Judy Elecompain, in a loud whisper, said: "Dorothy, I'm sorry to say enything to hurt ye, but stern duty compels me to tell ye to prepare for the wust. Archi-ble's a-sinkin' awful fast. Skeircely eny pult left. There's a mor-tal in-tarnal diffi-kilty that's consumin' his vi-tal-ity." " But can nothin' be dun for poor Archible?" piti- fully asked Dorothy.

"Wall, we ken bathe his stumick with a little sparit, an' 'minister sum soothin' tea ; that's all / ken du; it's tu late, Dorothy." Terrible groans and incoherent ejaculations were escaping from the lips of Archibald. The two women re-entered the room of the sick and dying man, and asked Archibald

7.4

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if he could be turned upon his back so that Judy might bathe his stumick with sparit. "I'll t-r-y," faintly replied Archibald. With slow and labored movement, that had the appearance of being almost superhuman, Archibald was a hefty man when in health the groaning man tried to turn himself, but sank backward with a despairing sigh. " Let Dorothy'n I'sist ye, Archible." suggested the old doctress. They drew the heavy bedstead from the wall, and by lifting on both sides they succeeded in turning the apparently helpless man. They unbuttoned his shirt-front and sopped on the alcohol. His com- monly healthy face appeared shrunken and marked with great evidence of distress ; his pulse was weak and his breathing intermittent, alternating with sighs and groans.

Dorothy was wringing her hands, wiping her red eyes with her bomba- zine apron, and walking about the room on tiptoe. For a moment Archibald opened his eyes a little, and noticing his poor wife's disconsolate appearance felt assured that she hadn't lost her first love, and faintly said, " Dor-o-thy. my de-a-h don't we-e-p for m-e-e-e."

After some bumble-bee-berry-bark tea had been administered with the teaspoon, Archibald seemed to grow casier, and for a few moments the two women retired to the kitchen for conference. Judy declared that nothing more could be done for Archibald; that he was now sinking into a lethargy- condition from which he would have an easy transit across the mystical river. and she had better go home and on her way rouse some of the neighbors, and send them out "agin the hour o' need." But the moist importunity of Dorothy overcome the compasionate heart of the old doctress, and she con- sented to stand by until the last. Going back to where Archibald lay in a lethargy, Judy took a seat by his side to watch the flickering taper as the attenuated wick burnt out in the socket. Looking toward the small stand at the head of Archibald's bed, she noticed that the spirit bottle was empty. Beckoning Dorothy to her side, she pointed to the bottle and whispered : "He's out of his head." The first gray beams of the morning were now bursting over the hills and objects in the room could be distinctly seen.

Turning quickly over with his face toward the watchers. Archibald said : "Why, Aunt Judy, how came you out here?" Before he could finish his speech Judy exclaimed : " Poor Archible! he's wanderin' now." " Wanderin', you tarnal old fool : not I," replied Archibald in a strong voice. "You take your old chip basket of rutes and airbs and run right out on Swanson's lane. Dorothy, my good wife, get my breakfast; I must get up." The old doctress seized her medicine basket just as Archibald bounded upon the floor, and rushed from the room screaming : "Poor Archible ! Poor AArchible ! he's gone crazy, gone crazy!" She was seen no more on that morning, and when. during the following afternoon, she saw him from her window, walking by his great brown oxen, "Duke" and "Turk," as he had done aforetime, she

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declared that he was as one raised from the brink o' the grave, and that Archibald Hussey might bless his stars all the remainder of his earthly sojourn that on that doleful night when the pale horse was sweeping over the hill his speed was arrested by the bumble-bee-berry-bark tea, administered by an "exper'anced doctress named Judy Elecompain," who had left her own peace- ful slumbers when filled with on-airthly felici-ty in the middle part of a blissful dream, and waded across wet medders to 'leviate his suffrin's and suthe his distressed body while bein' wracked with pain."

Archibald Hussey lived many years and was never weary of telling all who came of his adventure with the old doctress. Dorothy, his faithful wife, lived also and ever after that mysterious sickness would find cause to retire from the room when Archibald came to the point in his narrative where she "took on so." Judy Elecompain survived many years and always insisted that " Archible Hussey would have been dead and buried this twenty years gone passed had she not, at jist the right moment when he was hoverin' on the pint o' death, given him bumble-bee-berry-bark tea." Then Archibald would laugh.

This story is not without its moral, but as there is a variety of tastes I will give each reader liberty to point such an one as suits him best.

QUAINT DEVICES.

The Farm-House Attic. Sometimes the best furnished room in the house. It was the lumber-room, store-room, and conservatory of such articles of furniture as had "seen their best days," or were out of fashion and use. Filled with silent memorials of the past, yet eloquent with reminders that some- times touched the visitor's heart. A dusty place, with odors suggestive of pennyroyal and motherwort; the undisturbed retreat of hornets and spiders. Let us see what we can find here worthy of inspection and description.

The Meal Chest .- Here is a long affair on swallow-tailed legs, arranged with several compartments within, in which the old housewives kept their yel- low corn meal, the wheat, rye, and barley flour, the middlings, and shorts. It was made of wide boards of "pumpkin pine," dovetailed at the corners, and covered by a lid extending the whole length and attached to the back with leathern hinges. When this capacious receptacle was well filled there was contentment in the household and hope sang her cheering song; when the housewife's "skimming-shell" scraped the bottom, she shuddered with mis- givings and anxiety.

"Chist o' Draws."-Here it is, standing against the wall, festooned with cobwebs. It is a quaint, cumbersome article of furniture, made from solid mahogany or cherry, and so faithfully put together that it stood the wear and tear of several generations. Front posts carved into spiral form;

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swell-front drawers; handles of ornamental pattern made of brass and cov- ered with paper. Empty now. Within this great receptacle was laid the bridal robe when the young mother assumed the duties of domestic life and mother- hood. llere she placed the carefully folded and delicately made little gar- ments that awaited the advent of the first-born, and when a little one had been snatched from the cradle and laid down in its narrow, cold house beside the wood-lot, the dainty gowns and tiny shoes were sprinkled with the mother's tears, and with fragrant rose leaves put away from sight in the lower drawer. In another compartment were preserved such valuable articles as had been presented to the wife at her marriage; and in others, the family linen and light apparel. Here was kept the great leather pocketbook containing the saved dollars and notes of hand. In the "chist" at the top were deposited the yeoman's bell-crowned fur hat and Molly's great churn bonnet. How many times these drop handles have rattled at the touch of mother's hands ; how many times these heavy drawers revealed their treasures to her wistful eyes ! All empty now, for mother is away.

Trundle-Bedstead, -Here we have a phenomenally accommodating and once useful article in which, like the traditional "bus," there was always "room for one more." The capacity of the trundle-bed or truckle-bed was never exhausted ; it was often crowded, but never quite full. What a tangle of curly heads, fat arms, and dumpling feet there used to be in this juvenile couch ! For twenty years in constant use and never vacant at night. But the boys and girls have long ago outgrown the old childhood nest, and that much coveted household necessity, which ran on wheels and had supported so many precious lives, was relegated to the dusty attic. By its low side many little ones with clasped hands had knelt while a loving mother taught them to say. "Our Heavenly Father," or, " Now I lay me down to sleep."

Garter-Loom. - There are few living to-day who could name this article. It was made from a thin piece of board in which openings were cut longitud- inally, leaving eight or ten slender bars, each of which was pierced with a hot wire. The whole was about eighteen inches long and ten inches in width. With this simple instrument the old mothers wove worsted suspenders for their husbands and sons, which were broad, elastic, and comfortable. Thesc were called " gallowses." It is doubtful if any one now living could properly "draw in the web " for weaving on the garter-loom.

Foot-Stove. - Tucked away under the eaves we find this curious affair : whether lantern, grain-sieve, or mouse-cage, who can tell? Part of wood, part of tin ; sides perforated like a giant nutmeg-grater : square, or nearly so; has a " kiver," bail, and handle. And what's the "consarn " for? Well, beloved, when there were no stoves or furnaces to warm the meeting-houses; no fire with the exception of that in the pulpit, and that a long way from the congre- gation : when sermons were two hours long and human beings were susceptible

COLONIAL RELICS.

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to cold the same as now, these tin foot-warmers, used before soap-stones and mince pies were thought of for the purpose, were filled with hard-wood coals alive from the hearth, and carried into the pews on the Sabbath to prevent the blood from freezing.

Tin Kitchen .- Indeed ! Ah, yes! not for a family to domicile in, how- ever, but for the goose or turkey to roast in. A large cylinder of tin-plate, thickly perforated and geared to a crank, to which a line and weight were attached and wound up like an eight-day clock. A door opened from one side through which the fowl was thrust and fastened upon a "spit" within. This revolving machine was placed before the farmer's open fire, a kitchen within a kitchen, the weight hooked on and set a-going. It turned about the same as an old-time overshot water-wheel. The polished tin "drew the heat"-so the old women said-and the revolving oven exposed all sides of the roasting fowl equally to the fire. Underneath was placed the great, broad "dripping- pan" from which, at intervals, the housewife "basted" the goose or turkey with her long-handled spoon. This invention was well adapted to the times, and suited to the wide, open fireplace. A goose, "done to a turn" in the tin kitchen, for toothsome flavor has never been excelled.

The Barn Lantern was calculated to disseminate light-in feeble, un- certain rays. A tin cylinder, with a cone-like top, eighteen inches in height, eight in diameter; full of holes as a skimmer-yes, fuller-cut in figures, through which the light from the tallow-dip within struggled out. Not as brilliant as the modern lantern, but more safe and quickly set a-going. It was called a "barn lantern" because used by farmers when going to fodder their cattle in the evening ; because hung upon the handle of a pitchfork stuck into the hay-mow, suspended over the pile of corn in the barn floor, where the husking was done. For these purposes the tin lantern stood in good stead ; was especially favorable, negatively, to the bashful young ladies of whom tribute was exacted for each red car of corn found when husking. What weird, dancing figures the light, radiating from the rotary perforation, cast upon the ground or snow when swinging in the farmer's hand ! By a few con- servative old grandfathers the "barn lantern" is still used. May their light never grow less.

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Saco Valley settlements and families. Historical, biographical, genealogical, traditional, and legendary, Part 10

Author: Ridlon, Gideon Tibbetts, 1841- [from old catalog] Publication date: 1895 Publisher: Portland, Me., The author Number of Pages: 1424

Author: Ridlon, Gideon Tibbetts, 1841- [from old catalog]
Publication date: 1895
Publisher: Portland, Me., The author
Number of Pages: 1424