Saco Valley settlements and families. Historical, biographical, genealogical, traditional, and legendary, Part 9

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 9
USA > New Hampshire > Saco Valley settlements and families. Historical, biographical, genealogical, traditional, and legendary > Part 9

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).

The pantaloons, more properly breeches, were the embodiment of all good features from the hatches to the bulk-head. The body parts were calculated to facilitate unimpeded circulation, being liberally endowed with cloth and

OLD TIMES ON THE SACO.

generously capacious; this section extended well upwards withal, and left no vulnerable joints in the yeoman's harness. What was wanting in length of leg was sure to be found in the chair-cushion. Moreover, convenience and adaptability had been considered in making the diagrams by which the various parts were cut out; nothing to be desired, compatible with good order and utility, seemed to have been overlooked. Certainly they admitted of unobstructed exercise and a flexible articulation of the limbs; they were well provided with great pockets, ample for storage; the waistbands, far above the waist of the wearer, were embattled with big bone buttons behind and before, and the suspenders worn with them were so short that they should have been designated as "shoulder-straps." But why weary ourselves vainly striving to describe that which was practically indescribable, inimit- able, and incomprehensible? Such were the old-fashioned articles of wear- ing apparel cut and made by the now defunct professional, once known as a "tailoress."

A finer class of clothing, made for wedding occasions and for dignitaries, such as members of the "Great and General Court," magistrates, and judges, were cut and made by travelling tailors, nearly all of whom were Scotchmen and Irishmen. The appearance of these knights of the thimble and shears was hailed with gladness in the primitive settlements, not only for the work they came to perform, but for the news they brought and the stories they told; they were the oracles and venders of the latest intelligence, and many pleasant evenings were passed with Donald or Pat at the fireside, telling in their broad Scotch, or inimitable Irish brogue, narratives relating to their native land. Even when there was no demand for the wares or the skill of these wandering tradesmen they found a warm welcome at the settler's hearth- stone and table, and their mirthful spirit and hilarious laughter stimulated good-fellowship and lightened the burdens of toil and care.

These travelling tailors sometimes carried along in their pack a few pat- terns of English or German broadcloth, and the suitable trimmings for making them up. By the sale of these, Pat and Donald turned an honest shilling and secured, as a perquisite, the contract to cut and make the dress-coat from the materials disposed of.

The under-coat for holiday wear was of the snug-bodied, swallow-tailed style, ornamented behind and in front with gilt buttons; the longer the tails, and larger the buttons, the greater the dignity of the wearer. So they were rated in some communities.

The top-coat, or "surtout," was very long but short at the waist, with great fullness of cloth in the skirt. It was surmounted by an enormous, high- backed, buckram-lined collar. Two rows of white bone buttons at the foreside, and a dangling bandanna handkerchief half out of pocket behind, were the finishing appurtenances of such a garment. Whoever was so fortunate as

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to possess one, barring accident, had it as long as he lived if he was not over-patriarchal in age at his dissolution. About once in ten years these great coats were in the height of fashion, and that was as often, ordinarily, as the yeoman went abroad ; however, his going forth and the rising wave of fashion were not always simultaneous, and then the coat would appear several years out of date.

Waistcoats worn by gentlemen of importance were broad, long, and often elaborately embroidered in front. Silk stockings, secured above with knee- buckles, and held in place below by shoe-buckles, were worn by the more wealthy.

When laboring. the necks of the men were exposed to a free circulation of air : when dressed for church, or leaving home for a visit to distant relatives. the broad, plaited neck-stock or black silk neck-handkerchief was worn, over which the wide, unstarched collar was smoothly turned down. Allow me to linger a moment to describe with more fullness this adjunct of a well-dressed. old-style gentleman. Much attention was paid to it by the good dame who assisted her husband when dressing ; especially, when putting on the " finishing touches." This shirt-collar had much, very much, to do with the public esti- mation of the wearer's importance, same as the coat-tails. The wider the collar, that is, the more exposed to view when turned down, the greater the supposed dignity. Starch was ignored, repudiated, out of the question. To say a man was "starched-up." in those days, was to use the strongest synonym of the dandy ; to "take the starch out " of one was equivalent to a humiliation or the bringing of them to their proper level.

The head-gear of the carly settler was of simple, and often ungraceful, kind. Sometimes, when for winter-wear, it was made from the pelt of a coon or fisher-cat, the tail of the animal left on to hang down behind. Some, like the Scottish night-cap, were knitted of coarse wool by the wife. What cared the pioneer so long's it was warm and easily adjusted? There was, however. somewhere about nearly every house, a hat, sir ; a generously broad-brimmed, bell-crowned hat, covered with rough fur from the cunning beaver. This was seldom seen outside the yeoman's house, or even the clothes-chest, where. close to Molly's great churn bonnet, it safely reposed. When it did emerge from its dark seclusion, something " on-usual " had happened, or was about to take place ; no mistake about it. When seated on the head according to the custom of the time, it was set well back, and the rim, turned slightly upward behind, was made conformable to the towering coat-collar. before mentioned. Sometimes, when the occasion required haste. the unthinking yeoman's hat was put on "hind part before," and the result of such unfortunate mistake, supplemented by a stray lock of hair hanging carelessly over the forehead, gave the wearer a somewhat fierce and combative aspect likely to detract from his moral prestige.

OLD TIMES ON THE SACO.

Our authority for the following account of the apparel worn by females during the colonial regime, is unquestionably accurate; the description will be prudently brief and vouchsafed for as correct. For the gown, good, old, honest name, of the settler's wife, six yards of "linsey-woolsey" was an ample pat- tern. This was cut, fitted, and made by the same hands that spun the yarn and wove the fabric, while the joints of her harness were toward the face of her foes-if she had any. On the shoulders, a comely cape was worn about the house ; when in company, a neat, white handkerchief was pinned about the neck. Old ladies'wore a large, white cap-in Scotland, called appropriately a "mutch "- surrounded by a voluminous frill, and held in place with a wide, black ribbon. The younger matrons wore, when visiting, a more fragile and ornamental head-dress. The wardrobes of the early settlers' wives and daugh- ters would, to-day, be called meagre; but they wore their neat, prudent attire so much like a queen, while there was such genuine modesty and unaffected grace in the deportment of the wearer, that the "ornament of a meek and quiet spirit " became a thousand times more attractive than the gaudy flummery of this artificial age when the standard of beauty takes cognizance more of dress than good breeding. If any jewelry was worn, it consisted of a modest pair of "ear-drops," a brooch, or a pretty ring that had been an heir-loom in the family for generations. When travelling, the women were protected by a heavy, well-lined "riding-cloak"; if in cold weather, this was supplemented by the double shawl and a fur tippet about the neck. Grand-dames affected * pumpkin hoods," quilted and padded. The younger women considered the tidy, laun- dried sun-bonnet good enough. I am writing of the common people in the new settlements, and don't care a fig what the "wimmin " wore in Boston. If at home, attending to domestic duties, the females were shod with a preparation of the gospel of -calfskin. When entertaining their friends, visiting, or going to meeting on the Sabbath, they wore a neat, low-cut, morocco shoe, laced with a bit of black ribbon, called a "village-tie." These were treated with such care, that a well-made pair would last for many years.

Children's clothing was plain and simple to an extreme. Their comfort was consulted first of all. When at play about house, a loose "slip" was the conventional outer garment for childhood. Shoes they did not have for a long time. Among the poorer classes, the feet were sewed up in coarse woolen rags in cold weather. When boys were old enough to wear trousers, the mothers sewed an eyed-button upon the knees thereof to keep the wearers upon their feet and preserve their garments from unnecessary wear and tear. See? An aged man, who was reared in an early Saco valley plantation, informed the author that when a child he and his brothers were all wearers of the primitive "slip." On one occasion his had been removed for washing. and he, meanwhile, was left in a condition approaching simple nature. All at once a loud rap was heard at the door without, and he made haste to

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OLD TIMES ON THE S.ACO.

crawl behind the chimney of the unfinished log-house. The stranger proved to be a much-respected uncle who had recently returned from a voyage at sea and had come some distance through the wilderness to visit them. Well, he came into the kitchen, and while the conversation was going cheerfully on between the mother and her company the poor secreted boy, in a painfully cramped position, kept as still as a listening mouse. His mother had not forgotten him, however, and when his "slip" had been dried before the open fire, she attached it to the end of the broom-handle and pushed it within his reach. By a desperate effort he succeeded in getting inside of the garment, and to the astonishment of the visiting stranger emerged from his impris- onment.

Paying Visits, - The code of politeness observed by the inhabitants of the early settlements was not as complicated, restrictive, and arbitrary as at present, but a great deal more genuine and hearty, consisting of something more than the mere artificial and ceremonial deportment acquired by training before the mirror, and called "good manners " and "good form"; it was the outward expression of inward modesty and good-will, the illustration of affec- tionate sentiment. These Puritanical old mothers did not prostitute their principles of honor to affect politeness for policy, nor barter their smiles in the popular market, like tape, for so much a yard. They were honest, high- minded, and above dissimulation.

One of the interchangeable courtesies universally recognized and prac- tised in the new plantation communities was that of visiting and paying visits. Such were not very ceremonial, however; the greatest freedom was exercised without umbrage. At the same time, considerate persons were careful to reciprocate any courtesy extended to them by their neighbors. Compliments were seldom sent in advance; seasonable hours were convenient ones, and there were no servant maid to meet the visitor at the door with the cold, con- ventional lie in her mouth, "Mistress is not at home." A neighborly call was made at any time of day: the regular visit was begun in the forenoon and prolonged until late in the evening in the autumn and winter, until " milking time " in spring and summer.

Let us begin our narrative proper on a fine autumn morning. At the breakfast table the housewife announces to her goodman that she will visit Aunt Sally that day, and asks him to come out at the gloaming. When the housework was done Aunt Prudence arrays herself in plain but tidy apparel, puts her sewing and knitting work into her pretty home-made work-bag. pulls the puckering-string, and starts across lots to visit her neighbor ; for she says to herself, "I allers set a great store by Aunt Sally." Iler course may lead along field-borders, across pastures amongst the cattle and sheep that raise their heads as she passes, or through a woodland path; it matters not, she knows the way, and cheerfully moves forward, humming bits of a sacred song.

OLD TIMES ON THE SACO.

As she approaches her neighbor's house the barking dog announces her coming and with winsome expression of face, and joyous wag of tail, bids her welcome before Aunt Sally has time to brush her apron and reach the door. As the two old friends meet they both "courtesy" and go hand in hand to the sitting-room. We shall now permit them to speak for themselves.

"Come right in and lay off yer things, Aunt Prudence; there now, do make yerself to home. Why, I'm proper gled to see you, Aunt Prudence ; how do you do?"

"There, Aunt Sally, I'm real well, thank you; real smart this fall; how do you do?"

"Why, I was never more rugged in my life, Aunt Prudence; why, I'm up and 'bout my work airly and late; have been spinnin' flax'n swingle-tow all the fall, 'tween whiles. Come, now, Aunt Prudence, du tell me 'bout your folks; how's Jeams'n Marg'ret'n Patty'n Abrum'n Reliance'n Sabra'n John'n Lias'n Rastus'n Pashunce'n Aramantha ; are they all well?"

"They's all rael well, Aunt Sally; they be all gwine tu skule down to the old Hamlin skule-hus. Reliance was ailin' in the airly spring, but I dug some rutes and airbs and made her some med'cin an' she's on the mendin' hand ever sence. 1 tell you, Aunt Sally, there's nothin' like rutes and airbs for these ere ailments ; there aint, true's ye live."

"So I mind, Aunt Prudence, but you allers was a great hand to make . med'cin."

At this stage of the conversation a light step was heard and a bright-eyed lassie enters the room. Aunt Sally rises and leads the modest, somewhat timid girl forward and says, by way of introduction :

"This is my darter Darkis, Aunt Prudence; my darter Darkis; she's been drefful slim all the fall and we've been awful worried 'bout Darkis, but she's recov'rin' now. This is Aunt Prudence, Darkis; Aunt Prudence Ben- field, dear."

The girl courtesied gracefully, came and gave her hand to Aunt Prudence, who playfully taps her under the chin, gives her a blush-raising compliment in a whisper, and she is seated.

Aunt Sally spreads her knitting work on her lap, looks at it considerately ; then raises her head, looks from under her glasses, and says: "Darkis, dear, I wish you'd run down the road'n tell Aunt Nabby Marstin, an' Ruthy Rankins, an' Susie Sands an' old Granmarm Benson that Aunt Prudence, she's come out here a-visitin' and we'd all be rael gled tu hev 'em all come up arter din- ner, and come so's tu stay tu tea. Run right along, dear; thet's a good gal."

The two industrious old dames now hitch their chairs close together, sit facing each other, take up their knitting and keep time to their conversation by the snapping of their wires.

Darkis returns in season to assist her mother in preparing dinner. Aunt

OLD TIMES ON THE SACO.

Prudence insists that nothing extra shall be cooked and Aunt Sally fibs when she says : " Now don't you fret, Aunt Prudence; I sha'n't lay out eny more'n if you wa'n't here." Still she does put a little more cream in the bread, a bit more spice in her cakes, and takes great pains to have all things on this occasion in "apple-pie order."

The forenoon passes quickly and the robust men come in from the wood- lot begrimed with the dust of labor; they wash at a bench under an apple tree near the door and hasten in to extend greetings to Aunt Prudence. How heartily they shake hands! Harmless jokes are exchanged to spice conver- sation until all were summoned to the dinner table. AAunt Sally gently leads her much-respected guest to the table-side and with great cordiality says:

" Here, Aunt Prudence, you jist sit right down here by me. There, now! Come, Aunt Prudence, won't you take right holt and be to home? Du now. I wish you would. John, you cut her a nice tender piece o' that spare-rib ; a good generous slice, John." He did.

Thus spake our hostess as she waited upon her guest. With pleasant conversation the hearty dinner was eaten. There was no haste, no want of attention, no needless ceremony, no sham persuasion. The various kinds of food were proffered, but there was no annoying falsehoods about Aunt Pru- dence : she had not been abstemious, and her entertainers did not say: " Why. Aunt Prudence, you haven't eaten scarcely anything." When all sufficed, their heads were reverentially bowed and the head of the family did "return thanks."

When Aunt Prudence and the men had retired to the sitting room, Unele Eben asked if Uncle Obadiah would be out to tea. "Oh, sartin ; I told him I was comin' out to see Aunt Sally, and he sed he'd be out airly. Obadiah he's drefful put tu it with his fall's work; howsomever, he'll be out."

As soon as the table had been cleared and the father and sons had returned to their labor, Aunt Prudence seized a cloth and essayed to assist Aunt Sally in washing - not "doing "-the dishes. The latter caught hold of the dishcloth and declared that Aunt Prudence should not touch a dish. And the two pulled and tugged in playful scuffle, while Darkis giggled.

" Now you go an' sit right down, Aunt Prudence; you aint gwyne to tetch one o' these cups'n sarcers. Darkis'n I can 'tend to this business 'thout eny o' your help. Go right away now."

"Now I shant du eny sich a thing, Aunt Sally. I shall wipe them ere dishes, true's ye live. Stand over there."

Aunt Sally gently pushes Aunt Prudence; then the two old cronies go laughing to their work. Of course Aunt Sally wanted the company of Aunt Prudence, and it was all understood between them that they should do the work together, but this parley was a way the old-fashioned women had. It was just the proper thing in those days for the female guest to assist in wash- ing the dishes to keep her entertainer company; it was also customary for the

OLD TIMES ON THE SACO.

hostess to appear imperative in her refusal to permit such assistance, and the struggle for the mastery was sometimes vehement.

Looking from the kitchen window, Darkis espies Granmarm Benson and Nabby Marstin slowly approaching, with pumpkin hoods on their heads and calico work-bags on their arms.

"There's Granmarm Benson'n Nabby Marstin, marm," said Darkis. "Wunner why Susie Sands'n Ruthy Rankins don't come tu."

"Now Darkis, don't you take on," answered Aunt Sally. "Ruthy'n Susie they'll be up ter rights, Darkis. Did they say they'd come?"

"Why, yes, marm-if nothin' happened."

Aunts Sally and Prudence both hasten to the door to meet the new arrivals. All courtesy, and all talk at once.

"Why, Granmarm Benson! I'm terrible gled to see ye, I am. Now, how du you do, granmarm?"

The old lady was hard o' hearin', and Aunt Prudence shouted into her ear; then the venerable old grandmother smiled and said:

"How do ] do? Why, Aunt Prudence, I'm es well's could be ' xpected for sech an old eritter; I'm gwine on ninety, ye know."

Before the two neighbors had fairly been seated, Darkis, who had been out to feed the fowls, came running in and told her mother she had seen Susie Sands and Ruthy Rankins coming up the "back-nipping road."

Aunt Sally now excused herself and retired from the room and left Aunt Prudence, Granmarm Benson, and Nabby Marstin to gossip together. In her absence the other visitors were ushered in by Darkis who assured them, while taking off their "duds," that her mother would be in ter rights ; that she was about the houzen, but had stepped out a minit.

When all the assembled old ladies had been seated, they smoothed their broad aprons, adjusted the ruffles of their caps, and glowered at each other in silence.

A side door opens, Aunt Sally enters, courtesies, and her guests all arise and courtesy in return. The beautiful hostess had on a newly "done up" cap of fine lace, ornamented with a few bits of purple ribbon ; the long strings of the same color remaining untied,-as was the custom when at home -falling upon the tidy, white handkerchief that had been pinned about her shoulders. A long gingham apron nearly reached the morocco "village ties " that peeped from under her full skirted "best gown." Aunt Sally was an attractive woman rising five-and-sixty, whose abundant silvered hair waving about her white, classical forehead, which was as fair and unfurrowed as the polished marble, enframed a face chaste and sweet of expression ; yea, as calm and serene as a summer morning. Her voice was low and her accent plaintive; the lan- guage she employed, though of the quaint old style, then considered select. She had passed her maiden years in a home of comparative wealth at Ipswich,

OLD TIMES ON THE SACO.

Mass., whither her parents had removed from Winter Harbor during the Indian wars, and her education was superior to that of any woman in the plantation. ller guests were all born in a frontier settlement, and from childhood had been acquainted with vicissitude and toil. These women had the faculty of extract- ing pleasure out of all their domestic duties, and were as contented and happy as any generation of their sex since the settlement of New England. They were free from a thousand corroding cares and perplexities that obtain in this rushing age, which sap the very foundations of existence and wear life out prematurely. But we must not moralize.

.A company would open their eyes with great amazement if to-day they could listen to such conversation as passed between the company of dear old dames assembled at the home of Aunt Sally Benfield on the autumn afternoon of which we have written. The phonograph had not then been invented and their provincialisms of speech cannot be produced with all the apostrophes furnished in a " Pickle for the Knowing Ones " by the eccentric Sir Timothy Dexter.

How gleefully they compared the fabrics with which they were engaged! These women had an interest in their work; took an honest pride in their work. Their precious time was not squandered with an ivory-handled crochet hook and spool of thread over weary yards of cobweb " insertion " and "trim- ming." The lambrequins made by their busy fingers were to be worn on feet and hands ; they were all useful to protect from cold.

One had dyed her yarn with bark from the yellow oak : another with that of the maple; a third had produced her purple with berries of the elder and sumac; while the fourth had recourse to the more expensive indigo and log- wood. AAunt Prudence held up her ball of "back-banded yarn" and Granmarm Benson one of the "double-and-twisted sort." Ruthy Rankins spread out upon her aproned knee the stocking clouded with husks, while Susie Sands declared that hers was "dyed in the wool" upon the old brown sheep's back. Some were knitting " plain," others were doing theirs "seamed." The half-finished mitten in the hands of Aunt Sally was in "fox-and-geese" figures, and Aunt Prudence pulled one from her work-bag knitted in "scent-bottle patterns." One was knitting "tight," another "slack." Some there were "widening at the heel," others, "narrowing at the toe." Theirs could truthfully be called a woolen vocabulary. All were as busy as a colony of honey-bees and merry- hearted as a bevy of joyous maidens. Dear old darlings !

Into whatever channal the current of conversation turned, it savored always of something practical: something inseparably associated with every- day industries and the duties of domestic life. Was there any insprinkling of spicy witticism; any humorous expressions used by these dignified dames ? Very likely: but their discourse was never frivolous or questionable. They used the descriptive phrase in vogue at that time. Things had names and were

OLD TIMES ON THE SACO.

called by their names. When discussing the affairs of the dairy, appropriate terms for the designation of every part were used. Under this head one might expect to hear them speak in the language of the dairy vocabulary, such as the following: "Milk-room," "milk-dresser," "butter-tray," "cheese-hoop," "cheese-press," "cheese-cloth," "churn," "skimming-shells," "bonny-clap- per," "bland," and "curd." All of these were clean things and would "bear to be talked about."

Even their cows and domestic fowls had names, some single, some double, by which they were designated and distinguished. If such dumb brutes did not know their various names, their owners did and found it convenient to use them. "Crumple-horn was a wonderful buttermaker." " Buttercup gave out more milk but not so rich." "Brottle-face would kick when being milked like blazes." "Old Cherry came out awful poor in the spring." " Pink and Brindle were as fat and sleek as otters." The "buffalo cow" had gone dry, and the "line-backed heifer " would "come in " next spring.

Of the fowls they would be heard to say: "Cropple-crown has stolen her nest," which every hen had a perfect right to do. "Gray-cape has laid her litter out." "Muffle-chop persists in roosting on the collar-beam, and the Creeper on the bulk-head." "Yellow-saddle was sheddin' her feathers, and Striped-tail crowed like a rooster." Besides these fowl surnames every woman talked about her " speckled hin," "white hin," "black hin," "partridge-colored" and "wheelbarrow-colored hin," especially when visiting and paying visits.

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Saco Valley settlements and families. Historical, biographical, genealogical, traditional, and legendary, Part 9

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