USA > Rhode Island > Washington County > Narragansett > South county studies of some eighteenth century persons, places & conditions in that portion of Rhode Island called Narragansett > Part 16
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Such are a few of the perhaps trivial traditions con- cerning the well-known Gambia, which have been long
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preserved in the family by whom his memory is still held in a half humorous, half kindly regard.
But how to describe Aunt Ibby? If "H.,"1 whose per- sistent silence, during the past months, the readers of the Providence Journal find it hard to forgive, should, in some fortunate moment, consent to give us her por- trait from his own ever ready recollections, we should indeed possess her genuine presentment-the work - no, rather the simplest and lightest touches-free, yet faithful-of a practised and masterly hand. This ob- viously incomplete sketch can but offer a few outlines, which some readers will be able to enliven with the subtile coloring infused by memory.
Aunt Ibby (her full name, fine enough for the hero- ine of a young lady's novel, was Isabella Remington) had been one of the slaves of Edward Hull, but, un- willing to avail herself of the opportunity conferred by freedom of seeking another home, continued to live with his daughter after her marriage to Dr. George Hazard, of South Kingstown, and remained in this latter family (excepting a short period of service in Newport) until her death, many years later. She was the "Cousin Is'bel" so highly esteemed by Old Pa- tience, the unhappy woman described in a previous paper, and for whom her kind-hearted relative had always a friendly welcome. Dressed in a black gown, over which she wore a short neat dark blue calico sack, and with a snowy "mob-cap" surmounting her pleas- ant features, Aunt Ibby was a cheerful figure of con- tented tranquillity, as in her leisure moments she plied
1 This was Miss Carpenter's uncle, Edward Hoxie Hazard, a veritable mine of local history, who wrote with a delightful garrulity.
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her swift knitting needles, seated in her accustomed corner by the kitchen fire. This was often the chosen resort of all who wished to be instructed by good judg- ment, and sound, if quite unconscious, philosophy; or to enjoy acute and racy observations upon people and things. It is a curious fact that some of these sayings, long proverbial in the small circle of individuals who retain a distinct recollection of "Aunt Ibby," are iden- tical with such as are attributed by George Eliot to her memorable creation, the inimitable Mrs. Poyser, of the trenchant tongue and the ready reply. But our good old Aunty possessed a far warmer heart than that of the prim English wife, and a radiant charity was her chief characteristic. In the staunch household ways of frugality, industry, energy, her soul took de- light; yet she was slow to blame those who were less willing than she to part with ease and comfort to sat- isfy these requirements. Never was she heard to utter a harsh word in censure of the absent, but did others enter upon a malicious or thoughtless course of remark, she had always some kindly suggestion or apology to offer. Not Burns, the great poet of human charity, could have been more sincere in the fulness of univer- sal sympathy than she who, in the gentleness of her spirit, would have extended a free forgiveness to the crimes of a very Legree. Nor would the wonderful "monarch-peasant" have disowned whatever fortu- itous likeness of soul might subsist between his rarely endowed nature and that of a member of a lowly race, whose sole glory, whose only greatness was her singu- lar depth of goodness. For is it not the highest truth that -
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"We love him, praise him, just for this, In every form and feature, Through wealth and want, through woe and bliss, He saw his fellow-creature!"
Regarded more as a friend than as a servant, respected no less than loved by the children, who, in their play or in their transient grief, always counted upon her quick and tender sympathies; still she never presumed upon the consideration with which she was invariably treated, or manifested those opinionated humors, or that obstinate self-will, which so often render a really valu- able servant simply intolerable, and are such qualities as have converted the very name of a staunch and trusty old family retainer into a sort of household terror. All the humble, modest, gentle virtues pertaining to that station in life which she so worthily filled, were hers. Care, faithfulness, diligence, honest pride, min- gled harmoniously in her singularly perfect character. With her habits of sunny contentment, she always clung fondly to the dear familiar presence of common blessings, and enjoyed them with a hearty gladness which was the pure and spontaneous effluence of a sincere and enduring gratitude.
She entertained no uneasy apprehensions of super- cilious usage, for the native elevation and simplicity of her truly dignified character was its own surest de- fence, and no one could have treated Aunt Ibby other- wise than with respect. She was a living witness to the truth that a genuinely noble soul can elevate its assigned position, and needs no earthly dower to sus- tain the impressive influence of a goodness that is from above. The often quoted lines of humble George Her-
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bert are no figment to those who know how beautiful was the indwelling spirit that guided the thoughts, and words and acts, of this good and loving old negro woman. Nor can that place in life, the toils and trials of which she so meekly accepted, ever prove other than a most arduous one. How many of us expect to merit a loftier title than that of good and faithful servant? What is the life of such a one but a long, untiring course of patient, systematic, entire self-abnegation? And what is this but an effort toward the very highest fulfilment of the distinctive principles of Christianity, difficult of attainment as they are, even by the best and most enlightened classes of society? Then what right have people to demand of their servants that they shall display a brighter virtue, a more deeply spiritual life, than all the saints of all the ages? And again, if the occupations of a servant really afford scope for the quest and achievement of the noblest moral obligations, the most unselfish goodness, we shall, if we are true men and women, offer no less recognition and reverence to Virtue when she chooses to dwell with poverty and obscurity than when she sits at the rich man's table and fares sumptuously every day.
In Aunt Ibby's extreme old age, it became the duty and privilege of her mistress and friend to provide her with the quieter comforts of a separate home, and there, still surrounded by familiar scenes and faces, she passed away in a peaceful and happy tranquillity. A fitting burial-place was found for her in the grounds of the ancient Meeting House so long occupied by the hum- ble and consistent Society of Friends. There, in that quiet spot, the centre and sanctuary of so much un-
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conscious, unpretending excellence, rises many a silent memorial sacred to the righteous names of true and honest worth. The snows of many winters have piled their drifts high above one secluded grave; but with the flowers of each returning spring, the gracious mem- ory which it recalls blooms afresh in living beauty; and when it shall have ceased to be known on earth, it will still be bright in the unfading records of heaven. Human sympathy inspires a thought, a prayer, of af- fectionate remembrance, over the low ridge of earth faintly marking the place of repose of her who was the meek impersonation of trust, affection, fidelity, and all gentle, true-hearted womanliness.
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A TRAVELLER IN OLD NARRAGANSETT
IN the few copies now extant of the "Life of the Rev. Jacob Bailey,"1 who was a frontier missionary of the English Church in this country, and whose jour- nals have been edited by a member of the Historical Society of Maine, may be found the statements that form the groundwork of this paper.
To make the acquaintance of our authority: He is of New England birth, but is deeply imbued with Old World ideas. In his revolt from the principles of a Pur- itan education, he has striven to become thoroughly English, deriving all his opinions in religion and poli- tics from British sources; but he still remains a true Yankee in that independence, quickness, and shrewd- ness of observation, which gives no small value to his narrative.
His life yielded him better opportunities for acquir- ing cosmopolitan breadth of view than could be en- joyed by many of his fellow-provincials. Although born to poverty, he was enabled, through the kind offices of his pastor, to enter Harvard College, not, however, before he had reached the age of twenty. While a stu- dent of divinity, he supported himself by teaching. Not long after his admission to the Congregational minis- try, he adopted Episcopal opinions, having been influ- enced by the persuasions and arguments of the Rev. Dr. Caner, rector of King's Chapel, and Dr. Sylves- ter Gardiner, an eminent Boston physician, a native
1 In Miss Carpenter's lifetime this family name was represented in Rhode Island by Mr. William W. Bailey, of Providence, the accom- plished botanist.
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of South Kingstown, Rhode Island. After various discouragements, the most painful being his unkind reception by the president and other officers of the university, when he desired to obtain from them the certificate of good moral character, which was at last ungraciously granted him, he sought and received Episcopal ordination abroad. He enjoyed much "con- descending notice" from dignitaries on both sides of the water, and also had the opportunities, naturally less appreciated by him, of hearing Whitefield, and mak- ing the acquaintance of his "ingenious countryman, Mr. Benjamin Franklin."
On his return, he married, and became rector, from time to time, of several parishes in Maine. Continuing to pray for the King after the awakening of the Revo- lutionary spirit, he was mobbed and driven from his home in Pownalborough. In his absence his wife and children suffered many hardships, but finally joined him in his flight to Halifax.
Mr. Bailey continued his missionary work in Nova Scotia, and died at Annapolis, in that colony, in 1808, aged seventy-six.
His early journals were reviewed by him in mature life, and he never lost the habit of noting the events of the year, adding occasional reflections. A keen, prac- tical observer, in a limited range, of men and affairs, his curious studies of contemporary provincial char- acter are piquant and interesting. According to his own judgment, he read the Yankee nature profoundly, sharing it as he did, saving only the thin polish ac- quired in his English travel. But the higher qualities of his countrymen, those larger traits of colonial char-
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acter which were fast developing into a national ma- turity, wholly escaped the quick, but narrow, intellec- tual vision of the Tory parson. In his officious ridicule of the social environments from which he had but lately emerged, he was like his friend and model, that free lance among churchmen, the Swift of America, as he would have chosen to be called, Dr. Peters, Eng- lish missionary at Hebron, Connecticut, and author of a bitter, satirical history of that province. The sil- houette of Mr. Bailey, prefixed to his biography, is more suggestive of character than more ambitious efforts at likeness often are. As was said of a pencil sketch of Boswell, "busy self-importance and dogmatical good- nature were never more strongly expressed."
Jacob Bailey's birthplace was in the obscure township of Rowley, Massachusetts. Here the Puritan influence was all in all, and society was primitive to rudeness. The centres of civilization in the New England of that day were but few, nor was their influence extensive. Boston was graced "with far-off splendors of the throne, and glimmerings of the crown"; Newburyport, Portsmouth, and Newport enjoyed a free communication with the outer world, and the life of the eighteenth century in familiar places like these is tolerably clear to our retro- spective glance. But where, save in family records, or traditions, or in obscure pages such as these before us, shall we find the story of life in a town like Rowley, re- mote from the capital, holding no direct communication with the sea, isolated from the visits of strangers, and inhabited only by descendants of the Puritan settlers? What a void that life might be, what a triple wall of prejudice, ignorance, and suspicion divided this valley
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of very moderate happiness from the exterior world, our young student shall tell us. We will follow his brief recapitulation of the elements of his early life, as they appeared to him when later years had accustomed him to other scenes.
"In my tenth year [1741] I found myself an in- habitant of a place remarkable for ignorance, narrow- ness of mind, and bigotry .... Any divergence from the received mode of thinking and acting drew upon the unfortunate innovator the full battery of village blame and ridicule."
Doubtless many soaring spirits have prided them- selves on a scorn of eminently wholesome restraints, and the complaints of our student might pass for the sorrows of a young Werther, were they not thus re- peated and emphasized later in life, and by a person who could never have been found guilty of cherishing a morbid sensibility. We find the youth not over-ex- acting in his dislike of the Dutch tenacity with which these villagers clung to the traditional customs of their fathers. "As for all politeness, and every kind of civil- ity, except what their great-grandfathers taught them, it was considered a crying sin. Thus, I have known a boy to be whipped for saying 'sir' to his father, when he came home from school. This stupid exactness might be observed in the field, at home, in the town, and even in the meeting-house. Every man planted as many acres, ploughed with as many oxen, and gathered in his crops on the same day as his grandfather."
And yet, when the alarum of the Revolution sounded, these routine-hardened men responded to the newly as- serted claims of country, while the educated New Eng-
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lander, who so coolly analyzes his early associations, could not free himself from the rule of habit, and was found among the most bitter Tories. Whether the fault were in his nature, or in his surroundings, it is too evi- dent that the home of his childhood, and the country to which he owed the allegiance of his manhood, never inspired him with sentiments of love or devotion.
But it will be thought that although the soil of Rowley might be barren in the graces, it was surely fertile in the more hardy growths of the virtues. On this point hear Mr. Bailey: "Of a lecture-day you might see fathers of families with a becoming gravity in their countenances, flocking from the house of devotion to the house of flip." As to the worth of this devotion: "When the sermon begins everyone has the privilege of becoming drowsy, about the middle many catch a nod, and many sleep quietly thro' the application. These honest people would esteem it a great hardship to be denied a weekly nap in the meeting-house."
But the village life had other elements than such as may be viewed in a half humorous light. Not only were refinement and elegance foreign to provincial manners, but the morals of the period were of a very low order. Yet the veil of respectability was cast over all. Inward purity of heart and life might be sacrificed if a strict observance of the outward forms of religion was still preserved.
"Upon the ringing of the bell on Sundays, everyone repairs to the meeting-house and behaves with toler- able decency till prayers are over. As to singing, some continue to place such sanctity in a few old tunes, that they either hang down their heads in silence, or run
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out of the meeting-house while their neighbors are singing one of more modern composition. The charac- ter of the New England Saints is to worship the Sab- bath while they disobey the laws of the God of the Sabbath."
Mr. Bailey received much flattering notice from Sir William Pepperrell, when, in 1754, the baronet was waited upon by the student, who was making the tour of Portsmouth and its environs, soliciting from per- sons of distinction the means of continuing his college course. Mais, nous voyons en plein moyen age ! If we are thus reminded of the mediaeval students, who, in their foot journeys, sought largesse of each richer traveller, the notes of a later journey of Mr. Bailey's through Con- necticut and Rhode Island transport us to feudal times by the proofs they give of the gross, the all but savage life of the people of that day. Of the citizens of Provi- dence, where he found entertainment at "Capt. One's [Olney's?] tavern," he gives a dark description. "The inhabitants are, in general, very immoral ... and famous for contempt of the Sabbath. Gambling, gun- ning, horse-racing, and the like, are as common on that day as on any other."
He admires the "two streets of painted houses on the northeast side of the bridge which graces the town," but he finds the country between Pawtuxet and Warwick "a desert," in which the people seen were "almost as rough as the trees." In riding through "a great wood" he "came to a house about the bigness of a hog-stye. The hut abounded in children, who came around to stare at us in great swarms, but were clothed only with a piece of cloth about the middle, blacker than
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the ground upon which they trod. I made no doubt that these people enjoyed themselves as much as we in our elegance and plenty. ... At length, being very dry, we came to another house, where we lit, and, com- ing in, found five or six women in a little room without any floor or ceiling. Two or three of them appeared to be young. One of the wenches made haste to draw us some water, while another made search for a drink- ing vessel, and the last gave us water in an old broken mug, almost as ancient as time."
At Major Stafford's, in Warwick, "the daughter of the house came to wait upon us ... barefooted and barelegged, with a fine patch and a silver knot on her head, with a snuff-box in one hand and a pinch at her nose in the other."
The Greenwich people are described as "very pro- fane and impolite." In North Kingstown, at "Thomas the Quaker's," the traveller found "the dirtiest tavern- keeper that ever was made. All the time I stopped I could scarce get a word out of him."
In the village built on Tower Hill, in South Kings- town, Mr. Bailey discovered some of the finest gar- dens in New England. "The people here live in better position than in most parts of the government." He put up at Squire Case's tavern, frequented by Franklin, and well known, as his host did not neglect to inform him, to all gentlemen travellers on "the road from South Carolina to Piscataqua." According to the cus- tom of the time, mine host met the traveller and his companions outside the door, bidding them welcome to Tower Hill, serving out wine to them, and doing the honors of his table at dinner, while entertaining
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his guests with an account of the murder of one Jack- son, an itinerant dealer in skins, by Captain Thomas Carter, of Newport, his chance travelling companion. " We found the Squire to be a most prodigious loqua- cious gentleman. He offered to wait upon us down the hill to see the murderer as he hung there in gibbets .. . we beheld the sorrowful sight. The man had been there three years already, and his flesh was all dried fast to his bones, and was as black as an African's."
The next object of note in the journey is "the great Quaker meeting-house, an odd-built thing, having a kitchen and chimney at one side." In Charlestown we lodged five miles from the place where the great Narragansett battle was fought, in which so many soldiers expired. Their king is now a young man of eighteen, at school at Newport. ... We passed his house-of late miserably fallen to ruin-and had a sight of two of his sisters, who came to the door as we rode by. Westerly is a miserable, poor, unpopulated place ... yet near the river there are divers good farms." Few changes seem to have been wrought in the aspect of Westerly, and other early settled parts, in the forty- five years that had passed since they had been visited by Madam Knight, whose descriptions are in much the same tone as our traveller's. It is the New Eng- land of a day which knew nothing of the civilizing in- fluences of commerce and manufactures that these observers show us. Would that the unreflecting doctri- naires who declare that "serfdom is inseparable from the factory system" might cast a glance upon this pic- ture of the miseries of an agricultural serfdom!
One perceives in following the course of this nar-
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rative, that New England had once a native peasantry, and of a dangerous sort; a neglected, illiterate, immoral class. The work of the Revolution, which, by preparing the way for the prosperity of the whole people, finally obliterated many arbitrary distinctions, was still in the future. Indications of the diarist's humble origin often appear in remarks like the following: "Had an inter- view with Col. Gibbs, who behaved towards me with a degree of complaisance, tho' I have had my share of extraordinary caresses from several persons in exalted stations."
Mr. Bailey kept a school in Kingston, New Hamp- shire, where he found the people "hardened and vile." All vices prevailed. On preaching his first sermon, his style is admired to a degree which, in his naïve man- ner, he pronounces, "a little disagreeable," and he piously ejaculates, "Good Heavens preserve me from the mighty swellings of pride !"
It seems that his probation as a divinity student had not hindered him from sharing in such amuse- ments as amateur theatrical performances given in public places, playing cards in doubtful company, and drinking deep of punch, perhaps chosen for the same reason that Parson Adams preferred it, "the rather that there was nothing said against it in Scripture." These worldly tastes called out no censure from his contem- poraries. But at old Plymouth, where his earlier min- istrations were conducted, one Deacon Foster, styled by Mr. Bailey "the famous," was apprehensive lest the young preacher should be no better than "a North Shore man," otherwise Arminian.
His voyage to England to obtain Episcopal ordina-
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tion is graphically sketched by his fearless pen. His passage was by steerage in an English merchantman. The narratives of Swift and Defoe afford no darker scenes of vice and degradation, no more revolting de- tails of misery and squalor, than those described by the young American traveller, who, on entering the ship, found himself "in the midst of the most horrid confu- sion, and in a spot but little better than the infernal abodes." The ship's officers, though herding in foulness and vice, yet assumed a superior tone toward the un- happy passenger, freely ridiculed his provincial accent, and subjected him to every annoyance, for which their position of tyrants in little gave them opportunity. Mr. Bailey thus indicates the traits of his compagnons du voy- age: "John Tugg, midshipman, good-natured, honest fellow, but profane. Captain's clerk, who would drink very hard. One of the mates, an ingenious, obliging young gentleman; what I most valued him for was his aversion to swearing. Ship's carpenter, who drank ex- cessively, and swore roundly. One Butler, English par- son's son, descended from the Cavalier poet, stiff Jaco- bite; his language shockingly profane. Lisle, lieutenant of marines, fifty years old, gigantic in stature, distin- guished by the quantity of liquor he drank and the oaths he swore. Irish midshipman, the greatest master of profanity that ever I knew."
Such were the congenial companions to whose so- ciety the young student was restricted during the long voyage. This nightmare group of personified vices forcibly recalls the similar assemblages depicted by Cervantes or Le Sage. "Lisle, lieutenant of marines," is a figure worthy of a place in the recitals of Gil Blas.
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Here is one scene from the horrors of the passage: "At nine we began to think of supper, and a boy was called in. Nothing in human shape did I ever see so loathsome. ... He brought us our dish, beef, bread, potatoes and onions, stewed together and served in a wooden tub. The table furnished with two pewter plates, one knife, one broken fork, two broken metal spoons. Ca- rousing continued until two, when I mounted into a sort of canvas bag, hanging from the beams. Here I had no rest, other than a few uneasy snatches, and awoke in the morning with ten thousand dismal apprehensions ringing in my ears."
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