|Related to The Tory Lover.|
Charles W. Brewster
From Rambles about Portsmouth
43 on Slavery in Portsmouth in the Revolutionary Era
from 28 on Slavery in Portsmouth in the Revolutionary Era
39 on the Earl of Halifax / William Pitt hotel.
from 90 on Thomas Wallingford
from 132 on the market women of Portsmouth
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Slavery in Portsmouth -- Their standing -- Cyrus -- Prime Fowle -- Cuffee Chase -- Sambo Stevens -- Peter Warner -- Negro elections -- King Nero -- Black court -- Continuance of slavery.
IN the days when slavery was common in New England, Portsmouth had a large proportion of the slaves held in the State. There were in this town, in 1767, one hundred and twenty-four male and sixty-three female slaves. Their masters were generally kind to them, and they were permitted not only to enjoy their own social meetings, but were aided in sustaining a mock government among themselves.
There were negroes of distinction then, and there was nearly as much ebony as topaz gloss on the face of society. Among the top of the negro quality in former times, was Cyrus Bruce, for many years the waiter on Gov. Langdon. There could scarcely be found in Portsmouth, not excepting the Governor himself, one who dressed more elegantly or exhibited a more gentlemanly appearance. His heavy gold chain and seals, his fine black or blue broadcloth coat and small clothes, his silk stockings and silver-buckled shoes, his ruffles and carefully plaited linen, are well remembered by many of the present generation.
Some of the blacks were good mechanics. The parlor of the house of the late Richard Hart, on Russell street, was handsomely finished by Cæsar, a house slave. Prime Fowle was the pressman of the first paper printed in New Hampshire. Through long service in bending over the press, he was bent to an angle of about forty-five degrees. He mourned the loss of his mistress and called her an old fool for dying. At funerals, it was the custom for the negroes of the family to walk at the left hand of each white survivor, among the chief mourners. At the funeral of Mrs. Fowle, Prime should have gone on the left of his master, but he went on the right. His master whispered, "Go the other side." Prime did not move. His master touched him and whispered again, "Go the other side." This was too much. The old peppery negro sputtered out, as loud as he could, "Go tudder side ye sef, ye mean jade."
Cuffee Chase, brother of Dinah Whipple, was of a resentful spirit, and could not easily forgive an injury. His master's horse bit him one day, and Cuffee in return deprived him for several days of his food, and had almost starved the animal before the family discovered the cause of his failure. The slave of Rev. Joseph Stevens, of Kittery, had a better apology for a similar act. His master, as he saw him picking some bones for dinner which had been already well trimmed, said to him, "Nearer the bone the sweeter the meat, Sambo." Not long after, he was sent to the pasture with the horse of a visiting clergyman, which he tied to a pile of rocks. To a reproof for the act, Sambo replied, "Nearer the bone, the sweeter the meat -- nearer the rock, the sweeter the grass, massa."
Jonathan Warner had several slaves, among them Peter. One day Peter's hat being the worse for wear, he asked his master for a better covering for his head. "If you will make a rhyme, Peter, you shall have a new hat," said his master. This was discouraging to Peter, for he was never guilty of such a thing in his life. He left in a very thoughtful mood, and at length resolved to get assistance in his difficulty. He goes to the office of Wyseman Claggett, and states his case, "What is your name?" asked the counsellor. "Peter Warner, massa."
"Peter Warner -- threw his hat in the chimney corner,"
said Mr. C. playfully. "There is your rhyme, now go and get your new hat." Peter went home, repeating the rhyme all the way, and hastened to the parlor. "Massa, I've got the rhyme," said he, much elated. "Well, say it."
"Peter Warner -- took off his hat and threw it -- in the fireplace."
Peter received his hat, his master remarking that it was nearer to a rhyme than he expected of him.
Some slaves had intellect somewhat inferior to Peter's. Dinah, a slave in the family of Samuel Ham, on Freeman's point, could not count five. In planting corn, she would put in the hole three kernels, and then two. She could count no higher.
The slaves were permitted to hold their social meetings, and had a mock government of their own, as above stated. For many years they held their annual elections in June, usually on Portsmouth Plains. They elected a King, (who was also a judge,) a Sheriff and Deputy, besides other officers, and closed their election by a jolly time. They went up from town in procession, led by their King, Nero, the slave of Col. William Brewster. It happened that Nero was not one who in any respect could be called a calf, and even his legs were wholly divested of any alliance to that name. The full dress in small clothes required some filling in the back of the silk stockings, to give a proper contour to the person of the King. As the procession was moving on, an observing black hastily leaves the ranks, runs forward, and bowing to the King, somewhat damps his glory by the information that his calf "has got afore."
If any black was guilty of any crime which was regarded disgraceful to the ebon society, he was duly tried and punished. Nero's viceroy was Willie Clarkson, a slave of Hon. Peirse Long. A report comes that Prince Jackson, slave of Nathaniel Jackson of Christian Shore, has stolen an axe. The Sheriff, Jock Odiorne, seizes him, the court is summoned, and King Nero in majesty sits for the examination. The evidence is exhibited, Prince is found guilty, and condemned to twenty lashes on the bare back, at the town pump on the parade. There was a general gathering of the slaves on such occasions; and the Sheriff, after taking off his coat and tying up the convict to the pump, hands the whip to his deputy, Pharaoh Shores, addressing the company, "Gemmen, this way we s'port our government" -- turning to his deputy -- "Now, Pharaoh, pay on!" After the whipping was over, the Sheriff dismissed the prisoner, telling him that the next time he is found this side Christian Shore, unless sent by his master, he will receive twenty lashes more. Prince, however, did not reform; for, soon after, he was found guilty of larger thefts and brought under the cognizance of the county court.
There is one other story told of a trial which took place here by the court of Nero, which is probably true, but for the truth of which we have no voucher. It was this: A culprit was under trial, when the old North clock, which regulated so many matters the last century, struck the hour of twelve. The evidence was not gone through with, but the servants could stay no longer from their home duties. They all wanted to see the whipping, but could not conveniently be present again after dinner. Cato ventured to address the King: "Please your honor, best let the fellow have his whipping now, and finish the trial after dinner." The request seemed to be the general wish of the company, so Nero ordered ten lashes, for justice so far as the trial went, and ten more at the close of the trial should he be found guilty!
No general emancipation law was ever passed in this State, but most of those who were here held as slaves at the time of the Declaration, or during the war, were emancipated by their owners. A considerable number, however, who had grown old in their masters' service, refused to accept their freedom, and remained with their masters, or as pensioners on the families of their descendants during their lives. And until the two or three last returns of the census of the United States, some slaves have always been returned in New Hampshire.
From RAMBLE XXVIII.
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Capt. William Whipple afterwards bestowed his affections upon another cousin, Catherine Moffatt, daughter of John Moffatt. After their marriage they resided at the house of her father (now the residence of the family of the late Alexander Ladd) during his life, which closed in 1795. They had but one child, who died in infancy.
At the foot of his garden, facing on High street, has stood until within twenty-five years, the house in which the families of two of his slaves resided -- Prince and Cuffee Whipple. They were brought to this town with a number of others of their color, in a ship, from the coast of Africa prior to 1766, then about ten years old. It was said that they were brothers, the sons of an African prince, sent over for an education, but retained in slavery.
Capt. Whipple was a member of the first Council after the organization of the government of the state -- and being summoned to attend an extra session of the legislature at Exeter, on the advance of Gen. Burgoyne into Vermont, in 1777, -- Capt. Whipple, according to the custom of the times, proceeded to Exeter on horseback, and took as his servant the black Prince, on another horse behind him. On the meeting of the Council, Mr. Whipple was appointed Brigadier General with the command of the first N. H. Brigade, -- Gen. Stark to the command of the second Brigade -- with orders to march forthwith, each with one-fourth of their command, to the North Western Frontier, "to stop the progress of the enemy." Prince was ordered by General Whipple the next morning to get the horses ready while he went to take leave of the Governor and Council. On returning he found that Prince had not exerted his usual diligence, and on setting out, probably without other attendants, Prince appeared sulky and in ill humor. His master upbraided him for his misconduct. "Master," said Prince, "you are going to fight for your liberty, but I have none to fight for." "Prince," replied his master, "behave like a man and do your duty, and from this hour you shall be free." Prince wanted no other incentive; he performed his duty like a man throughout the campaign, which ended in the surrender of Burgoyne, and from that day he was a freeman. Mrs. Mullineaux, his daughter, yet living, has always retained his free papers as a valuable keepsake.
Prince Whipple died in this town in 1797, twelve years after his former master. He was a large, well-proportioned and fine looking man, and of gentlemanly manners and deportment. He was the Caleb Quotem of the old fashioned semi-monthly assemblies, and at all large weddings and dinners, balls and evening parties. Nothing could go on right without Prince, and his death was much regretted by both the white and colored inhabitants of the town; by the latter of whom he was always regarded as a leader. Cuffee Whipple died about the year 1820. He also was prominent among the dark gentry of the day. For a quarter of a century Cuffee was a subscriber to the Portsmouth papers.
Dinah, the wife of Prince, was born of a slave in Newcastle, in the family of Rev. Mr. Chase, minister of that place. At the age of twenty-one she received her freedom and came to this town, where she was received into the North church, of which she continued an exemplary member during her life of eighty-six years.
Gen. Whipple, after the war, had intended to erect a house on the premises of the family estate, for Prince, Cuffee, and their families; but he died suddenly of the heart complaint, in the autumn of 1785, before he had accomplished it. His widow, Madame Whipple, gave them the use of a piece of land at the west end of her garden, on High street, during their lives and the lives of their wives. Into this lot, by their joint exertions, Prince and Cuffee hauled a small two-story house, above referred to, where they and their families lived during the lives of all but Dinah, who occupied the same until 1832, and for a number of years was the teacher, in that house, of the Ladies' Charitable African School for young children.
The house in which Gen. Whipple was born and spent his early life is at the head of a small cove in Kittery, on the east from the Navy Yard. Until within a few years it bore the external marks of being a garrison house. It has been modernized, and its antiquarian beauties are now shut from sight. The locality is, however, of some interest, and is worthy of note to those who take an hour's stroll from Portsmouth to Kittery.
Earl of Halifax hotel -- Meetings of Royalists -- Mob assault -- Mark Noble injured -- Staver's escape -- John Langdon -- French fleet -- Distinguished visitors -- Lafayette -- Louis Phillippe -- Washington.
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BEFORE us on the south-west, as we stand at the intersection of Court and Atkinson streets, is the ancient three story mansion, now, although very well preserved for a building in its ninetieth year, possessing no very inviting aspects. When it was erected, buildings of three stories were few and far between. So late as 1798, of the six hundred and twenty-six dwelling houses in Portsmouth, eighty-six were of one story, five hundred and twenty-four were of two stories, and only sixteen of three stories. The general style of building large houses up to the time of the Revolution was with gambrel roofs -- but so far as our investigations have extended but few of that class were built after the Revolution. So when the reader wishes to pick out the old houses which have stood for eighty years, he may safely regard the gambrel roof houses as older than the American Constitution.
Many of the present age have doubtless passed this old building on Court street without regarding it any more worthy of note than a hundred others in the city, and but few know that it has historical associations which entitle it to pre-eminence.
In our last ramble was given some account of John and Bartholomew Stavers, who more than a century ago came to Portsmouth from England, and by close application to business acquired property. John was an inn-keeper. His first hotel was on Queen street, under the sign of the "Earl of Halifax." Having acquired a sufficient sum to warrant the enterprise, in 1765 he purchased of Hon. Theodore Atkinson this lot directly in front of the Atkinson residence (the old house now half demolished.) In 1770 the new hotel was completed, and thrown open for the accommodation of genteel travellers. On a high post which was planted near the north-east corner of the hotel, was put up the favorite sign of the "Earl of Halifax," which had become as necessary as the proprietor's name to give popularity to a hotel, which was then to Portsmouth what the Revere is now to Boston, and the St. Nicholas to New York. Such spacious accommodations for man and beast. In proof of the latter, is the stable now standing in the rear of the house, on the corner of Jefferson street, a marvel for its capacity even in these times. It was the stable not only for the horses of the travellers, but also of those that bore the "Flying Stage Coach" once a week to Boston and back, and the repository of that rare vehicle every week from Saturday night to Tuesday morning.
In the upper room of this hotel the Masonic meetings of St. John's Lodge were for several years held. The Grand Lodge of New Hampshire also met here. But these were not all the exclusive meetings held in the hotel. Mr. Stavers being an Englishman by birth, the distinguished travellers from abroad put up with him, and the hotel was in some degree regarded as under foreign influence. In 1775, when the troubles with the mother country began to assume a threatening aspect, the "Earl of Halifax" hotel was regarded with a jealous eye. It continued to be made a place of resort by those who had for years frequented it, and as the transactions of the ruffled and laced government officials in the back rooms were little understood by those out of doors, no very good construction was placed upon them. Whether or not a tory spirit was nurtured there, is not for us at this day to say; -- but frequently as the spirits in the decanters became depressed and the spirits around the table became correspondingly elevated, the noise from the company would sound rather too loyal to the listening patriots. It was a day when the light of the Revolution began to gleam in the distance, and it must have been a matter of no small anxiety with the officers of the crown to show to their sovereign a loyal deportment, or put at risk not only their emoluments of office, but also peril their necks.
These private meetings at the "Earl of Halifax" hotel were regarded with a jealous eye by the Sons of Liberty, and one day as a company of recruits was passing down the street, the leader, Capt. Hopley Yeaton, threatened that if any one looked out from the hotel, the windows should be smashed. None appeared, and the company passed on. The threat was probably given for a pretence to assail the hotel; for, a few days after, a mob gathered around the premises, and an axe was heard cutting at the foot of the sign-post. The irritated landlord, Mr. Stavers, gave an axe to his black slave, and commanded him to warn the invader, and cut him down if he did not desist. The slave dare not disobey one whose word was law -- and gave a blow directly upon the head of Mark Noble, which brought him to the ground. Noble survived -- but was an insane man for the forty years he afterwards lived. The mob soon collected around, the black fellow retreated, the sign was brought down, and a general assault was made with stones and brickbats upon the house. Every window on the street was broken in, the house was left in desolation, and the visitors escaped as they could find opportunity.
The affrighted slave immediately disappeared. Search was long made for him, and at length in a large rain water tank in the cellar, which extended nearly up to the ceiling, he was found standing up to his chin in water. Mr. Stavers did not feel safe within the reach of the mob, so taking a supply of gold in his pocket, he hastened by the back door to his stable, bridled his little black mare, and without waiting for a saddle, made a speedy exit through Jefferson street, for some place of safety, (where, he knew not,) until the excited feelings of the populace should subside. It was soon noised abroad that he had fled, and two men went on horseback in pursuit. After passing through Greenland they came within hail of him, and called upon him to stop. This quickened his pace, and he was soon, by a bend of the road, out of their sight; and turning suddenly into a barn in Stratham, open by the road side, his pursuers were permitted to go ahead. In Stratham he quartered for a fortnight with William Pottle, Jr., a man who had usually supplied his hotel with ale.
The affair soon put the town in commotion, and John Langdon, with other leading patriots of the day, repaired at once to the Hotel. As Langdon entered the north-east parlor, one of the mob had just raised a chair to dash in pieces an elegant mirror. Langdon seized the man's arm and holding him firmly said -- "Stop, young man, you must have a dash at me first -- you may perhaps be doing more harm than good."
By judicious management, Capt. Langdon quieted the excited feelings, saved the house from being demolished, and through his influence in due time Mr. Stavers was induced to return.
After returning to Portsmouth, he was seized by the committee of safety, and conveyed to Exeter jail. He was opposed personally to taking up arms against his own countrymen, but willingly took the oath of allegiance, and was released on the assurance that he would in no way oppose the effort to procure independence. Mr. Stavers soon had all suspicions of toryism removed, and enjoyed that share of confidence and support to which as a good citizen he was entitled.
The ravages of the mob had been of material injury to Mr. Stavers, and he did not immediately repair his hotel. The windows were for some time boarded up, and many of the distinguished officers of the Revolution have feasted in those rooms with scarcely a pane of glass in the windows. At length the hotel was fitted up -- the old sign retouched, and the name of "William Pitt" took the place of "Earlof Halifax." This sign was placed against the side of the building and remained there until about fifty years ago. This sign gave the name to Pitt street.
Now comes another scene. It is 1782, the French fleet is in our harbor, and eight of the principal officers in white uniforms, take up their quarters at the sign of "William Pitt." Who is this young and handsome officer now entering the door of the hotel? It is no less a personage than the Marquis LAFAYETTE, who has come all the way from Providence to visit the French officers who are here boarding. Here was the scene of their happy meeting, which was enjoyed with all that enthusiasm which characterizes the habits of the French. Forty years elapsed between this and LAFAYETTE'S last visit to Portsmouth, which changed his raven locks to gray hairs, and his buoyant step to the infirmities of age.
Who is this alighting from his coach, dressed with so much taste and attended by his servants -- to take up his quarters here? It is one whose name stands out on the Declaration of Independence, like the pencilings of a thunderbolt on a clear sky -- JOHN HANCOCK truly. Here, too, is the place where ELBRIDGE GERRY, RUTLEDGE, and other signers of the same immortal instrument, have found a cordial welcome. And General KNOX, that stalwart man, who was two officers in size and three in lungs, here many times found such a resting place as his heavy frame required.
Who are these three young men with their servant, standing at the door politely bowing and asking, on the recommendation of Gen. Knox, for accommodations? It is in the time of the French Revolution, and here stand three sons of the Duke of Orleans -- LOUIS PHILLIPPE and his two brothers. The hotel is full and the future King of France bows and retires, to take quarters with Governor Langdon. Louis Phillippe ever remembered that visit to Portsmouth. When on the throne in France, he made enquiry of a Portsmouth lady who had obtained an introduction, "Is the pleasant mansion of Governor Langdon still standing?"
One scene more. It is 1789: General John Sullivan, the President of New Hampshire, and his Council, are here convened. There, coming down Pitt street, on foot, is the noblest guest that ever honored any American hotel by his presence. He enters this very door, and GEORGE WASHINGTON, President of the United States, here makes his final complimentary visit to our State authorities. This is the last spot where the father of his country personally complimented our State, through its official dignitaries. That circumstance, if no other of the interesting incidents connected with the history of the "Earl of Halifax" and "William Pitt" hotel, should give value to its ancient frame so long as it may stand. As a note of its past history, the picture of William Pitt, the friend of America, should be again restored over the door, that the interesting events of the old hotel may be kept in lasting remembrance.
from RAMBLE XC.
Atkinson's Silver Waiter -- The Record of Deaths in Portsmouth, -- Lady Wentworth's Picture, &c.
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IN the 18th Ramble will be found a reference to the great amount of plate owned by Theodore Atkinson. Among the articles was a massive silver waiter, which for many years decorated his home on Court street, and must have been ever before him in his merry moments, as a memento mori. This waiter is now owned in the family of Hon. Asa Freeman of Dover, where are also the silver knives and forks, and other valuables, formerly in the Atkinson family, inherited by Mrs. F. from the estate of the last Theodore Atkinson, of this city, she being a daughter of the late Hon. William K. Atkinson, of Dover….
But the silver waiter is more particularly the subject of this Ramble. On this waiter are inscribed the names, ages and times of death of 48 individuals who were acquaintances of the elder Atkinson. Many of the deaths inscribed occurred before there was any newspaper in New Hampshire, and it is probable that Secretary Atkinson took this as the best means of preserving a record of his particular friends. The names upon the waiter were in two columns. One column was filled down, and the other was filled about half way down, there being room enough for twelve or fifteen names more. From the appearance of the engraving of the names, it is thought that the inscriptions were made at different times, as the persons happened to die….
48. T. Wallingford refers to Col. Thomas Wallingford of Somersworth, one of the wealthiest men in New Hampshire. He lived near Salmon Falls, between that place and the old Somersworth meeting-house on the road to Dover, N. H. His tombstone is still readable in the old cemetery near w[h]ere the old Somersworth meeting-house stood. His splendid mansion still exists to do honor to his memory. He was a Representative from Dover (Somersworth not then being a separate town) as early as 1739, and a great many years thereafter. He was one of the Judges of the Superior Court from 1748 to the day of his death, which took place at Mr. Stoodley's in Portsmouth. About 1855, his youngest child, the widow of Charles Cushing of South Berwick, Me., died, aged nearly a hundred years. Hon. H. H. Hobbs, of South Berwick, married her daughter. Col. Wallingford was father of Lt. Samuel Wallingford, who was killed on board the ship Ranger in her engagement, under John Paul Jones, with the Drake, leaving a widow who married Col. Amos Coggswell of Dover, and one child, late George W. Wallingford, whose family still lives at Kennebunk, Maine. Col. Wallingford had three wives, and at least thirteen children.
from RAMBLE CXXXII.
The Old Spring Market -- The Neptune and River Nymphs of the Piscataqua.
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In 1761, the town built a Market house on Spring Hill. The site was that now occupied by Mr. Blaisdell's store, No. 2 in Merchants' Row next to the south store.
On the south side of the Market was a pump in a well, and a dipper attached. Between thirty and forty years after, when the block of brick stores was erected on the spot, the Market was removed to the wharf east, its present site. In digging for the basement story of the southern store, the well was brought above ground, and a log was then laid to the boat-landing under the market, through which pure water has continued to flow in an uninterrupted stream to the present day.
What a host of recollections cluster around that old site, and how grateful the remembrance of that old awning like shell, which used to be open on three sides,-- that map of business life which fifty years ago and up to a later date gave a town attraction to the old Spring Market. About fifty years ago, an attic was built over what had been a simple board awning, and the Market was extended perhaps twenty feet on the east over the water, to give better accommodations for the sale of fish. And twenty years since the progress of the age seemed to require a new market house, so the old one was sold and removed to Noble's Island, where in front of the Noble house it still stands in all its ungraceful proportions. It was a great mistake to change the form of the old free market; where every one who had anything to sell could find a location, and any one who was desirous of purchasing could obtain supplies from first hands. The present arrangement of the building for fish dealers has driven the market women from their old favorite location -- and the paltry sum received by the city for the rent of stalls, is lost ten times over by the prices which individuals by monopoly have the chance of obtaining.
One day several years ago on a solitary seat in the centre of the Spring Market, with fish rooms on the water side and the butcher's stalls on the other, sat two of the old market women of fifty years ago. Spread around them were their baskets of beans, peas, berries, cucumbers, &c. as of yore -- but as their old companions in trade had ceased to appear so had also their old customers -- and we stood alone before them, the sole inquirer for a peck of peas. "Well, Mrs. Flanders, you have been a long while here." "Yes, I am now eight-four, and I've traded here since the war times of 1812." "Well, this young lady at your side is Mrs. Furbish, I think." -- "Oh, yes, she is only seventy-four. Our old associate Mrs. Carter, now nine-two, is at her home, as sprightly as either of us."
Mrs. Flanders and another female had come down from Eliot that morning in their boat, through the bridge, in the style of former years, -- all but the substitution of a modern wherry for the old style canoe. They conducted their craft in seaman-like manner, and landed their cargo in good order. Their boat was then the only one which was plied by females to the old market landing.
Fifty years ago, the canoe was the boat used almost exclusively by our market folks on the river. On a Saturday morning in summer, as well as on other days, might be seen what was called the Kittery fleet, consisting of some twenty canoes, deeply laden with provisions of all kinds, mostly rowed by women, coming down the river, or up, as the tide served. These canoes were handsomely brought in to the stairs near where the spring was pouring out its unceasing libation into the river. As the boat-rings became occupied, the painters of the last canoes which arrived were fastened to the other boats, and over a bridge of canoes, the intrepid boat women bore their baskets and boxes to the landing -- and to the seats they were to occupy under the canopy of the old market roof. This movement was not easily done in silence. The upsetting of a basket by the careening of a boat, or a slip on the wet stairs as the heavy loads were borne over them, would call forth many a loud exclamation. In our earliest recollection, there was one master spirit in that company, whose voice was law, and whose decision must be respected, or fearful would be the consequences. HANNAH MARINER was called "the commander of the fleet on the Kittery station." Our good old master Turell came near receiving a flogging from her once for giving her this respectable title. She as the regulator of the position of the market occupants, and from her decision there was no appeal. One day a man at the market did not speak respectfully, as she thought, so seizing a whip from the hands of a truckman, she administered blows with no sparing hand. The man fled, and Hannah, with whip in hand, fire in her eye, cursing on her tongue, pursued up spring hill, lashing him as he went. Hannah was of a noble as well as an independent spirit. She was the saleswoman of the products of the Rev. Mr. Chandler's garden -- and of course as she did so much towards the support of the ministry in Eliot, she felt a right to sustain her position elsewhere. There was Mrs. Wherren, who kept her knitting always by her, and Mrs. James, and Mrs. Gould, and Mrs. Tripyear, and Mrs. Remick,--but to give the names of the market women of that day would be a record of the mothers of many of the enterprising men and thrifty housewives of the present day, located on both sides of the river. It was before the times when the girls found employment in factories -- and when they aided their mothers not only in the dairy, and the garden plot, but also in rowing the canoes to market, while their fathers devoted their attention to their fields. No slight dexterity was often exhibited when the mother took the paddle for steering, while the daughter plied the oars cross-handed. We should like to pit one of these old canoes under their management, against the shells of Harvard or Yale. Don't think the canoe would run in the shortest time really, but think it might relatively; and taking all disadvantages into account we might hope to see an Eliot boat nymph bearing off the silver cup.
One large sail-boat from Sturgeon creek, with twelve women, could sometimes be seen, with their market cargo, all handsomely arranged. When the wind did not serve for their sail they would be seen standing manfully at their oars….
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