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VIII TRAVEL, TAVERN, AND TURNPIKE WHEN New England was colonized, the
European
emigrants were forced to content themselves with the rude means of
transportation which were employed by the aborigines. The favorite way
back and
forth from Plymouth to Boston and Cape Ann was by water, by skirting
the shore
in birchen pinnaces or dugouts
hollowed pine logs about twenty feet long and two and a half feet wide
in which
Johnson said the savages ventured two leagues out at sea. There were
few
horses, and the few were too valuable for domestic work to be spared
for
travel, hence the journeyer must go by water, or on foot. When
Bradstreet was
sent to Dover as Royal Commissioner, he walked the entire distance
there, and
back to Boston, by narrow Indian paths. The many estuaries and river-mouths that
intersected
the coast also made travel on horseback difficult. Foot-passengers,
however,
could cross the narrow streams by natural ford-ways, or on fallen
trees, which
were ordered to be put in proper place by the colonial government; and
the
broader rivers by canoe ferries. We see, through the record of one
journey, the
dignified Governor of Massachusetts carried across the ford-ways
pick-a-pack on
the shoulders of his stalwart Indian guide. But soon the settlers, true to their
English
instincts and habits, turned their attention to the breeding of horses.
They
imported many fine animals, and the magistrates framed laws intended to
improve
the imported stock. The history of horse-raising in New England is akin
to that
of any other country, save in one respect. In Rhode Island the breeding
of
horses resulted in that famous and first distinctively American breed
the
Narragansett Pacers. The first suggestion of horse-raising in
Narragansett
was, without doubt, given by Sewall's father-in-law, Captain John Hull,
of Pine
Tree Shilling fame, who was one of the original purchasers of the
Petaquamscut
Tract, or Narragansett, from the Indians. He wrote, in April, 1677: "I have often thought if we, the partners
of
Point Judith Neck did fence with a good stone wall at the north end
thereof,
that no kind of horses or cattle might get thereon, and also what other
parts
thereof westerly were needful, and procure a very good breed of large
and fair
mares and horses, and that no mongrel breed might come among them, we
might
have a very choice breed for coach horses, some for the saddle and some
for
draught; and in a few years might draw off considerable numbers and
ship them
for Barbadoes Nevis or such parts of the Indies where they would vend."
This scheme was doubtless carried into
effect, for in
1686 Dudley and his associates ordered thirty horses to be seized in
Narragansett and sold to pay for building a jail. In a later letter Hull accuses William
Heiffernaan of
horse-stealing, and shows that a different and more gentle method than
Western
lynch-law was pursued by the Eastern settlers. He writes: "I am informed that you were so shameless
that
you offered to sell some of my horses. I would have you know that they
are by
God's good Providence, mine. Do you bring me some good security for my
money
that is justly owing and I shall be willing to give you some horses
that you
shall not need to offer to steal any." Whatever the means may have been that
tended to the
establishment of a distinct breed of horses, the result was soon
evident; by
the early years of the eighteenth century the Narragansett Pacers were
known
throughout the colonies as a desirable breed of saddle-horses. The local conditions for raising this
breed were
favorable. The soil of Narragansett was rich, the crops large, the
natural
formation of the land made it possible to fence it easily and with
little
expenses thing of much importance in a new land. The bay, the ocean,
and the
chain of half salt lakes surrounding the three sides, left but a short
northern
length for stone wall, as Hull suggested. It is said that the progenitor or most
important sire
of this race was imported from Andalusia by Governor Robinson. Another
tradition is that this horse, while swimming off the coast of Spain,
was picked
up by a Narragansett sloop and brought to America. Thomas Hazard
contributed to
the quality of endurance in the breed by introducing into it the blood
of
"Old Snip." So celebrated did the qualities of this horse become that
the "Snip breed" was not only spoken of with regard to the horses,
but of the owners as well, and Hazards who did not possess the
distinguishing
race-characteristic of self-will were said not to be "true Snips."
Old Snip was said to have been imported from Tripoli; others assert
(and it is
generally believed) that he was a wild horse running at large in the
tract near
Point Judith. In the year 1711 Rip Van Dam, a prominent
citizen of
New York, and at a later date Governor of the State, wrote to Jonathan
Dickinson, an early mayor of Philadelphia, a very amusing account of
his
ownership of a Narragansett Pacer. The horse was shipped from Rhode
Island in a
sloop, from which he managed to jump overboard, swim ashore, and return
home.
He was, however, again placed on board ship, and arrived in New York
after a
fourteen-days' passage, naturally much reduced in flesh and spirits.
From New
York he was sent to Philadelphia by post
that is, ridden by the post-rider. The horse cost £32,
and his freight
cost fifty shillings. He was said to be "no beauty though so high
priced,
save in his legs." "He always plays and acts and never will stand
still, he will take a glass of wine, beer or cyder, and probably would
drink a
dram on a cold morning." The last extraordinary accomplishment
doubtless
showed contamination from the bad human company around him, while the
swimming
feat evinced his direct descent from the Andalusian swimmer. Dr. McSparran, rector of the Narragansett
church from
1721 to 1759, wrote a little book called "America Dissected," in
which he speaks thus of the Narragansett Pacers: "The produce of this country is
principally
butter, cheese, fat cattle, wool and fine horses that are exported to
all parts
of English America. They are remarkable for fleetness and swift pacing
and I
have seen some of them pace a mile in a little more than two minutes
and a good
deal less than three minutes. I have often upon the larger pacing
horses rode
fifty, nay sixty miles a day even in New England where the roads are
rough,
stony and uneven." In the realm of fiction we find testimony
to the
qualities of the Narragansett Pacers. Cooper, in the "Last of the
Mohicans," represents his heroines as mounted on these horses, and
explains their characteristics in a footnote, and also in the dialogue
of the
story. He says that they were commonly sorrel-colored, and that horses
of other
breeds were trained to their gait. It is true that horses were trained
to pace.
Rev. Mr. Thatcher wrote in 1690 of teaching a mare to amble by
cross-spanning,
and again by trammelling. Logs of wood were placed across a road at
certain
intervals to induce a pacing gait. As late as the year 1770 men in
Ipswich
followed the profession of pace-trainer; but I doubt whether any other
breed
could ever acquire the peculiar gait of the Narragansetts, of which
Isaac
Hazard thus wrote: "My father described the motion of this horse as
differing from others in that its backbone moved through the air in a
straight
line without inclining the rider from side to side, as does a rocker or
pacer
of the present day." That motion could scarcely be taught. Many traits joined to make the
Narragansett Pacers so
eagerly sought for. Not only was their ease of motion an absolute
necessity,
but sureness of foot was also indispensable; this quality they also
possessed.
They were also tough and enduring, and could travel long distances. The
stories
told of them seem incredible. It was said that they could travel one
hundred miles
in a day, over rough roads, without tiring the rider or injury to
themselves,
provided they were properly cared for at the end of the journey. There was not only in America a steady
demand for
these horses, but in the West Indies, as Hull predicted, they found a
ready
market. One farmer sent annually a hundred pacers to Cuba, and agents
were sent
to Narragansett from Cuba with orders to buy pacers, especially
full-blooded
mares, at any prices. Agents from Virginia also purchased pacers for
Virginian
horse-raisers. The newspapers of the latter part of the eighteenth
century
especially of the Connecticut press abound in advertisements of
horses of the
"true Narragansett breed," yet it is said that in the year 1800 but
one full-blooded Narragansett Pacer was known to be living. In the War
of 1812
the British man-of-war Orpheus cruised the waters of Narragansett Bay,
and her
captain endeavored through agents to obtain a Narragansett Pacer as a
gift for
his wife, but in vain not a horse of the true breed could be found. It has been said that the reckless
exportation to the
West Indies caused this extermination, but it is difficult to believe
that so
shrewd a race as were the Narragansett planters ever would have
committed such
a killing of a goose of golden eggs. The decay of the race was the
action of a
simple law cause and effect. The conditions which rendered the pacer
so
desirable did not exist after the Revolution. Roads were improved,
carriages
became common, the saddle less used, and the American trotter was
evolved, who
was a better carriage horse, and a more useful one, as he could be
employed for
both light and heavy work, while heavy draughting stiffened the joints
of the
pacer, and destroyed the very qualities for which he was most valued.
Thus,
being no longer needed, the Narragansett Pacer ceased to exist. There died in Wickford, R. I., a few years
ago, a
Narragansett Pacer that was nearly full blooded. She was a villainously
ugly
animal of faded, sunburnt sorrel color. She was so abnormally
broad-backed and
broad-bodied that a male rider who sat astride her was forced to stick
his legs
out at a most awkward and ridiculous angle. That broad back carried,
however,
most comfortably a side-saddle or a pillion. Being extremely
short-legged this
treasured relic was unprecedentedly slow, and altogether I found the
Narragansett Pacer, though an object of great pride and even veneration
to her
owner, not all my fancy had painted her. From the earliest days when horses were
imported,
women rode on pillions behind the men. Lechford in his note-book refers
to a
"womans pillion" lost on the Hopewell. A pillion was a cushion
strapped on behind a man's saddle, and from it sometimes hung a small
platform
or double stirrup on which a woman rider could rest her feet. One horse
was
sometimes made also to carry two men riding astride. Horseflesh was
also
economized by the ride-and-tie system, two persons would start on
horseback,
ride a mile or two, dismount, tie the animal by the roadside, leaving
him for
another couple (who had started afoot) to mount, ride on past the first
couple,
and dismount and tie in their turn. Coaches were not a wholly popular means of
conveyance
in the first half of the seventeenth century, even among Englishmen on
English
roads, and they would have been wholly useless in New England. John
Winthrop
had one in 1685. Sir Edmund and Lady Andros rode in a coach in Boston
in 1687,
and there were then a few other carriages in town. Their purchase and
use were
deplored and discouraged by Puritan authorities, as were other
luxurious
fashions. Outside of the town wheeled vehicles were of little use as
they had
to be lashed clumsily in two canoes and laboriously ferried across the
rivers,
while the horses were similarly transferred to the opposite shore, or
allowed
to swim over. The early carriages were calashes and chariots. Henry
Sharp of
Salem had a calash in 1701. William Cutler's "collash with ye
furniture" was worth £10 in 1723. Chairs two-wheeled gigs without a
top
and chaises, a vehicle with similar body and a top, were early forms
of
carriages. The sulky had in early days, as now, seating room but for
one
person. All these were hung on thorough braces instead of springs. In an account of the funeral of Lieutenant
Governor
Tailor, in 1732, it is mentioned that a "great number of the gentry
attended in their coaches and chaises;" but even by that date coaches
were
of little avail for long journeys. The anxious letters of Waitstill
Winthrop to
his son in 1717, at the latter's proposal of bringing a coach overland
from
Boston to New London, show the obstacles of travel. He warns that there
are no
bridges in Narragansett; he urges him to bring a mounted servant with
an axe to
"cut bows in the way," "to bring a good pilate that knows the
cart ways," to be sure to keep the coachman sober, to have axle and
hubs
prepared for rough usage and in every way discourages so rash an
endeavor. Though I have seen a New England inventory
of the
year 1690 in which a "sley" appears, I do not find that they were
frequently used until the second or third decade of the succeeding
century,
though a few Bostonians had them in the year 1700. They were largely
used by
the Dutch in New York, and Connecticut folk occasionally followed Dutch
fashions. When sedan-chairs were so fashionable and
plentiful
in England, they were sure to be used to some extent in New England
towns.
Governor Winthrop had a very elegant Spanish sedan-chair, which was
given him
in 1646 by Captain Cromwell, who captured it from a Spanish galleon.
This fine
chair was worth £50 and was an intended gift of the Viceroy of Mexico
to his
sister. When Parson Oxenbridge was striken with apoplexy in the pulpit
of the
First Church in Boston, he was "carried home in a Cedan." On August
3, 1687, Judge Sewall wrote in his diary: "Capt. Gerrish is carried in
a
Sedan to the Wharf and so takes boat for Salem." Again he writes on May
31, 1715: "The Gov'r comes first to Town, was carried from Mr. Dudleys
to
the Town-House in Cous. Dumers Sedan; but 'twas too tall for the
Stairs, so was
fain to be taken out near the top of them." The Governor had had a bad
attack of gout. On September 11, 1706, Sewall writes:
"Five
Indians carried Mr. Bromfield in a chair." And though I have never seen
the sale of a sedan mentioned, several times I have fancied that the
reference
to the sale of a chair meant a sedan-chair. In the memoirs of Eliza
Quincey she
speaks of riding in a sedan, and of seeing Dr. Franklin in one in 1789.
At a surprisingly early date, when we
consider the
limited opportunities for travel, the colonial authorities licensed
taverns or
ordinaries, and also made strict laws governing them. The landlords
could not
sell sack or strong water; nor permit games to be played in their
precincts;
nor allow dancing or singing; nor could tobacco be used within their
walls; nor
could they sell cakes or buns indiscriminately. Samuel Cole, the Boston
comfit-maker, received his license in 1634, though one can hardly
understand,
with such manifold rules of narrow limit, how he could wish it.
Previously
other freemen had obtained permission "to draw wine and beer" to sell
at retail to their neighbors and to travellers. In New Haven the
tavern-keeper
had been given twenty acres of land in 1645, in which travellers'
horses could
be pastured. In Hartford and other river towns the establishment of
taverns was
compulsory. The ordinaries quickly multiplied in number and increased
in
pretension. In Boston, in 1651, the King's Arms and its furniture were
held to
be worth £600. Board was cheap enough. In 1634 the Court set the price
of a
single meal at sixpence, and an ale quart of beer at a penny. At the
Ship
Tavern a man had "fire and bed, dyet, wyne and beere between meals"
for three shillings a day. The wine was limited to "a cupp each man at
dynner & supp & no more." Following the English fashion of
Shakespeare's time, the inn chambers were each named: The Exchange
Chamber,
Rose and Sun Chamber, Star Chamber, Court Chamber, Jerusalem Chamber,
etc. The
names of the inns also followed English nomenclature: The Bunch of
Grapes, Dog
& Pot, Turk's Head, Green Dragon, Blue Anchor, King's Head, etc.
The Good
Woman bore on its painted sign the figure of a headless woman. The Ship
in
Distress had these lines: "With sorrows I am compassed round,
Pray lend a hand my ship's aground." Another Boston tavern had this rhyme: This
is the bird that never flew,
This is the tree that never grew, This is the ship that never sails, This is the can that never fails." The Sun Tavern bore these words: "The Best Ale and
Beer under the
Sun."
This tavern was removed to Moon Street,
and was kept
by Mrs. Milk. Her neighbors' names were Waters, Beer, and Legg. The
Salutation
Inn, with its sign-board bearing the picture of two men shaking hands,
was
commonly known as the Two Palaverers. I know no more attractive picture of
olden-time
hospitality, nothing better "under the notion of a tavern," than the
old Palaverer tavern at Medford. On either side of its front door grew
a great
tree, and in the spreading branches of each tree was built a platform
or
balcony. The two were connected by a hanging bridge or scaffolding, and
also
connected by a similar foot-bridge with the tavern itself. In these
leafy
tree-arbors, through the sunny summer months, from dawn till twilight,
whilom
travellers rested and drank their drams, or, perchance, their cups of
tea, and
watched the arrival and departure of coaches and horsemen at "mine
inn." John Adams wrote frequently of the inns of
the time.
He said of the Ipswich innkeeper in 1771: "Landlord and Landlady are
some
of the grandest people alive. Landlady is the great granddaughter of
Governor
Endicott, and has all the notions of greatest family. As to Landlord,
he is as
happy, and as big, as proud, as conceited as any nobleman in England,
always
calm and good-natured and lazy." Of the Enfield landlord he wrote: "Oated
and
drank tea at Peases a smart house and landlord truly; well dressed
with his
ruffles &c. and upon inquiry I found he was the great man of the
town,
their representative as well as tavern-keeper." In a paper which he
wrote
upon licensed houses, Adams stated that "retailers and taverners are
generally, in the country, assessors, selectmen, representatives, or
esquires." Members of our best and most respected
families
throughout New England were innkeepers. The landlord was frequently a
local
magistrate, a justice of the peace, or a sheriff. Notices of
town-meetings, of
elections, of new laws and ordinances of administration were posted at
the
tavern, just as legal notices are printed in the newspapers nowadays.
Bills of
sales, of auctions, records of transfers were naturally posted therein;
the
tamras were the original business exchanges. No wonder all the men in
the
township flocked to the tavern they had to know anything of town
affairs, to
say nothing of local scandals. Distances were given in almanacs of the
day, not
from town to town, but from tavern to tavern. Of the good quality of New England inns
many
travellers testify. Lafayette wrote to his wife in 1777: "Host and
hostess
sit at the table with you and do the honors of a comfortable meal, and
on going
away you pay your fare without higgling." Dr. Dwight said the best
old-fashioned New England inns were superior to any of the modern ones.
Brissot
said: "You meet with neatness, dignity and decency, the chambers neat,
the
beds good, the sheets clean, supper passable, cyder tea punch and all
for
fourteen pence a head." Alackaday! the good old times. Next in importance to the landlord came
the
stage-driver. He was so popular and such a kindly fellow that he had to
be
prohibited by law from carrying any parcels or letters for persons
along the
route, else he were overburdened with troublesome and hindering
business,
detrimental to the postal and carriage income of the government, He was
so
importuned to drink at each stopping-place that he might have lain
drunk the
whole year round. He was of so much consequence and so looked up to,
that
little Jack Mendum, who drove the Salem mail-coach, hardly exaggerated
his position
when he roared out angrily to a hungry passenger who urged him to drive
faster:
"While I drive this coach I am the whole United States of America."
Stage-driving was an hereditary gift; it went in families. Four
Potters, three
Ackermans, three Annables drove in Salem. Patch and Peach, Tozzer and
Blumpy,
Canney and Camp, were well-known stage-driving names. The stage-agent also, that obsolete
functionary, was
a man of much local consequence and of many affairs; he was established
in many
a tavern as a necessary and almost immovable piece of bar-room
furniture. To show the importance of tavern,
tavern-keeper,
stage-agent, and stage-driver in early Federal days, let me give a
single
instance. Haverhill was the great staging centre of New Hampshire; six
or eight
lines of coaches left there each day. There were lines direct to
Boston, New
York, and Stanstead, Canada. Of course there was a vast bustle and
commotion on
the arrival and departure of each coach, and a goodly number of
passengers were
deposited at the tavern that formed the each office sometimes one
hundred and
fifty a day. It can readily be seen what a news centre such a tavern
must have
been, how much knowledge of the world must have been gathered by its
occupants.
It must be remembered that our universal modern source of information,
the
newspaper, did not then exist; there were a few journals, of course, of
scant
circulation, but of what we now deem news they contained nothing.
Information
of current events came through hearing and talking, not through
reading. Hence
it came to be that an innkeeper was not only influential in local
affairs, but
was universally known as the best-informed man in the place; reporters,
so to
speak, rendered their accounts to him; items of foreign and local news
were
sent to him; he was in himself an entire Associated Press. The earliest roads for travel throughout
New England
followed the Indian trails or paths, and were but two or three feet
wide. The
Old Plymouth or Coast Road, of much importance because connecting
Boston and
Plymouth, the capitals of separate colonies, was provided for by action
of the
General Court in 1639. It ran through old Braintree. The Old
Connecticut Road
or Path started from Cambridge, ran to Marlborough, thence to Grafton,
Oxford,
and Woodstock, and on to Springfield and Albany. It was intersected at
Woodstock by the Providence Path, which ran through Narragansett and
Providence
plantations, and also by the Nip-muck Path which came from Norwich. The New Connecticut Road ran as did the
old road,
from Boston to Albany. It was known at a later date as the Post Road.
From
Boston it ran to Marlborough, thence to Worcester, thence to
Brookfield, and so
on to Springfield and Albany. The famous Bay Path, laid out in 1673,
left the Old
Connecticut Path at Happy Hollow, now Wayland, and ran through
Marlborough to
Worcester, Oxford, Charlton, and Brookfield, when it separated in two
paths,
one the Hadley Path running to Ware, Belchertown, and Hadley, and
the other
returning to the Old Connecticut Path and on to Springfield. An inexplicable charm still attaches
itself to these
old Indian paths, a delight in attempting to trace their unused and
overgrown
roadways, as they leave the main road in devious twists and turns till
they
again join its beaten way. And the halo of early romance and adventure
surrounds them. Holland felt the charm when he wrote thus of the Bay
Path: "It was marked by trees a portion of the
distance and by slight clearings of brush and thicket for the
remainder. No
stream was bridged, no hill graded, and no marsh drained. The path led
through
woods which bore the mark of centuries, over barren hills that had been
licked
by the Indian hounds of fire, and along the banks of streams that the
seine had
never dragged. A powerful interest was attached to the Bay Path. It was
the
channel through which laws were communicated, through which flowed news
from
distant friends, and through which came long, loving letters and
messages. That
rough thread of soil chopped by the blades of a hundred streams was a
bond that
radiated at each terminus into a thousand fibres of love and interest
and hope
and memory. Every rod had been prayed over by friends on the journey
and
friends at home." Hawthorne felt it also and said: "The forest-track trodden by the
hob-nailed
shoes of these sturdy and ponderous Englishmen has now a distinctness
which it
never could have acquired from the light tread of a hundred times as
many
moccasins. It goes onward from one clearing to another, here plunging
into a shadowy
strip of woods, there open to the sunshine, but everywhere showing a
decided
line along which human interests have begun to hold their career. And
the
Indians coming from their distant wigwams to view the white man's
settlement
marvel at the deep track which he makes, and perhaps are saddened by a
flitting
presentiment that this heavy tread will find its way over all the land,
and
that the wild woods, the wild wolf, and the wild Indian will alike be
trampled
beneath it." For many years these paths were travelled,
gradually
widening from foot-paths to bridle-ways, to cart-tracks, to
carriage-roads,
until they became the post-roads, set thick with cheerful country
homes. In
some portions of New England they still are travelled and form the
general thoroughfare,
but in many lonely townships the old paths are deserted, and traffic
and
passage over the post or county road is gone forever. Bushes flourish
and meet
gloomily across the grass-grown track; forest trees droop heavily over
it in
summer and fall unheeded across it in winter. On either side
moss-grown,
winter-killed apple-trees and ancient stunted currant-bushes struggle
for life
against sturdy young pine and spruce and birch. Many a rod of heavy
tumble-down
stone wall New England Stonehenges may be seen, not as of old
dividing
cleared and fertile fields, but in the midst of a forest of trees or
underbrush: "Far
up on these abandoned mountain farms
Now drifting back to forests wild again, The long gray walls extend their clasping arms Pathetic monuments of vanished men." Or more pathetic monuments still of hard
and wasted
work. On either side of the way, at too sadly frequent intervals,
rained wells
or desolate yawning cellar-holes, with tumbling chimneys standing like
Druid
rains, show that fair New England homes once there were found. Flaming
orange
tiger-lilies, most homely and cheerful bloom of country gardens, have
spread
from the deserted dooryards, across the untrodden foot-paths, in weedy
thickets
a-down the hill, and shed their rank odor unheeded on the air. Some of the old provincial mile-stones,
however,
remain, and put us closely in touch with the past. In the southern part
of New
London County, and at Stratford, Conn., on the old post-road the
King's
Highway between Boston and Philadelphia, there are moss-grown stones
that
were set under the supervision of Benjamin Franklin when he was
colonial
Postmaster-General. After that highway was laid out, the placing and
setting of
the mile-stones were entrusted to Franklin, and he transacted the
business, as
he did everything else, in a thoroughly original way. He drove over the
road in
a comfortable chaise, followed by a gang of men and heavy teams loaded
with the
mile-stones. He attached to his chaise a machine which registered by
the
revolution of the chaise-wheels the number of miles travelled, and he
had the
mile-stones set by that record, and marked with the distance to the
nearest
large town. Thus the Stratford stone says: "20 Mls to N. H." New
Haven. By provincial enactment in Governor
Hutchinson's
time, mile-stones were set on all the post-roads throughout
Massachusetts. Some
of these stones are still standing. There is one in the middle of the
city of
Worcester, on Lincoln Street the "New Connecticut Path;" it is of
red sandstone, and is marked, "42 Mls to Boston, 50 Mls to Springfield,
1771." In Sutton, on the "Old Connecticut Path,"
stands still the king of all these 1771 mile-stones. It is of red
sandstone, is
five feet high, and nearly three feet wide. It is marked, "48 Mls to
Boston 1771 B. W." The letters B. W. stand for Bartholomew Woodbury, a
jovial and liberal old Sutton tavern-keeper who died in 1775. When the
mile-stones were set out by the provincial government, the place for
this
Sutton stone fell a few rods from Landlord Woodbury's house; but he
obtained
permission and set up this handsome stone at his own expense, beside
his great
horse-block under his swinging sign at his open, welcoming door. He
fancied,
perhaps, that it would attract the attention, and thus cause the
halting of
travellers. Tavern-keeper and tavern are gone; no vestiges even of
cobblestone
chimneys or cellar walls remain. The old post-road is now but little
travelled,
but the great mile-stone and its neighbor, the worn stepping-block,
still
stand, lonely monuments of past days and past pleasures. On warm summer
nights
perhaps the silent old mile-stone awakes and sadly tells his companion
of the
gay coaches that rattled by, and the rollicking bucks and blades, the
gallant
soldiers that galloped past him in the days of his youth, a century
ago. And
the stepping-block may tell in turn of the good old days when her broad
sunny
face was pressed by the feet of fair colonial dames who, with faces
hidden in
riding-hoods and masks, stepped lightly from saddle or pillion to
"board
and bait" at Bartholomew Woodbury's cheerful inn. In Roxbury, Mass., there still stands at
the corner
of Centre and Washington Streets the famous Roxbury Parting Stone. It
is a
great square stone, bearing on one face the words: "The Parting Stone
1744. P. Dudley;" on another face the words: "Dedham Rhode
Island," and on a third "Cambridge Water town." It has had set
on it recently an iron frame or fixture for a gas-lamp. This stone,
with many
others in Norfolk County, was placed by Paul Dudley at his own expense
in the
middle of the last century. It has seen the separation or "parting"
of many a brave company that had ridden out to it from Boston. Many a
distinguished traveller has passed it and glanced at its carved words.
Lord
Percy's soldiers took counsel of it one hot April morning to find the
road to
Lexington. Governor Belcher set out a row of
mile-stones from
Boston Town House to his home in Milton. Some of them are still
standing, the
seventh and eighth in Milton, one marked "8 miles to B. Town House. The
Lower Way, 1734." The ninth and twelfth stand as historical landmarks
in
Quincy, on the old Plymouth Road, and bear the dates 1720 and 1727. In Wenham another mile-stone near the
graveyard bears
the date 1710, shows the distance to Ipswich and Boston, and gives
these words
of timely warning: "I know that Thou wilt Bring me to Death and to the
house appointed for all Living." A marked improvement in facilities for
travel came in
turnpike days. These well laid out and well kept roads fairly changed,
the face
of the country. They sometimes shortened by half the distance to be
travelled
between two towns. Stock companies were formed to build bridges and
grade these
turnpikes, and the stock formed a good investment and was also vastly
used in
speculation. The story of the turnpike is as interesting as that of the
Indian
path, but cannot be told at length here. They, too, have had their day;
in some
counties the turnpike is as deserted as the path and seems equally
ancient. New England roads and turnpikes have seen
many a gay
sight, for the custom of speeding the parting guest "agatewards" for
some miles, with an accompanying escort on foot or on horseback, to
some ford
or natural turning -point or bourn, was a universal mark of interest
and
affection, and of courtesy as well. Judge Sewall records, on one
occasion, with
much indignation, that "not one soul rode with us to the ferry." Ere
the days of turnpikes, the old Indian paths witnessed many a sad and
pathetic
parting in the wilderness, such as was recorded in simple language in
Parson
Thatcher's diary in 1680, when he left Barnstable to go to a new
parish: "A great company of horsemen 7 & 50
horse
& 12 of them double, went with us to Sandwich & there got me to
go to prayer
with them, and I think none of them parted with me with dry eyes." This is indeed a strong picture for the
brush of a
painter, the golden September light, nowhere more radiantly beautiful
than on
"the narrowing Cape
That stretches its shrunk arm out to all the winds, And the relentless smiting of the waves,"
and the sad-faced band in Puritan garb, armed and mounted, gathered
around their departing leader in reverent prayer.
Perhaps the turnpike saw no more
characteristic scene
than the winter ride to market. Though summer and fall were the New
England
farmer's time of increase, winter was his time of trade and his time of
recreation as well. When wintry blasts grew chill, and snow and ice
covered
deep the desolate fields and country roads, then he prepared with zest
and with
delight for his gelid time of outing, his Arctic red-letter day, his
greatest
social pleasure of the entire year. the friendly word was circulated by
a kind
of estafet from farm to farm, was carried by neighbor or passing
traveller, or
was discussed and planned and agreed upon in the noon-house, or at the
tavern
chimney-side on Sunday during the nooning, that on a certain date
unless
there set in the tantalizing and swamping January thaw, a thaw which
might be
pushing and unseasonable enough to rush in in December and quite as
often hung
off and dawdled into February that on
the appointed date, at break of day, the annual ride to market would
begin.
Often fifty or sixty neighbors would respond to the call, would start
together
on the road. For farmers in western Vermont and Massachusetts the
market town
was Troy or other Hudson valley towns. In Maine, from Bath and
Hallowell and
neighboring towns, the winter procession rode to Portland. In central
Massachusetts some drove to Northampton, Springfield, or Hartford; but
the
greatest number of farmers and the largest amount of farm produce went
to the
towns of the Massachusetts coast, to Salem, to Newburyport, and, above
all, to
Boston. The two-horse pung or the single-horse
pod, shod with
steel shoes an inch thick, was closely packed with the accumulated farm
wealth
whole pigs, perhaps a deer or two, firkins of butter, casks of
cheese, four
cheeses in each cask, bags of beans, pease or corn, skins of mink, fox,
and
fisher-cat that the boys had trapped, birch brooms that the boys had
made, yarn
that their sisters had spun, and stockings and mittens that they had
knitted
in short, anything that a New England farm could produce that would
sell to any
profit in a New England town. So closely was the sleigh packed, in
fact, that
the driver could not be seated. The sturdy and hardy farmer stood on a
little
semicircular step in the rear of the sleigh, his body protected by the
high
sleigh back against. the sharp icy blasts. At times he ran alongside or
behind
his vehicle to keep his blood in brisk circulation. Though every inch of the sleigh was packed
to its
fullest extent, there was always found room in some corner for plenty
of food
to last the thrifty traveller through his journey; often enough to
liberally
supply him even on his return trip cold roasted spare ribs of pork,
doughnuts, loaves of "rye an' Injun" bread, and invariably a
bountiful mass of frozen bean porridge. This latter was made and frozen
in a
tub, and when space was hard to find in the crowded vehicle, the solid
mass was
furnished with a loop of twine by which to hang it to the side of the
pung. A
small hatchet with which to chop off a chunk of porridge formed the
accompaniment
of this unalluring Arctic provender. Oats and hay to feed his horses
did the
farmer also carry. There were plenty of taverns in which he
could obtain
food if he needed it, in which, indeed, he did obtain liquid sustenance
to warm
his bones and stir his tongue, and make palatable the half-thawed
porridge
which he ate in front of the cheerful tavern fire. But it was the
invariable
custom, no matter what the wealth of the farmer, to carry a supply of
food for
the journey. This kind of itinerant picnic was called "tuck-a-nuck"
a word of Indian origin, or mitchin," while the box or hamper or
bucket
that held the provisions was called a "mitchin-box." I can fancy that
no thrifty or loving housewife allowed the man of her household to go
to market
with too meanly filled a mitchin-box, but took an honest pride in
sending him
off with a full stock of rich doughnuts, well-baked bread, well-filled
pies,
and at least well-cooked porridge, which he could devour without shame
before
the eyes of his neighbors. The traveller did not carry his meals from
home
because the tavern fare was expensive; at the inn where he paid ten
cents a
night for his lodging, he was uniformly charged but twelve and a half
cents for
a "cold bite," and but twenty-five cents for a regular meal; but it
was not the fashion to purchase meals at the tavern; the host made his
profits
from the liquor he sold and from the sleeping-room he gave. Sometimes
the
latter was simple enough. A great fire was built in the fireplace of
either
front room the bar-room and parlor and round it, in a semicircle,
feet to
the fire and heads on their rolled-up buffalo robes, slept the tired
travellers. A few sybaritic or rheumatic tillers of the soil paid for
half a
bed in one of the double-bedded rooms which all taverns then contained,
and got
a full bed's worth, in deep hollows and high billows of live-geese
feathers,
warm homespun blankets, and patchwork quilts. It was certainly a gay winter's scene as
sleigh after
sleigh dashed into the tavern barn or shed, and the stiffened driver,
after
"putting up" his steed, walked quickly to the bar-room, where sat the
host behind his cage-like counter, where ranged the inspiring barrels
of old
Medford or Jamaica rum and hard cider, and "Where
dozed a fire of beechen logs that bred
Strange fancies in its embers golden-red, And nursed the loggerhead, whose hissing dip, Timed by nice instinct, creamed the bowl of flip." Many a rough joke was laughed at, many a
story told
ere the tired circle slept around the fire; but four o'clock saw them
all
bestirring, making a fresh start on their city-ward journey. In town the traveller was busy enough; he
not only
had his farm products to sell, but since he sometimes got the enormous
sum of
fifty dollars for his sleigh load, and it was estimated that two
dollars was a
liberal allowance for a week's travelling expenses, he had much to
spend and
many purchases to make spies and raisins for the home table,
fish-hooks and
powder and shot, pewter plates, or a few pieces of English crockery, a
calico
gown or two, a shawl, or a serf, or a beaver hat; and thus brought to
dreary
New England farms their sole taste of town life in winter. For many years travel, especially to New
York and
other seaport towns, was largely by water, on sloop or pink or snow;
and many
stories of the discomforts of such trips have come down to us. The first passenger steamboat which ran
between New
York and Providence made its trial trip in 1822. The boats made the
passage
from town to town in twenty-three hours, which was monstrous fast time.
On one
of the first trips the boat lay by near Point Judith to repair a slight
damage
to machinery, and all the simple country-folk who came down to the
shore
expecting to find a wreck, were amazed to see the boat apparently
burning up
go quickly sliding away without sails over the water until out of
sight. Many
whispered that the devil had a hand in it, and perhaps was on board in
person.
The new means of conveyance proved at once to be the favored one for
all
genteel persons wishing to travel between Boston and New York. The
forty-mile
journey between Boston and Providence was made in fine stage-coaches,
which
were always crowded. Often eighteen or twenty full coach-loads were
carried
each way each day. The editor of the Providence Gazette wrote
at that
time: "We were rattled from Providence to Boston in four hours and
fifty
minutes if any one wants to go faster he may send to Kentucky and
charter a
streak of lightning!" The fare on these coaches was three
dollars for the
trip between Providence and Boston. This exorbitant sum was a sore
annoyance to
all thrifty men, and indignantly did they rail and protest against it.
At last
a union was formed, and a line of rival coaches was established, on
which the
fare was to be two dollars and a half a trip. This caused great dismay
to the
regular coach company, who at once reduced their fare to two dollars.
The rival
line, not to be outdone, announced their reduction to a dollar and a
half. The
regulars then widely advertised that their fare would thenceforth be
only one
dollar. The rivals then sold seats for the trip for fifty cents apiece;
and in
despair, after jealously watching for weeks the crowded coaches of the
new
line, the conquered old line mournfully announced that they would make
trips
every day with their vehicle filled with the first applicants who
chanced to be
on time at the starting-place, and that these lucky dogs would be
carried for
nothing. The new stage-coaches were now in their
turn
deserted, and the proprietors pondered for a week trying to invent some
way to
still further cut down the entirely vanished rates. They at last
placarded the
taverns with announcements that they would not only carry their patrons
free of
expense, but would give each traveller on their coaches a good dinner
at the
end of his journey. The old coach-line was rich and at once
counter-advertised
a free dinner and a good bottle of wine too, to its patrons and
there, for a
time, the fierce controversy came to a standstill, both lines having
crowded
trips each day. Mr. Shaffer, who was a fashionable teacher
of dancing
and deportment in Boston, and a well-known "man about town," a jolly
good fellow, got upon the Providence coach one Monday morning in
Boston, had a
gay ride to Providence and a good dinner and bottle of wine at the end
of the
journey, all at the expense of the coach company. On Tuesday he rode
more gayly
still back to Boston, had his dinner and his wine, and was up on
Wednesday
morning to mount the Providence coach for the third ride and dinner and
bottle.
He returned to Boston on Thursday in the same manner. On Friday the
fame of his
cheap fun was thoroughly noised all over Boston, and he collected a
crowd of
gay young sparks who much enjoyed their frolicking ride and the fine
Providence
dinners and wine. All returned in high spirits with Shaffer to Boston
on
Saturday to meet the sad, sad news that the rival coach lines had made
a
compromise and had both signed a contract to carry pamengers thereafter
for two
dollars a trip. Upon Tremont Street, near Winter Street,
in Boston,
there stood at that time in a garden a fine old house which was kept as
a
restaurant, and was a pleasant summer lounging-place for all gay cits.
One day
a very portly, aldermanic man presented himself at the entrance of the
restaurant and asked the price of a dinner. Shaffer, who was present,
immediately assumed all the obsequious airs of a waiter, and calling
for a
tape-measure, proceeded to measure the distance around the protuberant
waist of
the astonished and insulted inquirer, who could hardly believe his
sense of
hearing when the impudent Shaffer very politely answered, "Price of
dinner, sir! about
four dollars, sir!
for that size, sir!" Such were the practical jokes of
stage and
tavern life in olden days. |