Daughters of the Revolution and Their Times

by Charles Carleton Coffin

  I.

  ROBERT WALDEN GOES TO MARKET.

  Joshua Walden, of Rumford, Province of New Hampshire, was receivingletters from Samuel Adams and Doctor Joseph Warren in relation to thecourse pursued by King George III. and his ministers in collectingrevenue from the Colonies. Mr. Walden had fought the French andIndians at Ticonderoga and Crown Point in the war with France. The gunand powder-horn which he carried under Captain John Stark were hangingover the door in his kitchen. His farm was on the banks of theMerrimac. The stately forest trees had fallen beneath the sturdy blowsof his axe, and the sun was shining on intervale and upland, meadowand pasture which he had cleared. His neighbors said he was gettingforehanded. Several times during the year he made a journey to Bostonwith his cheeses, beef, pigs, turkeys, geese, chickens, a barrelof apple-sauce, bags filled with wool, together with webs oflinsey-woolsey spun and woven by his wife and daughter. He neverfailed to have a talk with Mr. Adams and Doctor Warren, John Hancock,and others foremost in resisting the aggressions of the mothercountry upon the rights and liberties of the Colonies. When at home hewas up early in the morning, building the fire, feeding the cattle,and milking the cows. Mrs. Walden, the while, was stirring the cornmeal for a johnny-cake, putting the potatoes in the ashes, placing theDutch oven on the coals, hanging the pots and kettles on the hooks andtrammels.

  Robert, their only son, twenty years old, would be glad to takeanother nap after being called by his father, but felt it would not bemanly for one who had mowed all the hired men out of their swaths inthe hayfield, and who had put the best wrestler in Rumford on hisback, to lie in bed and let his father do all the chores, with thecows lowing to get to the pasture. With a spring he was on his feetand slipping on his clothes. He was soon on his way to the barn,drumming on the tin pail and whistling as he walked to the milking.

  The cows turned into pasture, he rubbed down the mare Jenny and thecolt Paul, fed the pigs, washed his face and hands, and was ready forbreakfast.

  It would not have been like Rachel Walden, the only daughter, eighteenyears old, to lie in bed and let her mother do all the work about thehouse. She came from her chamber with tripping steps, as if it were apleasure to be wide awake after a good sleep. She fed the chickens,set the table, raked the potatoes from the ashes, drew a mug of ciderfor her father. When breakfast was ready, they stood by their chairswhile Mr. Walden asked a blessing. The meal finished, he read achapter in the Bible and offered prayer. When the "Amen" was said,Mr. Walden and Robert put on their hats and went about their work.Mrs. Walden passed upstairs to throw the shuttle of the loom. Rachelwashed the dishes, wheyed the curd, and prepared it for the press,turned the cheeses and rubbed them with fat. That done, she set thekitchen to rights, made the beds, sprinkled clean sand upon the floor,wet the web of linen bleaching on the grass in the orchard, thenslipped upstairs and set the spinning-wheel to humming. His neighborssaid that Mr. Walden was thrifty and could afford to wear a broadclothblue coat with bright brass buttons on grand occasions, and that Mrs.Walden was warranted in having a satin gown.

  Haying was over. The rye was reaped, the wheat and oats wereharvested, and the flax was pulled. September had come,--the timewhen Mr. Walden usually went to Boston with the cheese.

  "Father," said Rachel at dinner, "I wish you would take the cheeses tomarket. It is hard work to turn so many every day."

  Mr. Walden sat in silence awhile. "Robert," he said at length, "howwould you like to try your hand at truck and dicker?"

  "If you think I can do it I will try," Robert replied, surprised atthe question, yet gratified.

  "Of course you can do it. You can figure up how much a cheese thattips the steelyard at twenty pounds and three ounces will come to atthree pence ha'penny per pound. You know, or you ought to know, thedifference between a pistareen and a smooth-faced shilling. When youtruck and dicker, you've got to remember that the other feller isdoing it all the time, while you will be as green as a pumpkin inAugust. When you are tasting 'lasses, you must run a stick into thebung-hole of the barrel clear down to the bottom and then lift it upand see if it is thick or thin. T'other feller will want you to tasteit at the spiggot, where it will be almost sugar. When you areselecting dried codfish, look sharp and not let him give you all dampones from the bottom of the pile, neither the little scrimped onesfrom the top. Of course you will get cheated, but you have got tobegin knocking about some time. You're old enough to have your eyeteeth cut. You can put Jenny up at the Green Dragon and visit CousinJedidiah Brandon on Copp's Hill, see the ships he is building, visitwith Tom and Berinthia. Tom, I guess, is going to be a chip of the oldblock, and Berinthia is a nice girl. Take your good clothes along inyour trunk, so after you get through handling the cheese you can dresslike a gentleman. I want you to pick out the best cheese of the lotand give it to Samuel Adams, also another to Doctor Warren, with mycompliments. You can say to Mr. Adams I would like any information hecan give about what is going on in London relative to taxing theColonies. He is very kind, and possibly may ask you to call upon himof an evening, for he is very busy during the day. Doctor Warren isone of the kindest-hearted men in the world, and chuck full ofpatriotism. He will give a hearty shake to your hand.

  "You had better mouse round the market awhile before trading. JohnHancock bought my last load. His store is close by Faneuil Hall. He isrich, inherited his property from his uncle. He lives in style in astone house on Beacon Hill. He is liberal with his money, and is oneof the few rich men in Boston who take sides with the people againstthe aggressions of King George and his ministers. Mr. Adams begins tobe gray, but Warren and Hancock are both young men. They are doinggrand things in maintaining the rights of the Colonies. I want you tomake their acquaintance. By seeing and talking with such men you willbe worth more to yourself and everybody else. Your going to market andmeeting such gentlemen will be as good as several months of school.You'll see more people than you ever saw on the muster-field; shipsfrom foreign lands will be moored in the harbor. You'll see houses bythe thousand, meetinghouses with tall steeples, and will hear thebells ring at five o'clock in the morning, getting-up time, at noonfor dinner, and at nine in the evening, bed-time. Two regiments ofredcoats are there. The latest news is that they are getting sassy. Ican believe it. At Ticonderoga and Crown Point they used to put onairs, and call the Provincials "string-beans," "polly-pods," "slambangs." They turned up their noses at our buckskin breeches, but whenit came to fighting we showed 'em what stuff we were made of. Don'tlet 'em pick a quarrel, but don't take any sass from 'em. Do right byeverybody."

  "I will try to do right," Robert replied.

  The sun was rising the next morning when Robert gathered up the reinsand stood ready to step into the wagon which had been loaded for themarket.

  "You have three dozen new milk cheeses," said Rachel, "and two and onehalf dozen of four meal. I have marked the four meals with a cross inthe centre, so you'll know them from the new milk. There are sixteengreened with sage. They look real pretty. I have put in half a dozenskims; somebody may want 'em for toasting."

  "You will find," said Mrs. Walden, "a web of linsey-woolsey in yourtrunk with your best clothes, and a dozen skeins of wool yarn. It islamb's wool. I've doubled and twisted it, and I don't believe thewomen will find in all Boston anything softer or nicer for stockings."

  "I have put up six quarts of caraway seed," said Rachel. "I guess thebakers will want it to put into gingerbread. And I have packed tendozen eggs in oats, in a basket. They are all fresh. You can use theoats to bait Jenny with on your way home."

  "There are two bushels of beans," said Mr. Walden, "in that bag,--theone-hundred-and-one kind,--and a bushel and three pecks of clover seedin the other bag. You can get a barrel of 'lasses, half a quintal ofcodfish, half a barrel of mackerel, and a bag of Turk's Island salt."

  "Don't forget," said Mrs. Walden, "that we want some pepper, spice,cinnamon, nutmegs, cloves, and some of the very best Maccaboy snuff.Oh, let me see! I want a new foot-stove. Our old one is all banged up,
and I am ashamed to be seen filling it at noon in winter in DeaconStonegood's kitchen, with all the women looking on, and theirs spickand span new."

  "Father and mother have told me what they want, and now what shall Iget for you, Rachel?" Robert asked of his sister.

  "Anything you please, Rob," Rachel replied with such tender love inher eyes that he had half a mind to kiss her. But kissing was notcommon in Rumford or anywhere else in New England. Never had he seenhis father give his mother such a token of affection. He had a dimrecollection that his mother sometimes kissed him when he was a littlefellow in frock and trousers, sitting in her lap. He never had kissedRachel, but he would now, and gave her a hearty smack. He saw anunusual brightness in her eyes and a richer bloom upon her cheek as hestepped into the wagon.

  "I'll get something nice for her," he said to himself as he rode away.

  Besides the other articles in the wagon, there was a bag of wool,sheared from his own flock. Years before his father had given him acosset lamb, and now he was the owner of a dozen sheep. Yes, he wouldget something for her.

  The morning air was fresh and pure. He whistled a tune and watched thewild pigeons flying in great flocks here and there, and the red-wingedblackbirds sweeping past him from their roosting in the alders alongthe meadow brook to the stubble field where the wheat had beenharvested. Gray squirrels were barking in the woods, and their cousinsthe reds, less shy, were scurrying along the fence rails and up thechestnut-trees to send the prickly burrs to the ground. The firsttinge of autumn was on the elms and maples. Jenny had been to marketso many times she could be trusted to take the right road, and hecould lie upon his sack of wool and enjoy the changing landscape.

  Mrs. Stark was blowing the horn for dinner at John Stark's tavern inDerryfield when Jenny came to a standstill by the stable door.[1]Robert put her in the stall, washed his face and hands in the basin onthe bench by the bar-room door, and was ready for dinner. CaptainStark shook hands with him. Robert beheld a tall, broad-shoulderedman, with a high forehead, bright blue eyes, and pleasant countenance,but with lines in his cheek indicating that he could be very firm andresolute. This was he under whom his father served at Ticonderoga andCrown Point.

  [Footnote 1: John Stark, tavern-keeper in Derryfield, was the renownedIndian fighter and captain of the corps of Rifle Rangers in the warwith France. (See Biography by Jared Sparks.) The tavern is stillstanding in the suburbs of the city of Manchester, N. H.]

  "So you are the son of Josh Walden, eh? Well, you have your father'seyes, nose, and mouth. If you have got the grit he had at Ti, I'll beton you."

  Many times Robert had heard his father tell the story of the RifleRangers, the service they performed, the hardships they endured, andthe bravery and coolness of John Stark in battle.

  Through the afternoon the mare trotted on, halting at sunset at JacobAbbott's stable in Andover.

  It was noon the next day when Robert reached Cambridge. He had heardabout Harvard College; now he saw the buildings. The students werehaving a game of football after dinner. The houses along the streetswere larger than any he had ever seen before,--stately mansions withporticoes, pillars, pilasters, carved cornices, and verandas. Thegardens were still bright with the flowers of autumn. ReachingRoxbury, he came across a man slowly making his way along the roadwith a cane.

  "Let me give you a lift, sir," Robert said.

  "Thank you. I have been down with the rheumatiz, and can't skip roundquite as lively as I could once," said the man as he climbed into thewagon. "'Spect you are from the country and on your way to market,eh?"

  Robert replied that he was from New Hampshire.

  "Ever been this way before?"

  "No, this is my first trip."

  "Well, then, perhaps I can p'int out some things that may interestye."

  Robert thanked him.

  "This little strip of land we are on is the 'Neck.' This water on ourleft is Charles River,--this on our right is Gallows Bay. Ye see thatthing out there, don't ye?"

  The man pointed with his cane. "Well, that's the gallows, wherepirates and murderers are hung. Lots of 'em have been swung off there,with thousands of people looking to see 'em have their necksstretched. 'Tain't a pretty sight, though."

  The man took a chew of tobacco, and renewed the conversation.

  "My name is Peter Bushwick, and yours may be--?"

  "Robert Walden."

  "Thank ye, Mr. Walden. So ye took the road through Cambridge insteadof Charlestown."

  "I let Jenny pick the road. That through Charlestown would have beennearer, but I should have to cross the ferry. My father usually comesthis way."[2]

  [Footnote 2: No bridge from Charlestown had been constructed acrossCharles Rivers (1769), and the only avenue leading into Boston wasfrom Roxbury.]

  "Mighty fine mare, Mr. Walden; ye can see she's a knowing critter.She's got the right kind of an ear; she knows what she's about."

  They were at the narrowest part of the peninsula, and Mr. Bushwicktold about the barricade built by the first settlers at that point toprotect the town from the Indians, and pointed to a large elm-treewhich they could see quite a distance ahead.

  "That is the Liberty Tree,"[3] he said.

  [Footnote 3: The elm-tree stood at the junction of Orange and Essexstreets and Frog Lane, now Washington, Essex and Boylston streets. In1766, upon the repeal of the Stamp Act, a large copper plate wasnailed upon the tree with the following inscription: "This tree wasplanted in the year 1646 and pruned by the Order of the Sons ofLiberty February 14, 1766." Other trees stood near it, furnishing agrateful shade. The locality before 1767 was known as Hanover Square,but after the repeal of the Stamp Act, as Liberty Hall. In August,1767, a flagstaff was raised above its branches; the hoisting of aflag upon the staff was a signal for the assembling of the Sons ofLiberty.]

  "Why do you call it the Liberty Tree?"

  "Because it is where the Sons of Liberty meet. It is a mighty finetree, and, as near as we can make out, is more than one hundred yearsold. We hang the Pope there on Guy Fawkes' day, and traitors toliberty on other days."

  "I have heard you have jolly good times on Gunpowder Plot days."

  "You may believe we do. You would have laughed if you'd been hereGunpowder day seven years ago this coming November, when the Pope,Admiral Byng, Nancy Dawson,[4] and the Devil, all were found hangingon the old elm."

  [Footnote 4: Nancy Dawson, when a little girl, was employed in settingup skittles for players in High Street, Mary-le-bone, London. She wasagile, graceful, and had an attractive figure. She first appeared as adancer at Sadler's Wells theatre, where she soon attracted muchattention, and in a short time became a great favorite. A rhymsterwrote a song for her which was introduced (1764) into the play, "Lovein a Valley." It was also arranged as a hornpipe for the harpsichordand sung by young ladies throughout England. Children sang it in theplay, "Here we go round the Mulberry bush." The popularity of NancyDawson was at its height in 1769.]

  "I don't think I ever heard about Admiral Byng and Nancy Dawson."

  "Well, then, I must tell ye. Byng didn't fight the French andSpaniards at Minorca, but sailed away and sort o' showed the whitefeather, and so was court-martialed and shot on his own ship."

  "What did Nancy do?"

  "Oh, Nancy never did anything except kick up her heels; she's the bestdancer in London, so they say. We haven't any theatre in this 'eretown, and don't have much dancing. We have the Thursday lectureinstead."

  Robert wondered whether the allusion to the lecture was said soberlyor in sarcasm.

  "In London they go wild over dancing. Maybe I might sing a song abouther if ye would like to hear it."

  "I would like very much to hear it."

  Mr. Bushwick took the quid of tobacco from his mouth, cleared histhroat, and sang,--

  "'Of all the girls in our town, The black, the fair, the red, the brown, That dance and prance it up and down, There's none like Nancy Dawson.

  "'Her easy mien, her shape, s
o neat, She foots, she trips, she looks so sweet, Her every motion so complete,-- There's none like Nancy Dawson.

  "'See how she comes to give surprise, With joy and pleasure in her eyes; To give delight she always tries,-- There's none like Nancy Dawson.'"

  "That's a good song," said Robert. Mr. Bushwick put the quid once morein his mouth, and went on with the story.

  "On that night a great crowd gathered around the tree; the boys who goto Master Lovell's school came with an old knocked-kneed horse and arickety wagon with a platform in it. They fixed the effigies on theplatform with cords and pulleys, so that the arms and legs would belifted when the boys under it pulled the strings. We lighted ourtorches and formed in procession. The fifers played the Rogue's March,and the bellman went ahead singing a song.

  "'Don't you remember The fifth of November-- The gunpowder treason plot? I see no reason Why gunpowder treason Should ever be forgot.

  "'From the city of Rome The Pope has come Amid ten thousand fears, With fiery serpents to be seen At eyes, nose, mouth, and ears.

  "'Don't you hear my little bell Go chinking, chinking, chink? Please give me a little money To buy my Pope a drink.'

  "The streets were filled with people, who tossed pennies into thebellman's hat. Everybody laughed to see the Pope lifting his hands andworking his under jaw as if preaching, Byng rolling his goggle eyes,Nancy kicking with both legs, and the Devil wriggling his tail. Wemarched awhile, then put the Pope and the devil into the stocks, Nancyin the pillory, tied Byng to the whipping-post and gave him aflogging, then kindled a bonfire in King Street, pitched the effigiesinto it, and went into the Tun and Bacchus, Bunch of Grapes, andAdmiral Vernon, and drank flip, egg-nogg, punch, and black strap."[5]

  [Footnote 5: Black strap was composed of rum and molasses, and wasoften drunk by those who could not afford more expensive beverages.]

  Mr. Bushwick chuckled merrily, and took a fresh quid of tobacco.Robert also laughed at the vivacious description.

  "But I don't quite see why it should be called the Liberty Tree,"Robert said.

  "I was coming to that. You know that Lord Bute brought forward theStamp Act a few years ago: well, this old elm being so near the WhiteLamb and the White Horse, it was a convenient place for the citizensto meet to talk about the proposition to tax us. One evening Ben Edes,who publishes the 'Gazette and News-Letter,' read what Ike Barre saidin Parliament in opposition to the Stamp Act, in which he called usAmericans Sons of Liberty, and as that was our meeting-place, wechristened the place Liberty Hall and the old elm Liberty Tree. Thatwas in July, 1765, just after Parliament passed the Stamp Act. Theking had appointed Andrew Oliver stamp-master, and one morning hiseffigy was dangling from the tree, and a paper pinned to it writlarge:--

  "'Fair Freedom's glorious Cause I've meanly quitted For the sake of pelf; But ah, the Devil has me outwitted; Instead of hanging others, I've hanged myself.'

  "Then there was a figure of a great boot, with the Devil peeping outof it, to represent the king's minister, Lord Bute. When night came,all hands of us formed in procession, laid the effigies on a bier,marched to the Province House so that the villain, Governor Bernard,could see us, went to Mackerel Lane, tore down the building Oliver wasintending to use for the sale of the stamps, went to Fort Hill, rippedthe boards from his barn, smashed in his front door, and burned theeffigies to let him know we never would consent to be taxed in thatway. A few days later Oliver came to the tree, held up his hand, andswore a solemn oath that he never would sell any stamps, so help himGod! And he never did, for ye see King George had to back down andrepeal the bill. It was the next May when Shubael Coffin, master ofthe brigantine Harrison, brought the news. We set all the bells toringing, fired cannon, and tossed up our hats. The rich people openedtheir purses and paid the debts of everybody in jail. We hunglanterns on the tree in the evening, set off rockets, and kindledbonfires. John Hancock kept open house, with ladies and gentlemenfeasting in his parlors, and pipes of wine on tap in the front yardfor everybody."

  "It must have been a joyful day," said Robert.

  "That's what it was. Everybody was generous. Last year when the daycame round a lot of us gathered under the old tree to celebrate it.Sam Adams was there, James Otis, Doctor Warren, John Hancock, and everso many more. We fired salutes, sang songs, and drank fourteen toasts.That was at ten o'clock. Just before noon we rode out to the GreyhoundTavern in Roxbury in carriages and chaises, and had a dinner of fish,roast pig, sirloin, goose, chickens and all the trimmings, topping offwith plum-pudding and apple-pie, sang Dickenson's Liberty Song, drankthirty more toasts, forty-four in all, filling our glasses with port,madeira, egg-nogg, flip, punch, and brandy. Some of us, of course,were rather jolly, but we got home all right," said Mr. Bushwick,laughing.

  "You mean that some of you were a little weak in the legs," saidRobert.

  "Yes, and that the streets were rather crooked," Mr. Bushwick replied,laughing once more.

  They were abreast of the tree, and Robert reined in Jenny while headmired its beautiful proportions.

  "I think I must leave you at this point; my house is down here, on CowLane,[6] not far from the house of Sam Adams. I'm ever so much obligedto you for the lift ye've given me," said Mr. Bushwick as he shookhands with Robert.

  [Footnote 6: Cow Lane is the present High Street.]

  "I thank you for the information you have given me," Robert replied.

  OLD BRICK MEETINGHOUSE]

  Jenny walked on, past the White Horse Inn and the Lamb Tavern. Alittle farther, and he beheld the Province House, a building with acupola surmounted by a spire. The weather-vane was an Indian with bowand arrow. The king's arms, carved and gilded, were upon the balconyabove the doorway. Chestnut trees shaded the green plot of groundbetween the building and the street. A soldier with his musket on hisshoulder was standing guard. Upon the other side of the way, a fewsteps farther, was a meetinghouse; he thought it must be the OldSouth. His father had informed him he would see a brick building withan apothecary's sign on the corner just beyond the Old South, andthere it was.[7] Also, the Cromwell's Head Tavern on a cross street,and a schoolhouse, which he concluded must be Master Lovell's LatinSchool. He suddenly found Jenny quickening her pace, and understoodthe meaning when she plunged her nose into a watering trough by thetown pump. While she was drinking Robert was startled by a belltolling almost over his head; upon looking up he beheld the dial of aclock and remembered his father had said it was on the Old BrickMeetinghouse; that the building nearly opposite was the Town House.[8]He saw two cannon in the street and a soldier keeping guard beforethe door. Negro servants were filling their pails at the pump, andkindly pumped water for the mare. Looking down King Street toward thewater, he saw the stocks and pillory, the Custom House, and in thedistance the masts and yard-arms of ships. Up Queen Street he couldsee the jail.

  [Footnote 7: The building known as the Old Corner Bookstore, at thejunction of School and Washington streets. The Cromwell's Head Tavernwas No. 19 School Street.]

  [Footnote 8: The old brick meetinghouse of the First Church occupiedthe site of the present Rogers Building, nearly opposite the Old StateHouse.]

  Latin School.]

  The mare, having finished drinking, jogged on. He saw on the left-handside of the street the shop of Paul Revere, goldsmith.[9] The thoughtcame that possibly he might find something there that would be niceand pretty for Rachel.

  [Footnote 9: The shop of Paul Revere stood on Cornhill, now No. 169Washington Street.]

  Jenny, knowing she was nearing the end of her journey, trotted throughUnion Street, stopping at last in front of a building where an ironrod projected from the wall, supporting a green dragon with wings,open jaws, teeth, and a tongue shaped like a dart.[10] The red-facedlandlord was standing in the doorway.

  [Footnote 10: The Green Dragon Tavern stood in Green Dragon Lane, nowUnion street. The lane in 1769 terminated at the mil
l-pond, a few rodsfrom the tavern. In front it showed two stories, but had three storiesand a basement in the rear. The hall was in the second story. The signwas of sheet copper, hanging from an iron rod projecting from thebuilding. The rooms were named Devonshire, Somerset, Norfolk,respectively, for the shires of Old England. The building was aboutone hundred years old, and was occupied, 1695, by Alexander Smith as atavern. The estate at one time was owned by Lieut.-Governor WilliamStoughton, who was acting governor and took a prominent part inpersecuting those accused of witchcraft. He was a man of large wealth,and devised a portion of his property to Harvard College, StoughtonHall being named for him.]

  Green Dragon Tavern.]

  "Well Jenny, old girl, how do you do?" he said, addressing the mare."So it is the son and not the father? I hope you are well. And how'syour dad?"

  Robert replied that his father was well.

  "Here, Joe; put this mare in the stable, and give her a good rubbingdown. She's as nice a piece as ever went on four legs."

  The hostler took the reins and Robert stepped from the wagon.

  "Pete Augustus, take this gentleman's trunk up to Devonshire. It willbe your room, Mr. Walden."

  Robert followed the negro upstairs, and discovered that each room hadits distinctive name. He could have carried the trunk, but as he wasto be a gentleman, it would not be dignified were he to shoulder it.He knew he must be in the market early in the morning, and went to bedsoon after supper. He might have gone at once to Copp's Hill, assuredof a hearty welcome in the Brandon home, but preferred to make theGreen Dragon his abiding-place till through with the business thatbrought him to Boston.