Mistress Bradstreet

by Charlotte Gordon

  Simon had purchased large bags of English barley, oats, wheat, and rye, and they were stockpiled in their loft, where they had to be protected from rats, insects, damp, and mildew. Anne had to create a weekly regimen that included making bread and cakes from the wheat and rye, cooking the oats into porridge or “flummery”—a jellied dish spiced with herbs and dried fruit—and manufacturing malt out of the barley so they would not have to rely exclusively on the dark salty water of New Towne Creek.11

  With the help of the women in her household, by early fall Anne would have preserved most of the fruit and vegetables from the summer, the berries boiled into jams and jellies, the vegetables that had not been eaten dried or pickled. The root vegetables had to be protected from rot and stored for eating that winter. Usually it was best to leave them in the ground as long as possible and dig them up as needed. Anne also had to make sure that the servants harvested and prepared her herbs correctly, drying them by hanging them in bunches from the ceiling ready to be pinched for cooking or for therapeutic uses. Rosemary could be used for a stew, burdock root for an aching shoulder. Once she was in labor, she might need chamomile, catnip, mint, feverfew, hyssop, tansy, or sage.12

  Outdoors, some of the most important of the Bradstreets’ “supplies” scratched for food in the gravelly dirt of New Towne and ranged around the commons. Their livestock was the family’s insurance against hunger that winter. Fall was traditionally the slaughter season and, although Simon and the other men usually killed the cows and larger hogs themselves, it was typical for a woman to kill the smaller pigs, holding the “hinder parts between her legs, and taking the snout in her left hand” while she “stuck” the hog in his heart with a sharp, enormous blade.13

  Naturally, Mistress Bradstreet would not have been expected to actually slaughter a pig, but she did have to make sure her servants did not make any dangerous mistakes. The first step was to choose the pig that should be killed, and then the strongest woman in the household would stab the animal and hold it until it stopped bleeding. Only then was it time to plunge the carcass into a kettle of boiling water.

  Afterward the dead pig would be coated all over with rosin to strip off its bristles; then its belly was sliced open. No part of the animal could go to waste. The organ meats were pulled out and cooked immediately. The intestines, on the other hand, had to be cleaned carefully, making sure not to poke holes in the lining, since they would be stuffed with bits of meat and spices to create the highly prized delicacy of sausage “links.”14

  The meat itself needed to be sliced off in manageable hunks. Some of it could be roasted at once, but to Anne and her family, the specter of the winter dominated much of their thinking, and so they would probably have dunked a large portion of the pork into salt brine, where it would keep for months. The rest they turned into bacon, cutting the meat into “flitches” that they hung in the fireplace for smoking.15

  All of these tasks were exhausting and messy, and yet there was no avoiding them; they were part of the seasonal toil for all new Americans. Anne was probably grateful that this year she was able to participate fully in her household duties rather than having to lie in bed while others slaved to complete her chores.

  But as the fall days grew sharper and their third winter in the New World approached, Anne knew she faced a new reckoning. She was nearing the end of her pregnancy, and this was a dire time for a young woman. In fact, it was fortunate (although she would have disagreed) that she had not been pregnant when she was still weakened from the deprivations of the first year. It was best to be at the height of one’s physical strength before undergoing the ordeal of pregnancy, labor, and delivery.

  CHILDBIRTH WAS THE CENTRAL EVENT in a woman’s life. No one knew whether the mother would survive. And if the child lived, it would likely die before it was two years old. In response to these early deaths, parents regularly named their new children after ones who had expired, not out of callous disregard, and certainly not for lack of names, but in an effort to overcome the dread facts of mortality. There was really no better way to commemorate the child who had died, these parents felt, than passing on his or her identity to the one who flourished.16

  For the pregnant woman, the time before birth was a period for reflection as well as frantic industry. Food had to be stored and prepared for the lying-in period after the birth, and also to feed the many women who would come to attend the labor and help the new mother. After his wife’s safe delivery, one colonist recorded, he served nineteen women a meal that featured “boiled pork, beef, and fowls; roast beef and turkey; and minc’d Pyes and cheese.”17

  Bonnets, hats, mittens, and smocks had to be knitted and sewed, and many prospective mothers put hours of labor into embroidering the new arrival’s first clothing. Sadly, since the baby might die soon after being born, one of the most important creations in families like Anne’s was the christening blanket.

  To the Puritan mind it was crucial that the infant be baptized as soon as possible after birth so that it would have at least a chance of being among God’s chosen. But although no Puritan theologian would have held with such an idea, the superstition remained among mothers that a glorious blanket could perhaps dissuade Death from taking the baby away prematurely. As a result, baptismal coverlets were often made of silk that pious women such as Anne embroidered with obsessive diligence; the Bradford family’s blanket in Plymouth, for example, was covered with copiously cross-stitched pink flowers six inches apart. If Anne had not inherited such a coverlet from Dorothy, she would have devoted herself to making her own, bordering the silk edge with lace or silk fringe and choosing a suitable scriptural text to embroider on the front.18

  Since she was already prone to the contemplation of her own mortality and had had three significant illnesses that induced such reflections, the time before labor was particularly potent for Anne. Later in life she would take the time before the birth of one of her children to write a farewell poem to her husband, outlining her wishes in case she died. She was not alone. Other women also recorded testimonials and tearful good-byes to their families. Thus women entered their “travail” in the same spirit that men set off on long journeys or went to war.19 The last month of pregnancy was not only a time of making “Pyes” but also a time of making peace with the idea of approaching death.

  Although the exact date of her delivery is uncertain, it seems likely that early in the new year 1633 Anne felt her first labor pains. Fortunately, her mother, sisters, and sister-in-law lived close by, and before long the other New Towne women would have streamed into her house. This was the time to serve the “groaning cakes” and “groaning beer” that Anne had prepared in the preceding weeks.20 Although there was not yet a midwife in New Towne, the combined experience at any birth was considerable. Most of the women present had had their own babies and had attended the births of their friends and sisters. In fact, this was a ritual ruled by women. The men of the house were usually relegated to the other room, or even to the house of a neighbor. Simon was banished from Anne’s side, and she was thrown entirely on the resources of her female neighbors and her mother.

  As much as she loved her husband, there was nothing Anne would have wanted more than the gentle, knowing ministrations of her women friends. During the early stages, the gathering had the feel of a party as everyone ate, sipped her ale, and told old war stories about her own childbirths or other travails she had witnessed. There was one tradition that during these early stages of labor the mother-to-be should start making bread, as some midwives believed the act of kneading the dough would calm the woman and move the contractions along at a brisker rate. Whether or not Anne actually began the process of feeding the yeast and mixing the sponge, it was important for her to stay relaxed and to eat in order to build her strength for what lay ahead. Her mother would have known to try to tempt her with food that was high in protein but easy to digest, such as broth or poached eggs.21

  Conversation would have quieted, however, and jests and gaiety wou
ld have gradually subsided when it became clear that Anne’s contractions were becoming hard to endure. This was the time for coaching the suffering woman through her pain, and everyone would have had her own techniques—calm words, cool damp cloths, sips of water, a back rub. Probably the most important assistance anyone could provide was the reassurance that her pain was normal and there was as yet no evidence that she was dying or that the baby was in danger. If a crisis did occur, however, no one would have thought to minimize the danger of the situation, as everyone knew of some friend or relative who had died in childbirth or had lost a baby in delivery or soon after.

  When at last it was time to push the baby out, many arms were there to help Anne onto the birthing stool, which was low and open seated. During this, the most dangerous phase of delivery, the more experienced women stepped to the fore. A perfectly healthy baby could be lost if the women in charge missed the telltale signs of a cord wrapped around an infant’s neck or if a shoulder got stuck in the birth canal. One of Anne’s neighbors was probably a more skilled midwife than the others and used her experience and judgment to determine if the baby was beginning to struggle and had to come out sooner rather than later.

  If Simon was still in the house, he could hear the cries of his wife, the murmurs of the women, and mysterious patches of silence. As the hours passed, he would have been forced to endure an unaccustomed helplessness.22 As one anxious husband described this waiting time:

  After the Women had been some time assembled I went out to get a little Briony Water—upon my return my wife’s mother came to me with tears in her eyes, O, says she, I don’t know how it will fare with your poor wife, hinting withal her extreme danger.23

  Despite his anxiety, Simon would have known better than to interrupt the crucial process in the other room; still it was hard to wait until the women came to him and reported on his wife’s progress. Good Puritan that he was, and joined, no doubt, by Anne’s devoted father and her younger sisters (although it is possible that they were allowed in the birthing room even though they were still unmarried), Simon would have used his time to say prayers and declare his willingness to submit to God’s will.

  For Anne it was reassuring to know that her family and friends were entreating God for her and her baby’s safety. But she had been taught to believe that, like the illnesses she had endured, this pain was God’s “corrective” tool. According to Puritan theology, each woman’s suffering was her personal retribution for Eve’s original trespass and was a kind of purification process meant to combat the dark lusts that were lodged in her heart. Someone like Anne might also have seen her agony in the redemptive terms of the New Testament. Christ, after all, had compared His crucifixion and miraculous return to a mother whose “time had come.”24 This meant that the anguish during labor was not only punishment for original sin but also an opportunity to join Christ and take up His cross. As one devout New England mother wrote after the birth of each of her children, “[T]he Lord apeard for me and maid me the living mother of another living Child.”25 For Anne, therefore, her labor was a passage far more important than her illnesses or her voyage to America.

  When at last one of the women could see the baby’s head, Anne must have hoped that her misery would soon be at an end. One traditional midwife’s strategy was to have the mother touch the top of the baby’s head, feel the damp tuft of hair and the warm miracle of the little being itself, so that the tired woman could get ready for the final push. When the baby finally spilled out between her legs and into the welcoming hands of one of the other women, she knew she had won an astonishing victory against her own physical weakness and against death itself. Or, more accurately, God had allowed her to triumph.

  Anne’s new baby was a healthy little boy. Nothing could have pleased this community of Puritans better than the arrival of a male child. If properly educated, he would be able to step into a leadership position in New England when he came of age. Despite the importance of women’s contributions to the colony, men were still considered a more valuable asset to the future of Massachusetts than their wives and daughters. When Anne heard the pleased murmurs that her son was healthy and strong, she knew it was a wondrous event. Only two years before, she had almost died. Now she had a son.

  After delivery, the other women flew into action, cleaning the infant and making sure the placenta and umbilical cord were not mishandled, as there was a host of traditions surrounding the ritual of cutting this emblematic connection to the mother’s womb. If the cord fell on the floor, then the boy would not be able “to hold water.” If it was cut too short, his penis would be too small and he would be “insufficient in encounters with Venus.”26

  While her attendants worried, cleaned, and prepared food for her, Anne could give herself up to the ecstasy of having borne a child. She had proved that she was not a spiritual outcast, she had pleased her father by helping swell the ranks of pious Puritans in America, and she had undoubtedly thrilled Simon by giving him an heir.

  It was probably clear to everyone that she would name her baby Samuel. She had waited five long years for this child, and so it was only natural that she compare herself to the Old Testament Hannah, who had had to endure years of infertility before she gave birth to the famous prophet Samuel. Of course, it is also likely that Anne admired her older brother, Samuel, and wanted to link her little boy to his uncle. But above all, she had been taught to view her life on a biblical scale and so believed that the birth of her son connected her to a larger story.

  There were many examples of this kind of exalted thinking among the Massachusetts Puritans. One prominent citizen, Judge Sewall, explained that he had named his son, Joseph, “in hopes of the accomplishment of the Prophecy of Ezekiel xxxvii.” When his wife bore a little girl, he wrote, “I was struggling whether to call her Mehetable or Sarah. But when I saw Sarah’s standing in the Scripture . . . I resolv’d on that suddenly.”

  Although traditional names such as Hannah, meaning “grace,” and Abigail, meaning “father’s joy,” were frequently selected by Anne’s friends and family because “the history of these two Hebrew women made their names honored,” the length or oddity of a name was no impediment to such a single-minded people. Choices such as Zurishaddai, which meant “the Almighty is my rock,” were not uncommon, and there were many instances of names that Puritan parents adopted to express their devotion to God or to declare their own earthly suffering, such as “Hoped For,” “Return,” “Believe,” “Wait,” “Thanks,” “Unite,” “Supply,” or “Tremble.” One recently widowed mother even saw fit to name her newborn “Fathergone.”27

  Although she had just undergone the most wearing experience of her life, Anne was now catapulted into the rigors of a new mother’s schedule. She had been influenced by the Countess of Lincolnshire’s opinions on this subject and breast-fed Samuel, nursing through the long night hours and attempting to soothe him when he wailed. It was a grueling regimen, and many years later she would write a poem from the perspective of an infant:

  With tears into the world I did arrive,

  My mother still did waste as I did thrive,

  Who yet with love and all alacrity,

  Spending, was willing to be spent for me.

  With wayward cryes I did disturb her rest,

  Who sought still to appease me with the breast.28

  Anne could take comfort in the fact that since this boy had been born on the purer shores of New England, he would surely prove to be a finer man and a truer Puritan than those born in the corruption of the Old World. As one enthusiastic settler wrote:

  The Christian children born here are generally well-favored and beautiful to behold. I never knew any to come into the world with the least blemish on any part of the body; being in the general observed to be better-natured, milder, and more tender-hearted than those born in England.29

  To Anne her long-awaited baby must have seemed perfect in every way. But now that he was safely delivered, she could not help but grapple with a f
lood of new fears. Could she keep him safe, fight off his illnesses, tend him, keep him alive?

  Infants in a pioneer settlement such as New Towne faced many obstacles to their survival, from diseases such as rickets, measles, whooping cough, diphtheria, and intestinal worms to hazards such as the canal that flowed past Samuel’s grandparents’ house, the gape of gigantic fireplaces, cauldrons of boiling water, unfenced and marauding livestock, and severe spells of both cold and hot weather. Babies were frequently referred to as “it,” not because of any lack of maternal devotion, but because mothers were responsible for running an entire household and did not show their love through the sort of focused attention we now associate with maternity. In addition, childbirth was such a regular phenomenon in most families that the identity of the youngest changed from year to year.30

  Sadly, there were often dire results to the many responsibilities a woman had to juggle, since it was impossible to keep an eye on the children at all times. One Puritan child “narrowly escaped drowning being fallen into a Kettle of Suds” and was only saved when he was “Seasonly Spyd and pulled out by the heels.” Another little girl was scalded to death in a similar accident when her mother was still “lying in” from delivering a new baby. Since women often had to be out of the house to complete their chores, weeding their extensive vegetable gardens, gathering eggs, or fetching water, they often left their infants and toddlers under the care of servants or older children and had to count on their limited ability to supervise a curious small child. Often this simply did not work. One poor mother came home from hiking out to a distant field to deliver her husband his midday meal only to discover her baby had vanished. “It was here just now presently,” an older daughter declared. But after a frantic search, the body of the toddler was found floating in an “unfenced water hole.”31