_Vendues--Chopping Bees--House Bees--Wood Spells--Clearing Bees_
In a new settlement more than half the houses were log cabins. When a
stranger came to such a place to stay, the men built him a cabin and
made the building an occasion for sport. The trees felled, four corner
men were elected to notch the logs, and while they were busy the others
ran races, wrestled, played leap-frog, kicked the hat, fought, gouged,
gambled, drank, did everything then considered amusement. It was not
luck that made these raisings a success. It was skill and strength,
and powers of endurance, which could overcome and surmount even the
quantity of vile New England rum with which the workmen were plied
during the day. In the older and more settled parts of the country when
the first stones of a new wall were laid the masons were given a case
of brandy, an anker of brandy, and thirty-two gallons of other liquid.
When the beams were carried in by eight men they had a half-barrel of
beer for every beam; when the beams were laid two barrels of strong
beer, three cases of brandy, and seventy-two florins' worth of small
beer. This was the case in 1656 when the old fort at Albany was removed
and a new one built. A tun of beer was furnished to the pullers down,
and in addition to the above items the wood carriers, teamsters,
carpenters, stone cutters, and masons had, besides these special
treats, a daily dram of a gill of brandy apiece, and three pints of
beer at dinner. They were dissatisfied and solicited another pint of
beer. Even the carters who brought wood and boatmen who floated down
spars were served with liquor. When the carpenters placed the roof tree
a half-barrel of liquor was given them; another half-barrel of beer
under the name of tiles beer went to the tile setters. The special
completion of the winding staircase demanded five guilders' worth of
liquor. When the house was finished a _Kreag_ or house warming of both
food and drink to all the workmen and their wives was demanded and
refused. Well might it be refused, when the liquor bill without it
amounted to seven hundred and sixteen guilders. The whole cost of the
fort was twelve thousand, two hundred and thirteen guilders, or about
three thousand, five hundred dollars. The liquor bill was about three
hundred dollars. When the building was completed it was christened by
breaking over it a bottle of rum.
Chopping bees were the universal method among pioneers of clearing
ground in newly settled districts. Sometimes this bee was held to clear
land for a newly married couple, or a new neighbor, or one who had had
bad luck; but it was just as freely given to a prosperous farmer though
plentiful thanks and plentiful rum were the only reward of the willing
workers.
Lyman Beecher, in his autobiography, describes the ministers wood
spell, which was a bee held for the purpose of drawing and cutting the
winter's supply of wood for the clergyman, and a large amount of beer
and cider was provided for the consumption of the parishioners.
Old Ames, of Dedham, Massachusetts, in 1767, describes a corn-husking
as follows:
"Possibly this leafe may last a Century and fall in the hands of some
inquisitive person for whose entertainment I will inform him that now
there is a custom amongst us of making an entertainment at husking of
Indian corn whereto all the neighboring swains are invited, and after
the corn is finished they like the Hottentots give three cheers or
huzzars, but cannot carry in the husks without a Rhum bottle; they
feign great exertion but do nothing till Rhum enlivens them, when all
is done in a trice, then after a hearty meal about ten o'clock at night
they go to their pastimes."
In 1687 William Fitzhugh wrote to Nicholas Hayward, then in England,
as follows: "Upon finishing the first line at your corner tree on the
Potomac your brother Sam, myself and some others drank your health."
The diary of old Governor Spottswood confirms the custom of drinking
at the completion of a survey, for in 1716 he with some other Virginia
gentlemen and their retainers, a company of rangers and four Indians,
fifty-four persons in all, journeyed over the Blue Ridge mountains and
descended to the Shenandoah Valley. After drinking the King's health
they descended the western slope to the river, which they crossed and
named "Euphrates." The governor took formal possession of the region
for George I., of England. Much light is thrown on the convivial habits
of Virginians at that time by an entry found in the diary of the
chroniclers: "We got all the men together and loaded their arms, and we
drank the King's health in champagne and fired a volley, the prince's
health in Burgundy and fired a volley, and all the rest of the royal
family in claret and a volley; we drank the Governor's health and fired
another volley. We had several sorts of liquor, viz: Virginia red wine
and white wine, Irish usquebaugh, brandy, shrub, two sorts of rum,
champagne, canary, cherry punch, cider, etc."
It was the custom when land was transferred that a libation should
be poured to Bacchus, and to such an extent was this carried that
when Peter Jefferson, the father of Thomas Jefferson, purchased four
hundred acres of Virginia land from his old friend and neighbor,
William Randolph, of Tuckahoe, the consideration jovially named in the
deed is given as "Henry Weatherbourne's Biggest Bowl of Arrack Punch."
The breaking of roads furnished another occasion for the consumption of
liquor, and is well described by Whittier:
Next morn we wakened with the shout
Of merry voices high and clear;
And saw the teamsters drawing near
To break the drifted highways out.
Down the long hillside treading slow
We saw the half-buried oxen go,
Shaking the snow from heads uptost,
Their straining nostrils white with frost.
Before our door the straggling train
Drew up, an added team to gain.
The elders threshed their hand a-cold,
Passed, with the cider mug, their jokes
From lip to lip.
_Traveling and Taverns_
Traveling in ye olden time was by stage going at the rate of ten miles
an hour, always stopping at taverns for meals and giving passengers an
opportunity to visit the bar to imbibe Holland gin and sugar-house
molasses, a popular morning beverage. When the Revolution came most
of these vehicles ceased to ply between the distant cities; horseback
traveling was resumed, and a journey of any length became a matter
of grave consideration. On the day of departure the friends of the
traveler gathered at the inn, took a solemn leave of him, drank his
health in bumpers of punch, and wished him God-speed on his way. It
was no uncommon thing for one who went on business or pleasure from
Charleston to Boston or New York to consult the almanac before setting
out and to make his will. A traveler was a marked man, and his arrival
at an ordinary was the signal for the gathering of all who could crowd
in to hear his adventures and also the news. Colonel Byrd was a typical
cavalier, and in writing of his visit to Germanna shows an appreciation
of the good things of life, with a hearty good will toward his neighbor
and especially his neighbor's wife, and a zest for all good things to
eat and drink. In his trips he smacks his lips over the fat things that
fall in his way. Now it is a prime rasher of bacon, fricasseed in rum;
now a capacious bowl of bombo. He tells how he commended his family
to the Almighty, fortified himself with a beefsteak, and kissed his
landlady for good luck, before setting out on his travels.
The liquor traffic added to the discomforts of travel by water. At New
York until the rude steamboats of Fulton made their appearance on the
ferry, the only means of transportation for man and beast were clumsy
row-boats, flat bottomed, square ended scows with sprit-sails, and two
masted boats called periaguas. In one of these, if the day were fine,
if the tide were slack, if the waterman were sober, and if the boat did
not put back several times to take in belated passengers who were seen
running down the hill, the crossing might be made with some degree of
speed and comfort and a landing effected at the foot of the steps at
the pier which, much enlarged, still forms part of the Brooklyn slip of
the Fulton Ferry.
Near Philadelphia at Gloucester Point, if the wind and tide failed,
the vessel dropped anchor for the night. If passengers were anxious
to be landed in haste they were charged half a dollar each to be rowed
ashore. At one in the morning the tide again turned. But the master was
then drunk and before he could be made to understand what was wanted
the tide was again ebbing and the boat aground.
In the west and south the taverns were generally bad. When Silas Deane
and his fellow delegates went down to the Continental Congress in 1774
they found "no fruit, bad rum, and nothing of the meat kind but salt
pork." At another tavern they had to go out and "knock over three or
four chickens to be roasted for their dinner." No porter was to be had
at another inn, and the one palatable drink was some bottled cider.
The Marquis de Chastelleux writes of this region in 1790 in his
_Travels in North America_: Landing on a dark night at Courtheath's
Tavern the landlord complained that he was obliged to live in this
out-of-the-way place of Pompton. He expressed surprise at finding on
the parlor table copies of Milton, Addison, Richardson, and other
authors of note. The cellar was not so well stocked as the library. He
could get nothing but vile cider brandy, of which he must make grog.
The bill for a night's lodging and food for himself, his servants and
horses, was $16.00.
Much might be written about the taverns, which from the very beginning
played an important part in this cheerful, prosperous, unplagued
colonial life. Their faded signboards swung in every street, and
curious old verses still remain to show us what our wise forefathers
liked to read. One little pot-house had painted on its board these
encouraging lines:
This is the tree that never grew,
This is the bird that never flew;
This is the ship that never sailed,
This is the mug that never failed.
It was not against every tavern that the reproach could be brought
that each person could not have a room to himself, or at least clean
sheets without paying extra. Many a New England village inn could, in
the opinion of the most fastidious Frenchman, well bear comparison
with the best to be found in France. The neatness of the rooms, the
goodness of the beds, the cleanliness of the sheets, the smallness of
the reckoning, filled him with amazement. Nothing like them was to
be met with in France. There the wayfarer who stopped at an ordinary
overnight slept in a bug-infested bed, covered himself with ill-washed
sheets, drank adulterated wine, and to the annoyance of greedy servants
was added the fear of being robbed. But in New England he might with
perfect safety pass night after night at an inn whose windows were
destitute of shutters, and whose doors had neither locks nor keys.
Save the post office it was the most frequented house in town. The
great room with its low ceiling and neatly sanded floor, its bright
pewter dishes and stout-backed, slat-bottomed chairs ranged along the
walls, its long table, its huge fireplace, with the benches on each
side, where the dogs slept at night, and where the guests sat when
the dip candles were lighted, to drink mull and flip, possessed some
attractions for every one. The place was at once the town hall and
the assembly room, the court house and the show tent, the tavern and
the exchange. There the selectmen met. There the judges sometimes
held court. On its door were fastened the list of names drawn for the
jury, notices of vendues, offers for reward for stray cattle, the
names of tavern haunters, the advertisements of the farmers who had
the best seed-potatoes and the best seed-corn for sale. It was at the
"General Green," or the "United States Arms," or the "Bull's Head"
that wandering showmen exhibited their automatons and musical clocks,
that dancing masters gave their lessons, that singing school was held,
that the caucus met, that the Colonel stopped during general training.
The tavern porch was the rallying point of the town; hither all news
came; here all news was discussed; hence all news was disseminated.
DeWitt Clinton in his famous letters on political parties says: "In
every county or village inn the barroom is the coffee room exchange,
or place of intelligence, where all the quid nuncs and newsmongers
and politicians of the district resort." Many were the good reasons
that could be given to explain and justify attendance at an old-time
tavern. One was the fact that often the only newspaper that came to
town was kept therein. This dingy tavern sheet often saw hard usage,
for when it went its rounds some could scarcely read it, some but
pretend to read it. One old fellow in Newburyport opened it wide,
gazed at it with interest, and cried out to his neighbor in much
excitement: "Bad news! Terrible gales, terrible gales, ships all bottom
side up," as indeed they were in his way of holding the news sheet.
The extent and purposes to which the tavern sheet might be applied
can be guessed from the notice written over the mantel-shelf in the
taproom: "Gentlemen learning to spell are requested to use last week's
news-letter." A picturesque and grotesque element of tavern life was
found in those last leaves on the tree, the few of Indian blood who
lingered after the tribes were scattered and nearly all were dead.
These tawnies could not be made as useful in the tavern yard as the
shiftless and shifting negro element that also drifted to the tavern,
for the eastern Indian never loved a horse as did the negro, and seldom
became handy in the care of horses. These waifs of either race, the
half-breeds of both races, circled around the tavern chiefly because a
few stray pennies might be earned there, and also because within the
tavern were plentiful supplies of cider and rum.
In Pennsylvania the Moravians became famous for their inns. The
"Nazareth," the "Rose," and the "Crown" at Bethlehem were well known.
The story of the Rose Tavern is prettily told by Professor Reichel,
under the title "A Red Rose from The Olden Time," it being built on
land leased by William Penn, on the rent of one red rose. The best
one of all however was "The Sun" at Bethlehem, which was familiar for
nearly a century to all the people from Massachusetts to the Carolinas.
At different times the inn has entertained beneath its roof nearly all
the signers of the Declaration of Independence, most of the members of
the Continental Congress, and all the presidents of the United States
down to Lincoln. That the wines were remarkable and that the inn had
its brand of Madeira, goes without saying. The early Moravians lived
largely on game, and cultivated a great variety of vegetables. Deer
and grouse were very abundant on the barrens in the manor of the Red
Rose. It was long a favorite sporting ground for Philadelphians, and
the resort of colonial governors. The wayfarers at the inn lived on
all delicacies in the greatest abundance, together with the famous
fruit, trout, shad, and wild strawberries. Foreigners who stopped there
invariably declared that the inn was fully equal to the best in Europe.
It was owned and managed by the Moravian church as part of its communal
system.
A good southern hotel of which there were few was a large brick
building with a long veranda in front. For a shilling and sixpence,
Virginia currency, the traveler was shown to a neat bed in a well
furnished room up one flight of stairs. On the wall was fastened a
printed table of rates. From this he learned that breakfast cost two
shillings, and dinner with grog or toddy was three; that a quart of
toddy was one and six, that a bottle of porter was two and six, and
that the best Madeira wine sold for six shillings a quart. When he
rose in the morning he washed his face, not in his room, but on the
piazza, and ate his breakfast in the coolest of dining rooms, at a
table adorned with pewter spoons and china plates. Off at one side was
a tub full of water wherein melons and cucumbers, pitchers of milk and
bottles of wine, were placed to cool. Near by was a water case which
held the decanters. If he called for water a wench brought it fresh
from the spring, and he drank from a glass which had long been cooling
in a barrel which stood in one corner of the room. In winter the fire
blazed high on the hearth, and the toddy hissed in the noggin; in
summer the basket of fruit stood in the breeze-swept hall, and lightly
clad black boys tripped in bearing cool tankards of punch and sangaree.
For his lodging and his board, if he ate a cold supper, and was content
with one quart of toddy, he paid to the landlord of the Eagle ten
shillings, Virginia currency, or one dollar and sixty-six cents federal
money, each day. As to New York taverns, in a letter written by Dr.
Mitchel in September, 1794, he states: "The Tontine Coffee House, under
the care of Mr. Hyde is the best hotel in New York. He sets from twelve
to sixteen dishes every day. He charges for a years board without
liquor Three Hundred and Fifty to Four Hundred Dollars."
In Gloucester, Massachusetts, as in other towns the selectmen held
their meetings in the tavern. There were five selectmen in 1744, whose
salary was five dollars apiece. Their tavern bill, however, amounted to
thirty pounds. The following year the citizens voted the selectmen a
salary of five pounds apiece and "to find themselves."
In 1825 the expense of living at the Indian Queen in Washington was not
great. The price of board was $1.75 per day, $10.00 a week, or $35.00
a month. Brandy and whiskey were placed on the tables in decanters to
be drunk by the guests without additional charge therefor. A bottle
of real old Madeira imported into Alexandria was supplied for $3.00;
sherry, brandy, and gin were $1.00 per bottle, and Jamaica rum $1.00.
At the bar toddies were made with unadulterated liquor and lump sugar,
and the charge was twelve and a half cents a drink.