_TRADING IN SCRABBLETOWN_
BY
ALICE BRAYTON
_PREFACE_
_The material used in this publication was found in a barrel of papers
presented to the Fall River Historical Society by John Summerfield
Brayton, in the summer of 1948. There were over 4000 papers in the
barrel; well preserved, though some had been nibbled by mice. And none
of those 4000 papers had ever appeared in print--never appeared at all,
I understand, since the barrel head was nailed down a hundred years
ago._
_The papers were concerned with trading in Scrabbletown, an old suburb
of Swansea, Massachusetts, just about, I should say, ten miles from the
farmhouse on the Taunton where the barrel was found._
_Trading a dull subject? By no means; according to the barrel the
traders of Scrabbletown led a most exciting life, packed with adventure
steadied by responsibility, completely insecure, very satisfactory to
those who succeeded or even survived--and you had a run for your money
if you didn’t. I am trying to present this manysided life as revealed
by the papers in the barrel. You may find me incredible. I read all the
papers, the 4000; please believe that, anyway._
_The latest paper was written in 1832, which is more than a world
away, and the earliest was a lottery ticket of 1814; not to be thought
of as wicked, for I judge from other papers that nearly everybody in
Scrabbletown took chances. Lottery tickets to the “Rhode Island State
Lottery” were sold over the counter. “A fool and his money are soon
parted” was a copybook saying of theirs, however, and although there
were quite a few legal papers in the barrel I found no trace of any
law attempting to protect fools. Indeed, even the practice of actually
jailing persons who had bought more than they could pay for, prevailed
through the whole barrel period, and I read some sad letters from some
very foolish men who owed money to the traders of Scrabbletown._
_The barrel letters were easily deciphered; though some of the spelling
was queer, it was always comprehensible. Going over the papers it
seemed to me that the whole population had somehow learned to read and
write pretty well; in the barrel there was only one paper signed with
a mark. And that was the mark of Prince Potter, a freed slave, father
of Quanny Potter who sold seven sheep in 1824. Possibly he had been
crippled by arthritis; perhaps when young he too could have written his
name. You will not find me jumping to conclusions._
_Except for that one lottery ticket, there was no paper of 1814 in
the barrel and there was nothing dated 1815 but an account book bound
in stiff marbled covers. It was backed by real leather; to last, you
know. No one at that time bought anything not likely to wear well. The
book came from the shop of John Brewer, a bookbinder and bookseller
of Providence. On the fly leaf is written in an excellent, really
distinguished hand_,
“_The property of Israel Brayton
March 21, 1815. Swanzey._”
_It was the discovery of this book that gave me my first clue to the
ownership of the barrel papers. There is no doubt that the barrel
and the papers were the property of an Israel Brayton who traded in
Scrabbletown in 1815-1832, and in 1832 shut up shop, crammed all of his
own papers and any others around the shop, into the barrel, nailed down
the barrel head, took the barrel over to the attic of the farm house in
Somerset where it has just been discovered, and thought no more about
it for the next hundred years._
_Who was this Israel Brayton? The barrel relates him to the entire
countryside. He knew everybody, apparently, was well known to
everybody. But he was a quiet man, I think, cautious, self-contained.
Notoriety, publicity, arrogance, even modest pride, were deadly sins in
his New England eyes. And so, what he told to no one, no one repeated,
and finally no one knew._
_His descendants of today had never heard of Scrabbletown before the
finding of the barrel, had never known that Grandfather Brayton had
ever been in trade._
_Least said, soonest mended, he thought; and it is true--but I
must tell you something of the Trader as well as the Trade of
Scrabbletown--just a little--I hope he will not mind--it was all a long
time ago._
_Trading in Scrabbletown_
CONCERNING ISRAEL BRAYTON, TRADER
Israel Brayton’s father was John Brayton, son of Israel Brayton,
grandson of Preserved Brayton; all of Somerset. Letters from John
Brayton to his son Israel were in the barrel. So we know.
Israel, you notice, was named for his grandfather. Other members of
his family were three older sisters; Mary, Sarah, and Nancy. Their
letters also were in the barrel--nice little letters to brother Israel.
And nice little bills, too, from brother Israel. He had an elder
brother who died young, at sea; and the barrel holds letters from
another brother--he wrote from Warren. We gather that at one time he
was Captain of a ship that did some trading along the coast--Captain
Stephen. Israel had, also, five younger brothers and sisters. They are
not in the barrel but he had them.
At the time of Israel’s birth, in 1792, this rapidly increasing family
was living in an old farmhouse, built in 1715, on the crest of its own
one hundred and seventy-five acre farm in Somerset on the West Shore of
the Taunton River near the river’s mouth. They had a fine view of Mount
Hope Bay from their southern windows. There was a well-filled family
graveyard in the back orchard, a little red schoolhouse up the road “on
William Read’s land,” built partly with Brayton money, a stone wharf
for Brayton boats down by the river.
When Israel was four years old, his father built a larger farmhouse,
nearer the river bank, and in this new house the little Braytons of
Israel’s generation grew up. Their elders were talking about the Late
War. They meant the War of the Revolution. Having suffered severely
from the effects of that victory on their business, they were trying to
make good. Some of their most prosperous and competent neighbors had
been loyal to the Crown. They were simply not there any more. And they
were missed. Others, it was suspected, had been loyal in secret, as has
been lately proved. It had done them no good. They were ruined with the
rest. And all about on the farms were the crippled and the pensioned
men.
Conditions were getting better, slowly; a few new houses had been
built, a few new ships had been launched. Nobody around here between
the Revolution and the War of 1812 seems to have been expecting such
utter disaster as another war. But even before the actual declaration
of war, in 1812, their world to their consternation went to pieces.
Again Somerset ships were taken by British ships. Somerset, Swansea,
Trojan, and Scrabbletown men--sailors before the mast--were pressed.
The ship yards of Somerset, Dighton, Berkeley, Assonet, Warren,
Bristol, Providence, Lee’s River, everywhere--closed down, and commerce
ceased to be. Israel’s people had lived on their farms but they had
lived by their shipyards and their shipping.
When the War of 1812 was officially declared on June 18th, Israel was
20 years old. His father was on the draft board of the town. Of course
Israel went off with the other Somerset men to fight the Britishers.
They went, I think, as far as New Bedford.
Israel incurred a disability, if the barrel is to be trusted. He was
discharged from the Army. There is a good deal in the barrel about
this disability. Israel in after days thought he should be excused
from military drill. When the local Militia would not excuse him, he
just stayed away. There is a note in the barrel acknowledging the
payment of his fine for so doing. In order to get out of drill, which
was time-consuming at least, for the Militia rarely met in Israel’s
village, Israel eventually had to have affadavits from two local
doctors as to his disability. His sister had married Dr. Winslow, Dr.
Lloyd Brayton was his cousin. The authorities were skeptical. Dr.
Winslow’s second letter did the trick. The first was not accepted.
“Samuel Read
Lieut, Commander. Sir:
Mr. Israel Brayton belonging to your Company has and is now
troubled with a lameness and weakness in his back and legs, which
may be termed of a rheumatic tendency, and in my opinion ought to
excuse him from military duty.
Yours in respect
John Winslow”
In August, 1813, as soon as he was free of the Army, Israel married.
His bride was a neighbor’s girl, Keziah Anthony, daughter of David
Anthony and his wife Submit Wheeler. The Anthony farm lay east of
Lee’s River, not an hour’s walk across the fields from the Brayton
Farm on the Taunton. Keziah was Israel’s third cousin, and kinship
was of much account. You knew what you were getting. The marriage was
most practical. Israel, just come of age, not physically strong, had
to start out on his own. He needed help. And both the Anthony and the
Wheeler connections, as was expected, proved useful. There are hundreds
of communications in the barrel from Hezekiah Anthony of Providence and
David Anthony of Troy, both brothers of Israel’s wife, both prosperous
merchants in their day. There is a helpful letter from Nathaniel
Wheeler, her uncle.
But nobody could be very useful in 1813. With all the shipping stopped
and the shipyards closed, there was no berth for Israel in any
countinghouse, no need for him as supercargo--a man with a lame back
isn’t much good on a farm.
Israel took his bride up state to Foxboro, where he taught in the
District School. In Foxboro or thereabouts--boundary lines were
changing fast--their first child was born, little Mary, who, herself,
at the age of eighteen was teaching school in Fall River. You know
perhaps that later in life she gave the B.M.C. Durfee High School to
the City of Fall River in memory of her son.
The family was always interested in education and Israel served on the
School Committee of Swansea for years and preserved in the barrel a
number of letters from various people who wanted jobs.
In 1815, after the President had ratified the Treaty of Ghent on
February 17th, and the War was surely over, Israel and Kezia and little
Mary left Foxboro for their own part of the world, where, in the small
village of Scrabbletown near Swansea, Israel began his career as a
Trader. And went to Providence and bought that first account book of
which I have told you.