During my youth, public entertainments were rare in Plymouth,
especially in the winter. During that season, with unlighted streets
and the houses lighted for the most part with oil lamps, the town,
more particularly in a storm of rain or snow was gloomy, indeed.
Families gathered around their wood fires and here and there groups
of men would sit on the counters and boxes in the stores until the
nine o’clock bell called them home. When any of the housewives
ventured to have a party, candles with their candlesticks and
snuffers were brought out and scattered about the parlors on mantels
and tables. Occasionally instead of a formal evening party a lap
tea was the entertainment, the guests arriving at half past six or
seven. Those lap teas were glorious times for us boys, for there
was something exciting in the preparation. An extra supply of cream
was to be bought, the sugar loaf was to be divested of its blue
cartridge paper covering, and chopped into squares, and sandwiches
and whips and custards were to be made, of which we were sure to get
preliminary tastes. And better than all we were permitted to carry
around waiters loaded with cups of tea and plates and cream and
sugar, and the various articles of food.
Music at these entertainments was uncommon. There were as long ago
as about 1828 or 1830 only four pianos in town, and these were owned
by Mrs. Pelham W. Warren, Mrs. Nathaniel Russell, Jr., Miss Eliza Ann
Bartlett and my sister Rebecca. My sister’s was given as part pay
for a Chickering piano; Miss Bartlett’s was sold to Joseph Holmes of
Kingston and is now owned by his granddaughter, Mrs. H. M. Jones of
that town; Mrs. Russell’s is still owned by her daughter, Mrs. Wm.
Hedge, and Mrs. Warren’s went I know not where. The Russell piano
is, as I remember the others were, of mahogany, ornamented with
brass and with a scale of five and a half octaves. It was made by
Alfred Babcock of Philadelphia, probably before 1825, for R. Mackey
of Boston, who was not a manufacturer, but probably an agent for the
maker. I say that it was probably made before 1825, because it is
stated in histories of piano making that Mr. Babcock invented in
that year the iron string board, which this one does not have.
At a party in a house where either of the above pianos was owned,
one of the guests, probably a visitor from Boston, favored the
guests, by request, with a song. I recall one occasion when a lady
was invited to sing who was unable to pronounce the letter “s.” She
unhesitatingly consented, and taking her seat at the piano sang the
song beginning with the words, “Oh ting tweet bird, oh ting.” Though
more than sixty years have elapsed I am often reminded when I hear a
lady sing at the piano of the polite invitation of that lady to the
tweet bird to ting.
Aside from the parties the entertainments were chiefly lectures by
Rev. Chas. W. Upham on “Witchcraft;” by Rev. Chas. T. Brooks on,
“Education in Germany,” by Mr. Emerson on “Socrates;” or lectures
by other prominent men; exhibitions of ledgerdemain by Potter or
Harrington, or of a mummy which walked “in Thebes’ streets three
thousand years ago”; or if nothing better offered an evening book
auction. Occasionally a debating society would be formed of which
Timothy Berry was always the organizer and patron, a man always ready
to encourage the oratorical efforts of young men. I was permitted
as a boy to attend the meetings of the society, and I remember the
debaters well. As young as I was I could not help being amused at
the seriousness with which the grandest subjects were attacked as if
then and there their settlement depended on the merits of the debate.
There was one gentleman who every evening, when the nine o’clock bell
rang, rose impressively and said, “Mister President, many subjects
not been teched on to-night, move we journ.” The club accordingly
adjourned, and the impressive gentleman left the hall, evidently
feeling that he had been an active participant in the debate.
There was another society in my boyhood called the Plymouth Madan
Society, but from whom it derived its name I never knew. It was
a musical society, and occasionally gave concerts. The nearest
approximation to the name I ever knew until recently, was the
Scripture name of Medan, the son of Abraham. But that was evidently
a misfit. I next found among the proper names in the Century
dictionary, that of Martin Madan, an English Methodist divine who
published in 1780 a book called Telyphthora, advocating polygamy.
But as the Plymouth Madan Society gave concerts in the Universalist
church, it is not probable that it was named in honor of a
polygamist. Having since met with the name of Madan in the newspapers
of a family in Marshfield, I wrote to Lot J. Madan, living at Green
Harbor, asking him if any of his family in past generations, either
his father or grandfather, had been musical. Mistaking my word
musical for married, he replied that if his father and grandfather
had not been married he would not have been around in these days. In
a subsequent letter he said he played on the violin, and was as far
as he knew the only musician in the family. For whom then the society
was named is a question still unsolved.
Among other societies within my day was one to aid in arresting horse
thieves, and that was one of many formed in various towns. The only
surviving one within my knowledge is in Dedham, which annually meets
and elects its officers. I have already alluded in another chapter to
a temperance society which was formed in 1832, by whose efforts more
was done to promote temperance than by all other agencies combined
from that time to this. The sale of intoxicating liquors was almost
completely stopped, the family use of wines was abandoned, and under
the influence of Daniel Frost, whose addresses were largely attended,
more than a thousand names were secured to pledges to abstain from
the use of ardent spirits.
An Anti-slavery society I have also referred to which was formed in
the Robinson church on the evening of the Fourth of July, 1835, and
occupied for some years rooms in the second story of the northerly
end of the building which up to 1883 stood on the site of the Sherman
block on the west side of Main street. The seed of anti-slavery fell
in Plymouth on sandy soil, but watered by heavenly dew, it soon
took root and broke through the conservative crust which under the
influence of the commercial and financial interests of the town, for
a time obstructed its growth.
There was a peace society formed in 1831, but as we were then at
peace with the world, there does not appear to have been at that
time any special call for the organization. It seems to have been
a fashion of the times to form peace societies, but their influence
was not sufficiently enduring to check the movements which resulted
in the Mexican war not many years later. But it seems to be the
way of our people to advocate peace in a time of peace, and when
war threatens, to advocate war. The President of a Massachusetts
Sunday-school Association preached in peaceful years as a minister
of the gospel peace on earth and good will among men, but in 1898 I
saw him marching with the first battery in all the panoply of war to
join the murderers of his fellow men. Another prominent minister of
the gospel who, when no war clouds darkened the horizon, permitted
himself without protest to be called the apostle of peace, was as
dumb as an oyster when the opportunity came to utter trumpet-tongued
his protests against the war.
Bu it was not always so with the people of Plymouth. Ever after the
close of the revolution they were advocates of peace, and when the
war with Great Britain broke out in 1812 they uttered in no uncertain
language their determined protest. A memorial to the President
denouncing the war was passed unanimously in town meeting, the
closing words of which were as follows: “Thus sir, with much brevity,
but with a frankness which the magnitude of the occasion demands,
they have expressed their honest sentiments upon the existing
offensive war against Great Britain, a war by which their dearest
interests as men and Christians are deeply affected, and in which
they deliberately declare, as they cannot conscientiously, so they
will not have any voluntary participation. They make this declaration
with that paramount regard to their civil and religious obligations
which becomes the disciples of the prince of peace whose kingdom is
not of this world, and before whose impartial tribunal presidents
and kings will be upon a level with the meanest of their fellowmen,
and will be responsible for all the blood they shed in wanton and
unnecessary war.”
My only comment on the above memorial is that milder language was
flippantly denounced as treasonable by some of the advocates of the
recent war with Spain.
The various societies which I have thus far mentioned were temporary
in their character, and had short careers. There were, however,
two others formed in the first quarter of the last century, one
charitable and the other historical, which have continued to this
day, and having been incorporated, will continue for an indefinite
period. One of these, the Pilgrim Society, will be noticed in a later
chapter in connection with the celebrations of the anniversary of the
landing of the Pilgrims. The other, the Plymouth Fragment Society,
having its origin and inspiration in the heart of a benevolent
lady a native of a foreign land, with whom the ladies of Plymouth
enthusiastically co-operated, has year after year for nearly ninety
years, by the kindly hands of each succeeding generation, dispensed
among the suffering poor a charity which, dropping like the gentle
rain from heaven, is twice blessed, for it blesseth him that gives,
and him that takes. It was founded by Madame Marie de Verdier Turner
on the 13th of February, 1818, for the declared purpose of “relieving
the wants of the destitute poor.” To meet legal requirements imposed
by bequests to the Society, it was incorporated March 14, 1877, with
a capital not estimated nor divided into shares.
The officers of the Society since its organization have been as
follows: Presidents, Mary Warren, Martha Russell, Joanna Davis,
Betsey F. Russell, Margaret Warren, Sarah M. Holmes, Laura
Russell, Martha Ann Morton, Caroline B. Warren, Esther Bartlett.
Vice-presidents: Esther Parsons Hammatt, Betsey Torrey, Elizabeth
Freeman, Lucretia B. Watson, Rebecca D. Parker, Mrs. Thomas,
Sally Stephens, Mercy B. Lovell, Ellen M. Hubbard, Helen Russell.
Secretaries: Betsey H. Hodge, Rebecca Bartlett, Elizabeth L. Loud,
Abby M. Hall, Helen Russell, Jennie S. Hubbard. Treasurers: Francis
L. Jackson, Phebe Cotton, Mary Ann Stevenson, Eunice D. Robbins,
Caroline E. Gilbert, Lydia G. Locke, Elizabeth W. Whitman. The amount
expended in charity during the year ending October 1, 1905, has been
$883.93 for food, fuel and clothing, and $360 in payments of $2 a
month to eleven regular, and four special pensioners.
So little is known by the present generation of Madame Turner, the
founder of the Society, and of her romantic life that I present to
my readers a short sketch of her career for the facts in which I am
chiefly indebted to a paper read by Lois B. Brewster as a graduating
exercise in 1899, at the Plymouth High school, the language of which
I have in a measure adopted:
Mrs. Turner was a native of Sweden, born in Malmo in 1789. Her father
was a retired officer in the Hussars, an accomplished gentleman, and
her mother was connected with noble families from whom she inherited
the prejudices of the aristocracy. She received an education which
beside the ordinary branches taught in the schools, included music,
embroidery and painting. Her father died when she was fifteen
years of age, leaving her mother with only a little more than a
government pension for her support. After removing with her family to
Copenhagen, Madame de Verdier soon after died, never having recovered
from the shock caused by the death of her husband. Marie became an
inmate of the home of a rich merchant, who provided her with every
luxury, and in whose house she often met guests of the merchant from
foreign lands. Among these guests at dinner one day were Captain
Robinson, an Englishman, and Captain Lothrop Turner of Plymouth, ship
masters, whose ships were consigned to their host. It is needless to
say that the handsome Captain Turner and the pretty Swedish maid fell
deeply in love with each other before his ship was ready to leave,
but as she could speak no English, and Swedish was to him an unknown
tongue, their language of love was carried on by the tell tale eye
and blushing cheek, except when Robinson lent his services as an
interpreter. Marie, against the advice of her friends, yielded to the
influence of her own head, and accepting his hand in marriage, the
husband and wife after a marriage solemnized in April, 1812, sailed
for her new home in New England. It was during the war of 1812, and
in entering Massachusetts Bay, Capt. Turner barely escaped capture
by an English frigate patrolling the coast, but finally reached
Plymouth. The story of the romantic marriage had reached Plymouth
before them, and on the day of their arrival the young friends of the
captain were gathered to give a cordial welcome to his Swedish bride.
Long before the arrival of the stage bearing them was due, numbers of
women and children anxious to see the bride gathered on Cole’s Hill,
and from that vantage ground saw the blue-eyed, golden haired little
woman as she dismounted and entered the house of Capt. Turner’s
father, which stood near the foot, and on the South side of Leyden
street. It was a trying season for her among new friends whom she
had never seen, imperfect in the use of the English tongue, and amid
scenes to which she must become accustomed, as those of home. Not
long after her arrival a daughter Maria was born, who died in infancy.
It now became her task to learn the language which she must make her
own, but she was an apt scholar, and bravely and speedily fought her
way through its intricate words and phrases. As she became acquainted
with Plymouth people she was surprised that the pupils in school were
not taught to paint and embroider, and as two sisters of her husband
were teaching a private school she engaged in the instruction of
their pupils in those accomplishments. She also formed classes of
girls, and taught them music, besides painting and needlework. In
her visits among the sick she came to realize the needy condition
of many families suffering from the effects of the embargo, which
were added to the sad conditions of the revolution from which they
had not yet recovered. Throughout the early years of her life in
Plymouth, she worked with zeal in enlisting the aid and sympathy of
those in comfortable circumstances in charitable work, and while
engaged personally in visits among the poor she conceived the idea of
associated work in aid of the sick and destitute.
Her husband died in Havana, April 28, 1824, and she was left with
little means of support, except that derived from her own labors.
Friends in Boston offered her aid which she refused, believing
it inconsistent with the character of a true American to accept
assistance while able to support herself.
She opened a school in the house of a friend on Fort Hill in Boston,
but after a short time felt a longing to return to her native land,
and sailed for Sweden in a vessel owned by Capt. John Russell.
She found, however, her country not as she had left it, rich and
moral, but a decaying monarchy, its people intemperate, and without
the political freedom enjoyed in America. She lived for a time in
Stockholm as a friend of Countess Ferson, and there received an
advantageous offer of marriage, which she declined, saying, “I have
been the wife of a free citizen, I will not lower myself by marrying
a subject.” One day while riding with the Countess, she saw a ship
flying an American flag, and exclaiming—“See the stars—see the
stars,” told the Countess that she must return in that ship to her
adopted country. And this she did, declaring that she preferred a
home of poverty in a free country to an abode of luxury under a
monarchy.
Arriving in Boston in delicate health, with symptoms of pulmonary
disease, after a season of suffering, she removed to New York,
hearing of a place there where she could teach. Her disease, however,
increasing, she went south, where she spent two years with friends,
engaged in finishing a translation of “Waldermar, the Victorious,”
from the Danish of Ingerman, which she had begun while on her last
voyage.
She had previously published with great success a work on “Drawing
and Shadowing Flowers,” with lithographic plates, executed by
herself, and “The Young Ladies’ Assistant in Drawing and Painting,”
and several stories for magazines. She returned to Boston in
1837, with the hope of continuing literary work, but her disease
increasing, she was obliged to abandon the publication of her book,
and told her friends that if it should be published after her death,
she hoped that a sketch of her life might be prefixed, for she
“believed that it would make the women of America more sensible of
the inestimable value of their free institutions; more thankful for
their religious privileges, and more American, when they read her
story. I would do something for the country where I have found a
Saviour for my soul, where I have had a home, and where I shall have
a grave.” She died at the Massachusetts General Hospital, March 15,
1838, and her body was removed to Plymouth and buried in Oak Grove
cemetery. Her life and work should be remembered by something more
enduring than an occasional allusion, and I suggest that a stone be
erected over her grave with something like the following inscription:
This stone is erected by the Plymouth
Fragment Society in memory of its
founder, Marie de Verdier Turner, a native
of Sweden, who was born in Malmo,
in 1789, and died in Boston, March 15,
1838.
And Christ said: “Inasmuch as ye
have done it unto one of the least of
these, ye have done it unto me.”