and smoke, untill they discovered the waste of our ship naked, where they
bravely boorded us, loofe for loofe, hasting with pikes and swords to
enter; but it pleased God so to direct our Captaine and encourage our men
with valour, that our pikes being formerly placed under our halfe deck,
and certaine shot lying close for that purpose under the port holes,
encountered them so rudely, that their fury was not onely rebated, but
their hastinesse intercepted, and their whole company beaten backe; many
of our men were hurt, but I am sure they had two for one." Thus, all day
and all night, the unequal battle continued, till at length the doughty
little British vessel fairly fought off her two enemies, and they fell
sullenly back and ran near shore to mend their leaks, while the _Margaret
and John_ stood on her course.
It is hard, in these days, when the high seas are as safe as city streets,
to realize the condition of terror to which merchantmen were reduced, two
hundred years ago, by the rumor of a black flag seen in the offing, or of
some "pyrat" lying in wait outside the harbor. In Governor Spotswood's
time, Williamsburg was thrown into a state of great excitement by the
report that the dreaded buccaneer John Theach, known by the name of
Blackbeard, had been seen cruising along the coasts of Virginia and
Carolina. The Governor rose to the occasion, however. He sent out
Lieutenant Maynard with two ships, to look for Blackbeard. Maynard found
him and boarded his vessel in Pamlico Sound. The pirate was no coward. He
ordered one of his men to stand beside the powder-magazine with a lighted
match, ready, at a signal from him, to blow up friends and foes together.
The signal never came, for a lucky shot killed Blackbeard on the spot and
his crew surrendered. They might as well have died with their leader, for
thirteen of them were hanged at Williamsburg. Blackbeard's skull was
rimmed with silver and made into a ghastly drinking-cup, and we hear no
more of pirates in those waters.
The protection of vessels was not the only reason for policing the
waterways. Smuggling was much more common than piracy, and the laws
against it were the harder to enforce, because the entire community was
secretly in sympathy with the offenders. In the earliest Maryland records
is Lord Baltimore's commission, giving his lieutenant authority to
"appoint fit places for public ports for lading, shipping, unlading and
discharging all goods and merchandizes to be imported or exported into or
out of our said province, and to prohibit the shipping or discharging of
any goods or merchandizes whatsoever in all other places." Any one
violating the shipping law was subject to heavy fines and imprisonment.
In Virginia the statutes compelled ships to stop at Jamestown, or other
designated ports, before breaking bulk at the private landings along the
river. Who can picture the excitement in those lonely plantations when the
frigate tied up at the wharf, and began to unload from its hold, its cargo
of tools for the farm, furniture for the house, and, best of all, the
square white letters with big round seals, containing news of the friends
distant a three months' journey! Sometimes the new comer would prove no
ocean voyager, but a nearer neighbor, some stout, round-sterned packet,
from New Netherland or New England, laden with grain and rum, or hides and
rum, to be exchanged for the tobacco of the Old Dominion.
To journey from one colony to another thus, the trader must first secure a
license and take oath that he would not sell or give arms or ammunition
to the Indians. On these terms Lord Baltimore, in 1637, granted to a
merchant mariner, liberty "to trade and commerce for corn, beaver or any
other commodities with the Dutchmen on Hudson's river, or with any Indians
or other people whatsoever being or inhabiting to the northward, without
the capes commonly called Cape Henry and Cape Charles."
Long after the waters of Chesapeake Bay were dotted with sails, and the
creeks of Maryland and Virginia gay with skiffs, the land communication
was still in an exceedingly primitive condition. The roads were little
more than bridle-paths. The surveyors deemed their duty done if the logs
and fallen trees were cleared away, and all Virginia could not boast of a
single engineer. Bridges there were none; and the traveller, arriving at a
river bank, must find a ford, or swim his horse across, counting himself
fortunate if he kept his pouch of tobacco dry. Planters at a distance from
the rivers hewed out rolling-roads, on which they brought down their
tobacco in casks, attached to the horses that drew them by hoop-pole
shafts. Roads, winding along the streams, were slowly laid out, and
answered well enough in fair weather, but in storms they were impassable,
and at night so bewildering that belated travellers were forced to come to
a halt, make a fire, and bivouac till morning. In 1704, the roads in
Maryland were so poor that we find the Assembly passing an act declaring
that "the roads leading to any county court-house shall have two notches
on the trees on both sides of the roads, and another notch a distance
above the other two; and any road that leads to any church shall be
marked, into the entrance of the same, and at the leaving any other road,
with a slip cut down the face of the tree near the ground." Guide-posts
were still unknown.
The travel was as primitive as the roads. Public coaches did not exist.
Horseback riding was the usual way of getting over the ground, though the
rough roads made the jolting a torment. "Travelling in this country,"
wrote a stranger, as late as the Revolution, "is extremely dangerous,
especially if it is the least windy, from the number of rotten pines
continually blowing down." It was no uncommon thing for a driver to be
obliged to turn into the woods half a dozen times in a single mile to
avoid the fallen logs. A certain Madame de Reidefel, who was driving in a
post-chaise with her children, had a narrow escape from death. A rotten
tree fell directly across her path, but fortunately struck between the
chaise and the horses, so that the occupants of the carriage escaped,
though the front wheels were crushed, and one of the horses lamed.
[Illustration: Ye "Blaze."]
Between pirates on sea and pine-trees on land, so many perils beset the
traveller that starting on a journey became a momentous undertaking. "It
was no uncommon thing," writes the historian, "for one who went on
business or pleasure from Charleston to Boston or New York, if he were a
prudent and cautious man, to consult the almanac before setting out, to
make his will, to give a dinner or a supper to his friends at the tavern,
and there to bid them a formal goodbye."
A journey being so great an affair, the traveller was of course a marked
man, and his arrival at an ordinary was the signal for the gathering of
all who could crowd in to hear of his adventures, and also to hear the
public and private news of which he might be the bearer. "I have heard Dr.
Franklin relate with great pleasantry," said one of his friends, "that in
travelling when he was young, the first step he took for his tranquillity
and to obtain immediate attention at the inns, was to anticipate inquiry,
by saying: 'My name is Benjamin Franklin. I was born at Boston, am a
printer by profession, am travelling to Philadelphia, shall have to return
at such a time, and have no news. Now what can you give me for dinner?'"
This curiosity was rather peculiar to New England. The Southerner, while
perhaps as anxious to hear the news, was more restrained in asking
questions. That good breeding and tact which were a Cavalier inheritance,
taught him to wait decorously for his news as for his food. A foreigner in
the last century, in travelling through the South, came upon a party of
Virginians smoking and drinking together on a veranda. He reports that on
his ascending the steps to the piazza, every countenance seemed to say,
'This man has a double claim to our attention, for he is a stranger in the
place!' In a moment, there was room made for him to sit down; a new bowl
was called for, and every one who addressed him did it with a smile of
conciliation; but no man asked him whence he had come or whither he was
going.
All foreigners bear the same testimony to this universal courtesy, which
smoothed rough roads and made travelling enjoyable, in spite of its
difficulties and dangers. When I realize what those difficulties were, I
am surprised at the willingness with which journeys were undertaken. I
read of Washington setting out on a mission to Major-General Shirley in
Boston, and riding the whole distance of five hundred miles on horseback
in the depth of winter, escorted only by a few servants; yet little is
made of his experiences. Women, too, were quite accustomed to riding on
long expeditions. An octogenarian described to Irving the horseback
journeys of his mother in her scarlet cloth riding-habit. "Young ladies
from the country," he said, "used to come to the balls at Annapolis,
riding, with their hoops arranged _fore and aft_ like lateen sails; and
after dancing all night, would ride home again in the morning."
Annapolis, before the Revolution, was a centre of gayety. Its rich
families came up to town for the season each Fall, and in the Spring moved
back to their country-houses with their various belongings. The family
coach which was used to transport these possessions was a curious affair
to modern eyes. It was colored generally a light yellow, with smart
facings. The body was of mahogany, with Venetian windows on each side,
projecting lamps, and a high seat upon which coachman and footman climbed
at starting.
As this old coach lumbered up and down the streets of Annapolis, its
occupants no doubt fancied that they had reached the final limit of speed
and comfort in travel, and they looked back with scorn and pity on the
primitive conveyances of their ancestors, just as posterity will doubtless
look back from their balloons and electric motors on our steam engines. In
one of Jefferson's early letters we chance upon a curious prophecy. Being
about to make a visit, he asks to be met by his friend's "periagua," as a
canoe was called, and suggests that some day a boat may be made, which
shall row itself.
After all, I question whether there was not more pleasure in travel in
those days, before boats rowed themselves, and when horses were made of
flesh and blood instead of iron and steam; when the rider ambled along,
noting each tree and shrub, pausing to exchange greetings with every
wayfarer, and stopping by night beneath some hospitable roof to make merry
over the cup of sack or the glass of "quince drink" prepared for his
refreshment. If the traveller was of a surly and unsocial nature, he was
indeed to be pitied; since, for him who would not accept his neighbor's
hospitality, there remained only the roadside tavern or "ordinary," and
woe to him who was compelled to test its welcome! The universal practice
of keeping open-house made the inns poorer in quality, and the contempt of
the community for one who would receive money for the entertainment of
guests, kept men of repute out of the business.
A Maryland statute, in 1674, resolves "that noe Person in that Province
shall have a Licence to keep Ordinary for the future but th{t} he shall
give Bond to his Excellency with good Sureties that he shall keep foure
good ffeather beds for the Entertainment of Customers." In any place
where the county court is held, he is directed to keep "eight ffeather or
fflock beds at the least, and ffurniture suitable." The charges of the
ordinary-keeper are fixed by law. He is allowed to charge ten pounds of
tobacco per meal "for dyet," ten pounds "for small beare," and four "for
lodging _in a bed with sheets_."
While the traveller was loitering on the road, enjoying hospitality or
enduring ordinaries, those he left at home were in ignorance of his
whereabouts; and it was only after days or weeks of anxious waiting, that
they could hope to hear of his safe arrival at his destination. Meanwhile
rumor, which always thrives in proportion to ignorance, might make their
lives miserable by reports of a riderless horse seen galloping into some
village, of storms and gales, or of trees crashing across the lonely
roads. In the absence of the post and the telegraph, this spreading of
false news became so troublesome that an act was passed in Maryland
declaring that, "Whereas many Idle and Bussie-headed people doe forge and
divulge falce Rumors and Reports," it is enacted that they be either fined
or "receive such corporall punishment, not extending to life or member, as
to the Iustices of that court shall seeme meete."
It was long before the idea of a postal service under government control
dawned upon the Colonies. Throughout almost the whole of the seventeenth
century letters were sent by the hand of the chance traveller. Maryland
directed that in the case of public state-papers the sheriff of one county
should carry them to the sheriff of the next, and so on to their goal; but
private letters had no such official care.
An old Virginia statute commanded that "all letters superscribed _for the
publique service_, should be immediately conveyed from plantation to
plantation to the place and person directed, under the penalty of one
hogshead of tobacco for each default."
Another law, bearing date 1661, orders that "when there is any person in
the family where the letters come, as can write, such person is required
to endorse the day and houre he received them, that the neglect or
contempt of any person stopping them may be the better knowne and punished
accordingly."
A letter in those days merited the attention it received, for it
represented a vast deal of labor and expense. Paper was a costly luxury,
as we may infer from those old yellow pages crossed and re-crossed with
writing, and the tiny cramped hand in which the old sermons are written.
In 1680, I find Colonel William Fitzhugh ordering from London "two large
Paper-Books, one to contain about fourteen or fifteen quires of paper, the
other about ten quires, and one other small one."
The paper was left blank on one side, and so folded that it formed its own
envelope. It was fastened with a seal whose taste and elegance was a
matter of pride with the writer. The style was formal, as became the
dignity of a person who knew how to write. In those times people did not
write letters; they indited epistles. A communication sent across the
ocean, in 1614, is addressed "To y{e} Truly Honorable & Right Worthy
Knight, S{r} Thomas Smith," and is signed: "At Y{r} Command To Be Disposed
of."
Love-letters shared the formality of the time, and were written with a
stateliness and elaboration of compliment which suggest a minuet on paper.
Family letters are often in the form of a journal, and cover a period of
months. They cost both labor and money but they were worth their price.
Cheap postage has made cheap writing. We no longer compose; we only
scribble.
In 1693, Thomas Neale was appointed by royal patent, "postmaster-general
of Virginia and _all other parts of North America_." The House of
Burgesses passed an Act declaring that if post-offices were established in
every county, Neale should receive threepence for every letter not
exceeding one sheet, or to or from any place not exceeding four score
English miles distance.
In 1706, letters were forwarded eight times a year from Philadelphia to
the Potomac, and afterward as far as Williamsburg, with the proviso that
the post-rider should not start for Philadelphia till he had received
enough letters to pay the expenses of the trip.
[Illustration]
The average day's journey for a postman covered a distance of some forty
miles in Summer, and over good roads; but, when the heavy Autumn rains
washed out great gullies in his path or the Winter storms beat him back,
he was lucky if he accomplished half that distance. His letters were
subject to so many accidents, that it is a wonder they ever reached the
persons to whom they were addressed. It was not till the post-office
passed into Franklin's energetic and methodical hands that it was made
regular and trustworthy.
The estimate of the common post in early days is curiously illustrated by
an episode which occurred in Virginia. The hero was one Mr. Daniel Park,
"who," says the chronicle, "to all the other accomplishments that make a
complete sparkish gentleman, has added one upon which he infinitely values
himself; that is, a quick resentment of every, the least thing, that looks
like an affront or injury."
One September morning, when the Governor of Maryland was breakfasting with
Mr. Commissary Blair at Middle Plantation, Colonel Park marched in upon
them, having a sword about him, much longer than what he commonly
travelled with, and which he had caused to be ground sharp in the point
that morning. Addressing himself to the Governor of Maryland, he burst
out: "Captain Nicholson, did you receive a letter that I sent you from New
York?"
"Yes," answered Nicholson, "I received it."
"And was it done like a gentleman," fumed the fiery colonel, "to send that
letter by the hand of a common post, to be read by everybody in Virginia?
I look upon it as an affront, and expect satisfaction!"
Fancy the number of affairs of honor that this "complete young sparkish
gentleman" would have on hand if he lived in the present year of grace and
resented every letter sent him by _the common post_!
There is something which strikes us as infinitely diverting in his
suggestion that everybody in Virginia would be interested in his letter.
But perhaps he was nearer the truth than we realize, for in his day all
news came through such sources, and a letter was regarded as a good thing,
which it would be gross selfishness not to share with one's neighbors. As
for a letter from Europe it was an affair of the greatest magnitude,
exciting the interest of the whole community.
Those giant folios which entertain us every morning with their gossip from
all quarters of the globe had no existence then. Early in the last
century, the Colonial Cavalier gleaned all his knowledge of the world and
its affairs, from some three-month-old copy of the London papers and
magazines, brought over by a British packet. Even this communication, it
seems, was uncertain, for complaint is made that the masters of vessels
keep the packages till an accidental conveyance offers, and for want of
better opportunities frequently commit them to boatmen, who care very
little for their goods, so they get their freight.
The colonists had struggled to establish a local journal, and a printing
press had been started in Virginia in the seventeenth century, but it had
been strangled in its infancy by Berkeley, who declared it the parent of
treason and infidelity; and so it came about that the Southern Provinces
had no public utterance for their news or their views, till the silence
was broken by the voice of Maryland, speaking through her _Gazette_, in
1727, when in all America there were only six rival sheets. Franklin says
that his brother's friends tried to dissuade him from publishing _The New
England Courant_, on the ground that there was already one newspaper in
America. His memory lapsed a little, as _The Courant_ had in fact three
predecessors, but the incident shows how little notion there was at that
time, of the public demand for news.
In 1736, was first issued _The Virginia Gazette_, a dingy little sheet
about twelve by six inches in size, and costing to subscribers, fifteen
shillings a year. The newspaper of the day had no editorial page. Its
comments on public affairs were in the form of letters, after the fashion
of _The Tatler_ and _The Spectator_. It had a poet's corner, where many a
young versemaker tried the wings of his Pegasus, and it printed also
poetical tributes under the notices of deaths and marriages. In this
section, after the record of the wedding of Mr. William Derricoat and Miss
Suckie Tomkies, appear these lines:
"Hers the mild lustre of the blooming morn
And his the radiance of the rising day--
Long may they live and mutually possess
A steady love and genuine happiness!"
When Edmund Randolph married Betsey Nicholas, the poet found himself
unable to express his emotions in less than two stanzas:
"Exalted theme, too high for common lays!
Could my weak muse with beauty be inspired,
In numbers smooth I'd chant my Betsy's praise,
And tell how much her Randolph is admired.
"To light the hymeneal torch, since they're resolved,
Kind Heaven, I trust, will make them truly blest;
And when the Gordian knot shall be dissolved,
Translate them to eternal peace and rest."
It is safe to say that this figure, comparing matrimony with a Gordian
knot, was original with the poet. Had the bridegroom been as fiery and
"sparkish" as Colonel Park, he might have called out the writer, but he
seems to have taken it in good part.
The prospectus of the Maryland _Gazette_ for 1745 announces that its price
will be twelve shillings a year, or fourteen shillings sealed and
delivered. It promises the freshest advices, foreign and domestic, but
adds, with much simplicity and candor: "In a dearth of news, which in this
remote part of the world may sometimes reasonably be expected, we shall
study to supply the deficit by presenting our readers with the best
material we can possibly collect, having always due regard to the
promotion of virtue and learning, the suppression of vice and immorality,
and the instruction as well as entertainment of our readers." What more
could the most exacting subscriber demand?
Advertisements, then, as now, served the double purpose of filling space,
and supporting the paper. They were charged for, at the rate of five
shillings for the first week, and one shilling for each week following,
provided they were of moderate length--a vague provision, one would say.
These old advertisements are of great value to the student of the life of
the past. They give a better picture of the condition of society, than a
ream of "notes." Here we read of the shipping of a crew on a packet bound
for England. Half-way down the column a lost hog is advertised, and here,
Edward Morris, breeches-maker, announces a sale of buckskin breeches, and
gloves with high tops, and assures his customers that "they may depend on
kind usage at reasonable rates." Surely the resources of modern
advertising have never devised anything more alluring than this promise of
"kind usage at reasonable rates."
Since the art of reading was unknown to a considerable proportion of the
community, it was natural that pictorial devices should be largely used.
Not only were the shops along the highways distinguished by such signs as
"the Blue Glove," and "the Golden Keys," with appropriate illustrations;
but in the advertising columns of the papers, the print was re-enforced by
pictures of ships and horses, and runaway slaves.
The purchase and sale of negroes formed a standing advertisement, beneath
the caption of an auction-block.
In the Virginia _Gazette_ of August, 1767, we find the following under the
curious headline:
"SALE OF A MUSICAL SLAVE."
"A valuable young handsome Negro fellow, about 18 or 20 years of age; has
every qualification of a genteel and sensible servant, and has been in
many different parts of the world. He shaves, dresses hair, and plays on
the French horn. He lately came from London, and has with him two suits of
new clothes, which the purchaser may have with him. Inquire at the
printing office."
It is hard to understand why the owner should wish to part with a prodigy
possessed of so many accomplishments. Perhaps his playing on the French
horn is the explanation.
Runaway servants, both black and white, form the subject of many
advertisements in those old newspapers. In the Maryland _Gazette_ (1769)
appears a description in rhyme of the disappearance of an indented
servant:
"Last Wednesday morn at break of day,
From Philadelphia ran away
An Irishman, named John McKeogn.
To fraud and imposition prone,
About five feet five inches high;
Can curse and swear, as well as lie.
How old he is I can't engage,
But forty-five is near his age.
"He oft in conversation chatters
Of Scripture and religious matters,
And fain would to the world impart
That virtue lodges in his heart.
But, take the rogue from stem to stern,
The hypocrite you'll soon discern