THE TAVERN LANDLORD
The landlord of colonial days may not have been the greatest man in town,
but he was certainly the best-known, often the most popular, and ever the
most picturesque and cheerful figure. Travellers did not fail to note him
and his virtues in their accounts of their sojourns. In 1686 a gossiping
London bookseller and author, named John Dunton, made a cheerful visit to
Boston. He did not omit to pay tribute in his story of colonial life to
colonial landlords. He thus pictures George Monk, the landlord of the Blue
Anchor of Boston:--
"A person so remarkable that, had I not been acquainted with him, it
would be a hard matter to make any New England man believe I had been
in Boston; for there was no one house in all the town more noted, or
where a man might meet with better accommodation. Besides, he was a
brisk and jolly man, whose conversation was coveted by all his guests
as the life and spirit of the company."
This picture of an old-time publican seems more suited to English
atmosphere than to the stern air of New England Puritanism.
[Illustration: Sign-board of Washington Hotel.]
Grave and respectable citizens were chosen to keep the early ordinaries
and sell liquor. The first "house of intertainment" at Cambridge,
Massachusetts, was kept by a deacon of the church, afterward Steward of
Harvard College. The first license in that town to sell wine and strong
water was to Nicholas Danforth, a selectman, and Representative to the
General Court. In the Plymouth Colony Mr. William Collier and Mr. Constant
Southworth, one of the honored Deputies, sold wine to their neighbors.
These sober and discreet citizens were men of ample means, who took the
duty of wine-selling to aid the colony rather than their own incomes.
The first ordinary in the town of Duxbury was kept by one Francis Sprague,
said by a local chronicler to be of "ardent temperament." His license was
granted October 1, 1638, "to keep a victualling on Duxburrow side." His
ardent temperament shaped him into a somewhat gay reveller, and his
license was withdrawn. It was regranted and again recalled in 1666. His
son succeeded him, another jovial fellow. Duxbury folk were circumspect
and sober, and desired innkeepers of cooler blood. Mr. Seabury, one of the
tavern inspectors, was granted in 1678 "to sell liquors unto such
sober-minded neighbours as hee shall thinke meet; soe as hee sell not
lesse than the quantie of a gallon att a tyme to one pson, and not in
smaller quantities by retaile to the occationing of drunkeness."
The license to sell liquor and keep a tavern explained clearly the
limitations placed on a tavern-keeper. The one given the Andover landlord
in 1692 ran thus:--
"The Condition of this Obligation is sent. That Whereas the above said
William Chandler is admitted and allowed by their Majesties' Justices
at a General Sessions of the Peace to keep a common Home of
Entertainment and to use common selling of Ale, Beer, Syder, etc.,
till the General Session of Peace next, in the now-Dwelling house of
said Chandler in Andover, commonly known by the sign of the Horse Shoe
and no other, if therefore the said William Chandler, during the time
of keeping a Publick House shall not permit, suffer, or have any
playing at Dice, Cards, Tables, Quoits, Loggets, Bowls, Ninepins,
Billiards, or any other unlawful Game or Games in his House, yard,
Garden, or Backside, nor shall suffer to be or remain in his House any
person or persons not being of his own family upon Saturday nights
after it is Dark, nor any time on the Sabbath Day or Evening after the
Sabbath, nor shall suffer any person to lodge or stay in his House
above one Day or Night, but such whose Name and Surname he shall
deliver to some one of the Selectmen or Constables or some one of the
Officers of the Town, unless they be such as he very well knoweth, and
will answer for his or their forthcoming: nor shall sell any Wine or
Liquors to any Indians or Negroes nor suffer any apprentices or
servants or any other persons to remain in his house tippling or
drinking after nine of the Clock in the night time; nor buy or take to
Pawn any stolen goods, nor willingly Harbor in his said House, Barn,
Stable, or Otherwhere any Rogues, Vagabonds, Thieves, nor other
notorious offenders whatsoever, nor shall suffer any person or persons
to sell or utter any ale, beer, syder, etc., by Deputation or by
colour of this License, and also keep the true assize and measure in
his Pots, Bread and otherwise in uttering of ale, beer, syder, rum,
wine, &c., and the same sell by sealed measure. And in his said house
shall and do use and maintain good order and Rule: Then this present
Obligation to be either void, or else to stand in full Force, Power,
and Virtue."
[Illustration: Sign-board of Hays' Tavern.]
Dr. Dwight in his Travels said that Englishmen often laughed at the fact
that inns in New England were kept by men of consequence. He says:--
"Our ancestors considered the inn a place where corruption might
naturally arise and easily spread; also as a place where travellers
must trust themselves, their horses, baggage, and money, and where
women must not be subjected to disagreeable experiences. To provide
for safety and comfort and against danger and mischief they took
particular pains in their laws to prevent inns from being kept by
unprincipled or worthless men. Every innkeeper in Connecticut must be
recommended by the selectmen and civil authorities, constables and
grand jurors of the town in which he resides, and then licensed at the
discretion of the Court of Common Pleas. It was substantially the same
in Massachusetts and New Hampshire."
Lieutenant Francis Hall, travelling through America in 1817, wrote:--
"The innkeepers of America are in most villages what we call vulgarly,
topping men--field officers of militia, with good farms attached to
their taverns, so that they are apt to think what, perhaps, in a newly
settled country is not very wide of the truth, that travellers rather
receive than confer a favour by being accommodated at their houses.
The daughters of the host officiate at tea and breakfast and generally
wait at dinner."
An English traveller who visited this country shortly after the Revolution
speaks in no uncertain terms of "the uncomplying temper of the landlords
of the country inns in America." Another adds this testimony:--
"They will not bear the treatment we too often give ours at home. They
feel themselves in some degree independent of travellers, as all of
them have other occupations to follow; nor will they put themselves
into a bustle on your account; but with good language, they are very
civil, and will accommodate you as well as they can."
Brissot comprehended the reason for this appearance of independence; he
wrote in 1788:--
"You will not go into one without meeting neatness, decency, and
dignity. The table is served by a maiden well-dressed and pretty; by a
pleasant mother whose age has not effaced the agreeableness of her
features; and by men _who have that air of respectability which is
inspired by the idea of equality_, and are not ignoble and base like
the greater part of our own tavern-keepers."
Captain Basil Hall, a much-quoted English traveller who came to America in
1827, designated a Salem landlord as the person who most pleased him in
his extended visit. Sad to say he gives neither the name of the tavern nor
the host who was "so devoid of prejudice, so willing to take all matters
on their favourable side, so well informed about everything in his own and
other countries, so ready to impart his knowledge to others; had such
mirthfulness of fancy, such genuine heartiness of good-humour," etc.
[Illustration: Cooper Tavern.]
In 1828 a series of very instructive and entertaining letters on the
United States was published under the title, _Notions of the Americans_.
They are accredited to James Fenimore Cooper, and were addressed to
various foreigners of distinction. The travels took place in 1824, at the
same time as the visit of Lafayette, and frequently in his company.
Naturally inns, hotels, and modes of travel receive much attention. He
speaks thus lucidly and pleasantly of the landlords:--
"The innkeeper of Old England and the innkeeper of New England form
the very extremes of their class. The former is obsequious to the
rich; the other unmoved and often apparently cold. The first seems to
calculate at a glance the amount of profit you are likely to leave
behind you, while his opposite appears to calculate only in what
manner he can most contribute to your comfort without materially
impairing his own.... He is often a magistrate, the chief of a
battalion of militia or even a member of a state legislature. He is
almost always a man of character, for it is difficult for any other to
obtain a license to exercise the calling."
John Adams thus described the host and hostess of the Ipswich Inn:--
"Landlord and landlady are some of the grandest people alive, landlady
is the great-granddaughter of Governor Endicott and has all the
notions of high family that you find in the Winslows, Hutchinsons,
Quincys, Saltonstalls, Chandlers, Otises, Learneds, and as you might
find with more propriety in the Winthrops. As to landlord, he is as
happy and as big, as proud, as conceited, as any nobleman in England,
always calm and good-natured and lazy, but the contemplation of his
farm and his sons, his house and pasture and cows, his sound judgment
as he thinks, and his great holiness as well as that of his wife, keep
him as erect in his thoughts as a noble or a prince."
The curiosity and inquisitiveness of many landlords was a standing jest.
"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 in
Boston. I 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?'"
The landlord was usually a politician, sometimes a rank demagogue. He
often held public office, was selectman, road commissioner, tax assessor,
tax collector, constable, or town moderator; occasionally he performed all
these duties. John Adams wrote bitterly that at public houses men sat
drinking heavily while "plotting with the landlord to get him at the next
town-meeting an election either for selectman or representative."
They were most frequently soldiers, either officers in the militia or
brave fighters who had served in the army. It was a favorite calling for
Revolutionary soldiers who lived till times of peace. They were usually
cheerful men; a gloomy landlord made customers disappear like flowers
before a frost. And these cheery hosts were fond of practical jokes.
One of the old hotels with the long piazza across the entire front was
owned by a jesting landlord who never failed to spring an April-fool joke
on his forgetful customers each year. The tavern had two doors, and every
winter these were protected by portable storm porches the width of the
door and about four feet deep. On the first day of April the landlord
moved the porches a few feet down the piazza, so they opened upon the
blank wall of the house. The house and piazza sat at such an angle with
the walk from the street that the uncovered front doors were not visible
to the visitor, so the delusion was complete. Grocerymen, butchers,
bakers, travellers, even the tavern servants, invariably fell into the
trap, thrust open the door, which swung with a slam and left them facing
the blank wall. Any tavern frequenter, caught early in the day, was always
ready to tole in a group of victims. As they walked up the steps he would
say, "Come, boys, let's all pile into the office in a bunch and holler,
'Hullo, old Jed,' all together." All agreed and charged with a rush into
the 4 x 6 storm box, while the plotter of the trick went in the real door
and sat coolly sipping a rum punch as the confused and angry contingent
came in with battered hats and bruised elbows, after its scuffle in the
trap.
[Illustration: Shelby's Traveller's Rest.]
One landlord had the name of frequently tricking travellers who stopped
for a single meal by having the driver call out "Stage is ready" before
they could eat the dinner they had ordered and paid for. A Yankee
passenger disregarded this hasty summons and leisurely ate his dinner
while the stage drove off without him. He finished the roast and called at
last for a bowl of bread and milk to top off with as dessert. Not a spoon
could be found for this dish, though plenty of silver spoons had been on
the table when the stage stopped. To the distracted landlord the Yankee
drawled out, "Do you think them passengers was going away without
something for their money? I could p'int out the man that took them
spoons." A stable boy on a fleet horse was promptly despatched after the
stage, and overtook it two miles down the road. A low-spoken explanation
and request to the driver caused him to turn quickly around and drive back
to the tavern door with all the angry protesting passengers. The excited
landlord called out to the Yankee as the coach stopped, "You just p'int
out the man that took them spoons."--"Sartainly, Squire," said he, as he
climbed into the coach, "I'll p'int him out. I took 'em myself. You'll
find 'em all in the big coffee pot on the table. Hurry up, driver, I've
had my dinner. All aboard."
Grant Thorburn quaintly tells of this custom at another tavern:--
"At Providence coaches were ready: on flew through the dust and sweat
of the day like Jehus. At the tavern dinner was ready, but there was
no contract for time to eat; after grace from Dr. Cox (too long for
the occasion) we begun to eat. Scarcely had I swallowed half my first
course when in came driver hallowing "All ready." I thought there was
a stable-yard understanding between him and the landlord, for while we
were brushing the dust from our clothes, mustering and saying grace,
he was eating and drinking as fast as he could, and I did not observe
that he paid anything. We arrived at the Eagle Tavern (Boston) about
sundown; the ladies' hats and frocks which had shewed colours enough
to have decked fifteen rainbows were now one, viz.: ashes on ashes and
dust on dust."
The graceless modern reader might suspect that the "stable-yard
understanding" included the parson.
[Illustration: Miller's Tavern.]
A very amusing and original landlord was "Devil" Dave Miller, of the old
General Washington Tavern which stood on East King Street, Lancaster,
Pennsylvania. He was very stout and was generally seen in public
bestriding an unusually small horse, which he would ride into his barroom
to get a drink for both. When he wished to dismount, he rode to the
doorway and hung on the frame of the door with his hands. The horse would
walk from under him and go unguided to the stable. An old print of this
tavern marked D. Miller's Hotel, is shown on page 73. The various vehicles
standing in front of the hotel are interesting in shape,--old chaises,
chairs, and a coach.
An old landlord named Ramsay had a spacious and popular inn on a
much-travelled turnpike road, and was the proprietor of a prosperous line
of stage-coaches. He waxed rich, but though looked up to by all in the
community, plainly showed by the precarious condition of his health in his
advancing years that he partook too freely of his own "pure old rye." His
family and friends, though thoroughly alarmed, did not dare to caution the
high-spirited old gentleman against this over-indulgence; and the family
doctor was deputed to deal with the squire in the most delicate and
tactful manner possible. The doctor determined to employ a parable, as did
Nathan to David, and felt confident of success; and to deliver his
metaphorical dose he entered the taproom and cheerfully engaged the squire
in conversation upon an ever favorite topic, the stage-coach. He finally
ran on to know how long a well-built coach would last on the road, and
then said: "Now, Squire, if you had a fine well-built old coach that had
done good service, but showed age by being a little shackling, being
sprung a little, having the seams open, would you hitch it up with young
horses and put it on a rough road, or would you favor it with steady old
stagers and the smoothest road you could find?"--"Well, Doctor," answered
the squire, "if I had such a coach as that _I would soak it_." And that
seemed to bring the doctor's parable to a somewhat sudden and unprofitable
ending.