who come into a new world, as have we, must not complain at whatsoever
is set them to do, for unless much time is expended, crops cannot be
raised, and we children of Boston need only to be reminded of the
famine, when we are inclined to laziness, in order to set us in
motion.
Of course you know that flax is a pretty plant, with a sweet,
drooping, blue flower, and it ripens about the first of July, when it
is pulled up by the roots and laid carefully out to dry, much as if
one were making hay. This sort of work is always done by the men and
boys, and during two or three days they are forced to turn the flax
again and again, so that the sun may come upon every part of it.
PREPARING FLAX
I despair of trying to tell any one who has never seen flax prepared,
how much and how many different kinds of labor are necessary, before
it can be woven into the beautiful linen of which our mothers are so
proud.
First it must be rippled. The ripple comb is made of stout teeth,
either wood or iron, set on a puncheon, and the stalks of flax are
pulled through it to break off the seeds, which fall into a cloth that
has been spread to catch them, so they may be sown for the next year's
harvest.
Of course this kind of work is always done in the field, and the
stalks are then tied in bundles, which are called "bates," and stacked
up something after the shape of a tent, being high in the middle and
broadened out at the bottom.
After the flax has been exposed to the weather long enough to be
perfectly dry, then water must be sprinkled over it to rot the leaves
and such portions of the stalks as are not used.
[Illustration]
Then comes that part of the work which only strong men can perform,
called breaking the flax, to get from the center of the stalks the
hard, wood-like "bun," which is of no value. This is done with a
machine made of wood, as if you were to set three or four broad knives
on a bench, at a certain distance apart, with as many more on a lever
to come from above, fitting closely between the lower blades. The
upper part of the machine is pulled down with force upon the flax, so
that every portion of it is broken.
After this comes the scutching, or swingling, which is done by
chopping with dull knives on a block of wood to take out the small
pieces of bark which may still be sticking to the fiber.
Now that which remains is made up into bundles, and pounded again to
clear it yet more thoroughly of what is of no value, after which it is
hackled, and the fineness of the flax depends upon the number of times
it has been hackled, which means, pulling it through a quantity of
iron teeth driven into a board.
SPINNING, BLEACHING, AND WEAVING FLAX
After all this preparation has been done, then comes the spinning,
which is, of course, the work of the women and girls. I am proud to
say I could spin a skein of thread in one day, before I was thirteen
years old, and you must know that this is no mean work for a girl,
since it is reckoned that the best of spinners can do no more than two
skeins.
Of course the skeins must be bleached, otherwise the cloth made from
them would look as if woven of tow, and this portion of the work
mother is always very careful to look after herself.
The skeins must stay in warm water for at least four days, and be
wrung out dry every hour or two, when the water is to be changed. Then
they are washed in a brook or river until there is no longer any dust
or dirt remaining, after which they are bricked, which is the same as
if I had said bleached, with ashes and hot water, over and over again,
and afterward left to remain in clear water a full week.
[Illustration]
Then comes more rinsing, beating, washing, drying, and winding on
bobbins; so that it may be handy for the loom.
The chief men in Boston made a law that all boys and girls be taught
to spin flax, and a certain sum of money was set aside to be given
those who made the best linen that had been raised, spun, and woven
within the town.
I am told that in some of the villages nearabout, the men who make the
laws have ordered that every family shall spin so many pounds of flax
each year, or pay a very large amount of money as a fine for
neglecting to do so.
It is not needed I should set down how flax is spun, for there is but
one way to spin that I know of, whether the material be wool, cotton,
or flax.
But I would I might be able so to set it down, that whosoever reads
could understand, how my mother wove this linen thread into cloth; but
it would require more of words than I have patience to write.
If there be any who have the desire to know how the linen for their
tables, or for their clothing, is made, I would advise that the matter
be studied as one would a lesson in school, for it is most
interesting, and father holds to it that every child should be able to
make all of that which he wears.
WHAT WE GIRLS DO AT HOME
In this town of Boston, if we do not know how to make what is needed,
then must we perforce go without, because one cannot well afford to
spend the time, nor the money, required to send from Boston to London
for whatever may be desired, and wait until it shall be brought across
the sea.
I wonder if it would interest any of you to know what Susan and I are
obliged to do in our homes during each working day of the week?
I can remember a time when we were put to it to perform certain tasks
within six days, and have set down that which we did.
It was on a Monday that Susan and I hackled fifty pounds of flax, and
tired we were when the day was come to an end. On Tuesday we carded
tow, and on Wednesday each spun a skein of linen thread. On Thursday
we did the same stint, and on Friday made brooms of guinney wheat
straw. On Saturday we spun twine out of the coarser part of flax,
which is called tow, and of which I will tell you later.
[Illustration]
All this we did in a single week, in addition to helping our mothers
about the house, and had no idea that we were working overly hard.
And now about tow: when flax has been prepared to that stage where it
is to be hackled, the fibers pulled out by the comb are yet further
divided into cobweb-like threads, and laid carefully one above the
other as straight as may be. To these a certain yellow substance
sticks, which we call tow, and this can be spun into coarse stuff for
aprons and mats, or into twine, which, by the way, is not very strong.
It would surprise you, when working flax, to see to how small a bulk
it may be reduced. What seems like an enormous stack, before being
made ready for spinning, is lessened to such extent that you may
readily take it in both hands, and then comes the next surprise, when
you see how much cloth can be woven out of so small an amount of
threads.
As for myself, I am not any too fond of working amid the flax, save
when it comes to spinning; but such labor is greatest pleasure as
compared with soap-making, which is to my mind the most disagreeable
and slovenly of all the housewife's duties.
MAKING SOAP
It seems strange that some industrious person, who is not overly fine
in feelings or in habits, does not take it upon himself to make soap
for sale. Verily it would be better that a family like ours buy a
quart of soap whenever it is needed, than for the whole house to be
turned topsy-turvy because of the dirty work.
I wonder if there are in this country any girls so fortunate as not
to have been obliged to learn how to make soap? I know of none in
Boston, although it may be possible that in Salem, where are some
lately come over from England, live those who still know the luxury of
hard soap, such as can be bought in London.
For those fortunate ones I will set down how my mother and I make a
barrel of soap, for once we are forced to get about the task, we
contrive to make up as large a quantity as possible.
First, as you well know, we save all the grease which cannot be used
in cooking, and is not needed for candles, until we have four and
twenty pounds of such stuff as the fat of meat, scraps of suet, and
drippings of wild turkey or wild geese, which last is not pleasant to
use in food, and not fit for candles.
Well, when we have saved four and twenty pounds of this kind of
grease, and set aside six bushels of ashes from what is known as hard
wood, such as oak, maple, or birch, we "set the leach."
I suppose every family in Boston has a leach-barrel, which is a stout
cask, perhaps one that has held pickled pork or pickled beef, and has
in it at the very bottom a hole where is set a wooden spigot.
This barrel is placed upon some sort of platform built to raise it
sufficiently high from the ground, so that a small tub or bucket may
be put under the spigot. Then it is filled with ashes, and water
poured into the top, which, of course, trickles down until it runs,
or, as some say, is leached, out through the spigot, into the bucket,
or whatsoever you have put there to receive it.
While running slowly through the ashes, it becomes what is called lye,
and upon the making of this lye depends the quality of the soap.
[Illustration]
Now, of course, as the water is poured upon the contents of the
barrel, the ashes settle down, and as fast as this comes to pass, yet
more ashes are added and more water thrown in, until one has leached
the entire six bushels, when the lye should be strong enough, as
mother's receipt for soap-making has it, to "bear up an egg, or a
potato, so that you can see a portion of it on the surface as big as a
ninepence."
If the lye is not of sufficient strength to stand this test, it must
be ladled out and poured over the ashes again, until finally, as will
surely be the case, it has become strong enough.
The next turn in the work is to build a fire out of doors somewhere,
because to make your soap in the house would be a most disagreeable
undertaking. One needs a great pot, which should hold as much as
one-third of a barrel, and into this is poured half of the grease and
half of the lye, to be kept boiling until it has become soap.
Now just when that point has been reached I cannot say, because of not
having had sufficient experience; but mother is a master hand at this
dirty labor, and always has greatest success with it.
Of course, when one kettle-full has been boiled down, the remainder of
the lye and the remainder of the grease is put in, and worked in the
same manner as before.
SOAP FROM BAYBERRIES
It is possible, and we shall do so when time can be spent in making
luxuries, to get soap from the tallow of bay berry plums.
I have already said that we stew out a kind of vegetable tallow from
bayberries with which to make candles, and this same grease, when
boiled with lye as if you were making soft soap, can be cooked so
stiff that, when poured into molds, it will form little hard cakes
that are particularly convenient for the cleansing of one's hands.
There can be no question but that bayberry soap will whiten and
soften the skin better than does soft soap; but the labor of making it
is so disagreeable that, as Susan says, I had rather my hands were
tough and rough, than purchase a delicate skin at such an expense.
GOOSE-PICKING
There is another household duty which frets me much, and yet it must
be performed, else would we be put to it for quills with which to
write, and for soft beds, pillows, and quilts. It is goose-picking
that I abhor, not only because of its seeming extremely cruel, but on
account of its being like the soap-making, dirty work.
I question if there be a family in Boston who does not own a flock of
geese, and among them many who were once wild. They wander around the
streets all summer, paddling the pools of water, chasing insects, and
devouring whatsoever may have been thrown out of the houses that is
eatable.
I doubt whether, if it were within the power of our preachers so to
do, they would not kill all the geese in the town, for more than once
on a Sabbath day have these noisy creatures made such a tumult outside
the church that the sermon was actually interrupted.
Besides that, you cannot go anywhere without a lot of foolish geese
running at your heels, hissing as if you had done something for which
you should be ashamed, and they were calling attention to it.
Twice each season, in the planting and the harvesting time, must the
small feathers be stripped from the live birds, and while this is
being done, the goose, which has a strong neck and beak, would inflict
many a grievous wound if one did not pull an old stocking over its
head.
Some people are so particular as to have made goose baskets, which in
shape are not unlike small gourds, and through the narrow neck of
these the head of the goose is thrust, while the body can be held
firmly between the knees of whosoever is doing the plucking.
[Illustration]
Of course, when one is pulling feathers from the bird, the fine fluff,
or down, flies everywhere about like snow, and the result is, that
unless you take the precaution of tying your hair up in cloths, and
putting on an old linen dress from which dirt can readily be shaken,
you will be covered from head to foot with these fluffy particles,
which are not much larger than snow-flakes, and extremely difficult to
remove.
I have been so busy setting down matters concerning the household, as
to forget that I should tell you how our town of Boston has grown, and
who of the great men of England have come into it.
A CHANGE OF GOVERNORS
It was the third year after our coming, that Master John Cotton, the
famous preacher, settled among us, taking upon himself, because of the
entreaties of our people, the care of the First Church.
It was also in this same year that a new governor was chosen, much to
the regret of both Susan and me, for while we girls could not be
expected to know anything regarding the matter, it surely seemed to us
that Master Winthrop was the very best man in all this world to rule
over us.
But those who had the privilege of voting must have believed
otherwise, for they elected Master Thomas Dudley in his stead, and
made Master Winthrop one of the assistants in the Council.
With the exception of that, and the trouble which Master Roger
Williams, the great preacher, was making, nothing disturbed us. Our
town continued to grow fast, until we began to believe that before
many years had passed it would be even as great a city as could be
found in England, with, of course, the exception of London.
THE FLIGHT OF ROGER WILLIAMS
Now as to the trouble which some of our people were having with Master
Roger Williams: I should be able to set it down plainly, and yet it is
not reasonable to suppose girls know much about the affairs of state.
A very great preacher was Master Williams, and one who took it upon
himself to write, for the public reading, that the King had no right
to sell or give land to us white people, because of the whole
country's belonging to the Indians, and it can be well understood how
much of a stir the matter caused.
Master Williams had been chosen by the people of Salem as teacher in
their church, and when he declared that we had no right to hold the
land which the King had granted us, which Master Blackstone had sold
to us, and which Chickatabut had given to us in writing, the chief men
of our town declared that he was not the kind of preacher who should
be allowed to remain in the New World. Therefore they wrote to the
people of Salem, demanding that he be sent back to England.
Of course our gentlemen of Boston must have been in the right, for I
have heard my father say they were, and surely he would not lend his
face to anything which was at all wrong. However, the people of Salem
refused to listen to us of Boston, and, much to our surprise, Master
John Cotton took sides with Master Williams, which seemed to me very
strange.
I cannot say why it was that the people of the colony kept Governor
Dudley in office only one year, or why Master Haynes was elected.
Master Haynes was, of course, ruler over the entire colony, and, as
father said, not the kind of man to be trifled with by Master
Williams, even though he was a preacher. Therefore, when Captain
Underhill was about to sail for England, our Governor commanded him to
take Master Williams back to London.
[Illustration]
Some one, it seems, told the preacher what was on foot, and, although
it was in January with the snow piled deep everywhere around, he fled
from Salem into the woods, trusting himself to the mercy of the
savages rather than be sent back in disgrace.
I have heard that it was a bitterly cold day, with the snow blowing
furiously, when the poor man plunged into the woods in flight, taking
with him nothing whatsoever save that which he wore upon his back.
Father came to know afterward, that Master Williams spent the winter
with the Pokanoket Indians, some of whom he had met during the short
time he lived at Plymouth, and in the spring went to the shore of
Narragansett Bay, where it was reported that he was trying to build up
a village.
SIR HARRY VANE
Quite the most distinguished person who came among us was Sir Harry
Vane. His father was a Privy Councilor to the King, and one of the
Secretaries of State in England. Because of wanting to see the New
World, the young gentleman had been given permission to come to this
country for a term of three years.
I wish you could have seen the stir that was made when he arrived. The
Governor, with his soldiers and trumpeters, went down to the wharf to
receive him with great ceremony, and the cannon on board the ships
were discharged with a wondrous noise when he stepped ashore.
He was a most pleasing man to look upon, so young and so courtly,
while his costume was a marvel of elegance. It seemed to me, as I saw
him taking the Governor's hand with so much grace, that we needed but
few men of the same kind among us to lend great distinction to our
town in America.
[Illustration]
That same evening, however, my mother reproached me because of worldly
thoughts, saying that fine feathers do not make fine birds, although
they may make a bird look fine, which I suppose is the same as if she
had said that an evil man might, by his costume, be made to appear
worthy, whereas he would not be so at heart.
However, I was not the only one in Boston who favored Sir Harry Vane,
for before the year was over, when Master Haynes' term of office had
expired, he was chosen as our Governor, and surely no person could
have looked more kingly than did he, when he stood in the door of the
Great House bowing to those people who had assembled in honor of his
having been elected.
MAKING SUGAR
Susan and I had a right delightful time when the first warm days of
spring came, for then it was the season in which to make sugar. I do
not mean to say that we girls took any part in the sweet work; but on
a certain day, very early in the morning, we were allowed to go out to
Master Winthrop's plantation in New Town, there to see his people at
the task, and, what was far better, we remained until late at night.
It was the first time I had been away from home, save to go over to
Charlestown for a few hours, since we came from England, and I enjoyed
it all the more because of its being something strange.
The snow was deep on the low-lying lands, therefore we wore
snow-shoes, and you must know that we girls can use those odd footings
almost as well as do the Indian children. It was a long walk to New
Town; but father went with us, his gun loaded heavily in case we came
across a hungry wolf, and so great was the excitement of going abroad
after having been kept in the house, except on those days when we went
to meeting or lecture, ever since the winter began, that we gave no
heed to fatigue.
[Illustration]
It seems queer that one can get sugar from trees, and yet so we do in
this new country, otherwise there would be many times when we would
not have sweet cake, for vessels seldom arrive from England with
stores at the very moment when one is in need of this thing or that.
After we had arrived at Master Winthrop's plantation, good Mistress
Winthrop went with us girls to see the sap drawn from the maples, and
the three of us rode on a sled hauled by one of the serving men, of
whom Master Winthrop has many.
Do you know how the sap is taken? Well, first a hole is bored in the
trunk of a tree, about as high from the surface as will admit of
placing a bucket beneath it, and into this a small wooden spout, or
spigot, is driven. Beneath the spout is placed a bucket or tub, and
into this the sap, coaxed up from the roots by the warmth of the sun,
drops, or runs, very slowly.
[Illustration]
Master Winthrop's serving men made holes in many trees, and then, when
the work had been done, went about gathering the sap out of the
buckets or tubs, into casks, which were hauled from place to place on
a sled, exactly as Mistress Winthrop, Susan and I had ridden.
As soon as a cask has been filled, a huge fire is built near at hand,
and over it is hung a large kettle, much as if one were counting on
making soap. In this the sap is boiled until it is thick, like
molasses, in case one wishes to make syrup, or yet longer if sugar is
wanted.
Of course it is necessary to taste of the syrup very often to learn if
it has been cooked enough, and this portion of the work Susan and I
did until we felt much as flies look after they have been feasting on
molasses, and have their wings and legs clogged with sweetness.
I do not mean to say that we besmeared ourselves with it; but we ate
so much while tasting to learn if the cooking was going on properly,
that I felt as if I had been turned into a big cake of sugar.
When the sap is thick enough to "sugar," as it is called, it is poured
into pans of birch-bark, where it cools in cakes, each weighing two or
three pounds.
A "SUGARING DINNER"
We enjoyed ourselves hugely until well after noon, when we were so
weary and sticky that it was a positive relief to hear Mistress
Winthrop propose that we go back to her dwelling, and there what do
you think we found?
No less than twenty people from Boston, among whom were Susan's mother
and mine, had all come out for what is called the "sugaring dinner."
Master Cotton, the preacher, was with the company, and he made a most
beautiful prayer while we were waiting for the meal to be served,
after which the spirit moved him to ask at great length, and in a
most touching manner, that the food might be blessed to each and
every one of us.
[Illustration]
One could never have believed that we who were gathered around the
table ever had known what it was to be painfully hungry during one
entire winter, for there was sufficient of food to have served us, in
the old days, a full week.
There were two enormous wild turkeys roasted to a most delicious
crispness, one placed at either end of the table, while the handsomest
standing salt I ever saw was exactly in the center, so that no one
could say whether he was seated above or below the salt.
There were also two huge venison pies, with the pastry made wholly of
wheat flour; and placed around the pies in a most tasteful manner,
were potted pigeons, in small dishes. There were apple and pear tarts;
marmalade and preserved plums, grapes, barberries and cherries,
together with poppy and cherry water, cordial and mint water.
It was a most delicate feast, and my greatest regret was that I had
tasted so often of the maple sap I could not do full justice to it.
Tears actually stood in Susan's eyes as she whispered to me after the
dinner was come to an end, and we were allowed to talk with each
other,
"I shall never live long enough to cease being sorry because I could
not eat more."
It was the same as if she had confessed to the sin of gluttony, and it
was my duty to reprove her; but I could not find it in my heart so to
do, because of much the same thought's being in my own mind.
[Illustration]
We all sang psalms until near to seven o'clock in the evening, when
good Master Winthrop gave us a famous ride on his new sled drawn by
two oxen, and thus did we go home like really fashionable folk, who
must needs turn night into day, as my mother declared.
TRAINING DAY
I must tell you of our Training Day, in the month of May, after Master
Roger Williams had fled into the wilderness to escape the wrath of our
people which he had aroused; and I am setting down what happened on
that particular day, because of its being the largest and most
exciting training ever held in Boston, so every one says.