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Title: "Pennsylvania Dutch," and other essays
Author: Phebe Earle Gibbons
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Language: English
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*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK "PENNSYLVANIA DUTCH," AND OTHER
ESSAYS ***
“PENNSYLVANIA DUTCH.”
(PROPERLY GERMAN.)
“PENNSYLVANIA DUTCH,”
AND
OTHER ESSAYS.
BY
PHEBE EARLE GIBBONS,
AUTHOR OF “FRENCH AND BELGIANS.”
_THIRD EDITION, REVISED AND ENLARGED._
PHILADELPHIA:
J. B. LIPPINCOTT & CO.
1882.
Copyright, 1882, by PHEBE EARLE GIBBONS.
PREFACE.
The leading article in this collection appeared, as first published, in
the _Atlantic Monthly_ in October, 1869. After this essay was written I
became better acquainted with our plain German sects, and wrote articles
describing them, which were published in the first edition of this book.
It appeared in 1872.
To the second edition were added “Bethlehem and the Moravians” and
“Schwenkfelders,” as well as an Appendix, and the edition was published
about the opening of 1874.
The present volume contains articles that have never before appeared
in book-form, namely, “The Miners of Scranton,” “Irish Farmers,” and
“English.” However, the first was published in _Harpers’ Magazine_ for
November, 1877. Another short article appeared earlier in the same
periodical; and several other essays were first brought before the
public in Philadelphia and New York papers.
From personal observation I have been able to revise a considerable part
of this volume, which contains more than double the amount of matter
comprised in the first edition.
AUGUST, 1882.
CONTENTS.
PAGE
“PENNSYLVANIA DUTCH” (PROPERLY GERMAN) 11
Language 11
Religion 13
History of a Sect 18
Politics 20
Festivals 22
Weddings 24
Quiltings 29
“Singings” 31
Farming 33
Farmers’ Wives 36
Holidays 45
Public Schools 47
Manners and Customs 49
Additional Remarks 53
AN AMISH MEETING 59
SWISS EXILES 70
Books 71
Menno Symons 74
William of Orange 75
Persecution in Zurich and Berne 78
The States-General 83
Alsace and the Palatinate 87
William Penn 88
“Connystogoe” 91
Harmony among Sects 95
Mennonite Church History 99
Traditions 100
Russian Mennonites 102
Mennonites in Germany 106
THE DUNKER LOVE-FEAST 112
Electing a Preacher 119
The Feet-Washing 123
The Kiss of Peace 125
The Communion 126
River Brethren 134
Brinser Brethren 136
EPHRATA 138
Conrad Beissel 138
Peter Miller 145
Publications 152
Zinzendorf’s Visit 155
The Buildings now standing 163
Old Clock 166, 170
BETHLEHEM AND THE MORAVIANS 173
Festivals 176
The Graveyard 183
Old Recollections 185
Old Buildings 198
Miscellaneous Remarks 200
Historical Note 203
SCHWENKFELDERS 206
Meeting-House and Graveyard 207
Books 210
History 212
Journey to America 224
Anniversary or Yearly Meeting 226
Customs 230
Doctrines 234
Additional Remarks 239
A FRIEND 244
COUSIN JEMIMA 260
THE MINERS OF SCRANTON 268
Superstitions 270
Hardships 272
Amusements 274
Wives and Children 281
Fare 285
Aspirations 288
Culture 292
Strikes 295
IRISH FARMERS 304
A Farm-House in the County Cork 307
Another Farmer 325
A Castle 327
The Southwest 333
Michael McBride 337
To and in Dublin 340
ENGLISH 344
Farms and Farmers 350
The Church and Rector 356
Dissenters 360
Taxes and Tithes 363
Schools 365
Miscellaneous 372
Peculiarities of Speech 379
APPENDIX 381
The Pennsylvania German Dialect 381
Proper Names 391
Politics 393
Yankees 394
Thrift 395
Charms and Superstitions 397
Medical Superstitions 401
Holidays 404
Easter 404
Halloween 405
Peltz Nickel 407
New Year 407
The Plainer Sects 408
The People Contrasted 414
Miscellaneous 415
“PENNSYLVANIA DUTCH.”
(PROPERLY GERMAN.)
I have lived for twenty years in the county of Lancaster, where my
neighbors on all sides are “Pennsylvania Dutch.” In this article I shall
try to give, from my own observation and familiar acquaintance, some
account of the life of a people who are little known outside of the rural
neighborhoods of their own State, who have much that is peculiar in their
language, customs, and belief, and of whom I have learned to esteem the
native good sense, friendly feeling, and religious character.
LANGUAGE.
The tongue which these people speak is a dialect of the German, but they
generally call it and themselves “Dutch.”
For the native German who works with them on the farm they entertain some
contempt, and the title “Yankee” is with them a synonyme for cheat. As
must always be the case where the great majority do not read the tongue
which they speak, and live in contact with those who speak another, the
language has become mixed and corrupt. Seeing a young neighbor cleaning a
buggy, I tried to talk with him by speaking German. “Willst du reiten?”
said I (not remembering that _reiten_ is to ride on horseback). “Willst
du reiten?” All my efforts were vain.
As I was going for cider to the house of a neighboring farmer, I asked
his daughter what she would say, under the circumstances, for “Are you
going to ride?” “Widdu fawray? Buggy fawray?” was the answer. (Willst
du fahren?) Such expressions are heard as “Koock amul to,” for “Guck
einmal da,” or “Just look at that!” and “Haltybissel” for “Halt ein
biszchen,” or “Wait a little bit.” “Gutenobit” is used for “Guten Abend.”
Apple-butter is “lodwaerrick,” from the German _latwerge_, an electuary,
or an electuary of prunes. Our “Dutch” is much mixed with English. I once
asked a woman what pie-crust is in Dutch, “Py-kroosht,” she answered.
Those who speak English use uncommon expressions, as,—“That’s a werry
_lasty_ basket” (meaning durable); “I seen him yet a’ready;” “I knew a
woman that had a good baby _wunst_;” “The bread is all” (all gone). I
have heard the carpenter call his plane _she_, and a housekeeper apply
the same pronoun to her home-made soap.
A rich landed proprietor is sometimes called _king_. An old “Dutchman”
who was absent from home thus narrated the cause of his journey: “I must
go and see old Yoke (Jacob) Beidelman. Te people calls me te kink ov te
Manor (township), and tay calls him te kink ov te Octorara. Now, dese
kinks must come togeder once.” (Accent _together_, and pass quickly over
_once_.)
RELIGION.
I called recently on my friend and neighbor, Jacob S., who is a thrifty
farmer, of a good mind, and a member of the old Mennist or Mennonite
Society. I once accompanied him and his pleasant wife to their
religious meeting. The meeting-house is a low brick building, with neat
surroundings, and resembles a Friends’ meeting-house. The Mennonists
in some outward matters very much resemble the Society of Friends (or
Quakers), but do not rely, in the especial manner that Friends do, upon
the teachings of the Divine Spirit in the secret stillness of the soul.
In the interior of the Mennist meeting a Quaker-like plainness prevails.
The men, with broad-brimmed hats and simple dress, sit on benches on one
side of the house, and the women, in plain caps and black sun-bonnets,
are ranged on the other; while a few gay dresses are worn by the young
people who have not yet joined the meeting. The services are almost
always conducted in “Dutch,” and consist of exhortation and prayer, and
singing by the congregation. The singing is without previous training,
and is not musical. A pause of about five minutes is allowed for private
prayer.
The preachers are not paid, and are chosen in the following manner. When
a vacancy occurs, and a new appointment is required, several men go into
a small room, chosen for the purpose; and to them, waiting, enter singly
the men and women, as many as choose, who tell them the name of the
person preferred by each to fill the vacancy. After this, an opportunity
is given to any candidate to excuse himself from the service. Those who
are not excused, if, for instance, six in number, are brought before six
books. Each candidate takes up a book, and the one within whose book a
lot is found is the chosen minister. I asked my friends who gave me some
of these details, whether it was claimed or believed that there is any
special guidance of the Divine Spirit in thus choosing a minister. From
the reply, I did not learn that any such guidance is claimed, though they
spoke of a man who _was led_ to pass his hand over all the other books,
and who selected the last one, but he did not get the lot after all. He
was thought to be ambitious of a place in the ministry.
The three prominent sects of Mennonites all claim to be non-resistants,
or _wehrlos_. The Old Mennists, who are the most numerous and least
rigid, vote at elections, and are allowed to hold such public offices
as school director and road supervisor, but not to be members of the
legislature. The ministers are expected not to vote.[1] The members of
this society cannot bring suit against any one; they can hold mortgages,
but not judgment bonds.[2] Like Quakers, they were not allowed to hold
slaves, and they do not take oaths nor deal in spirituous liquors.
My neighbor Jacob and I were once talking of the general use of the
word “Yankee” to denote one who is rather unfair in his dealings. They
sometimes speak of a “Dutch Yankee;” and Jacob asked me whether, if going
to sell a horse, I should tell the buyer every fault that I knew the
horse had, as he maintained was the proper course. His brother-in-law,
who was at times a horse-dealer, did not agree with him.
Titles do not abound among these plain neighbors of ours. Jacob’s little
son used to call him “Jake,” as he heard the hired men do. Nevertheless,
one of our New Mennist acquaintances was quite courtly in his address.
This last-mentioned sect branched off some fifty years ago, and claim
to be _reformirt_, or to have returned to an older and more excellent
standard. They do not vote at all. Their most striking peculiarity is
this: if one of the members is disowned by the church, the other members
of his own family who are members of the meeting are not allowed to eat
at the same table with him, and his wife withdraws from him. A woman who
worked in such a family told me how unpleasant it was to her to see that
the father did not take his seat at the table, to which she was invited.
In support of this practice, they refer to the eleventh verse of the
fifth chapter of First Corinthians: “But now I have written unto you not
to keep company, if any man that is called a brother be a fornicator, or
covetous, or an idolater, or a railer, or a drunkard, or an extortioner;
with such an one _no not to eat_.”
We have yet another sect among us, called Amish (pronounced Ommish). In
former times these Mennists were sometimes known as “beardy men,” but
of late years the beard is not a distinguishing trait. It is said that
a person once asked an Amish man the difference between themselves and
another Mennist sect. “Vy, dey vears puttons, and ve vearsh hooks oont
eyes;” and this is, in fact, a prime difference. All the Mennist sects
retain the ordinances of baptism and the Lord’s supper, but most also
practise feet-washing, and some sectarians “greet one another with a holy
kiss.”
On a Sunday morning Amish wagons, covered with yellow oil-cloth, may be
seen moving toward the house of that member whose turn it is to have
the meeting. Great have been the preparations there beforehand,—the
whitewashing, the scrubbing, the polishing of tin and brass. Wooden
benches and other seats are provided for the “meeting-folks,” and the
services resemble those already described. Of course, young mothers do
not stay at home, but bring their infants with them. When the meeting
is over, the congregation remain to dinner. Bean soup was formerly the
principal dish, but, with the progress of luxury, the farmers of a fat
soil no longer confine themselves to so simple a diet. Imagine what a
time of social intercourse this must be.
The Amish dress is peculiar; and the children are diminutive men and
women. The women wear sun-bonnets and closely-fitting dresses, but
often their figures look very trim, in brown, with green or other
bright handkerchiefs meeting over the breast. I saw a group of Amish
at the railroad station the other day,—men, women, and a little boy.
One of the young women wore a pasteboard sun-bonnet covered with black,
and tied with narrow blue ribbon, among which showed the thick white
strings of her Amish cap; a gray shawl, without fringe; a brown stuff
dress, and a purple apron. One middle-aged man, inclined to corpulence,
had coarse, brown, woollen clothes, and his pantaloons were without
suspenders, in the Amish fashion. No buttons were on his coat behind,
but down the front were hooks and eyes. One young girl wore a bright
brown sun-bonnet, a green dress, and a light blue apron. The choicest
figure, however, was the six-year-old, in a jacket, and with pantaloons
plentifully plaited into the waistband behind; hair cut straight over the
forehead, and hanging to the shoulder; and a round-crowned black wool
hat, with an astonishingly wide brim. The little girls, down to two years
old, wear the plain cap, and the handkerchief crossed upon the breast.
In Amish houses the love of ornament appears in brightly scoured
utensils,—how the brass ladles are made to shine!—and in embroidered
towels, one end of the towel showing a quantity of work in colored
cottons. When steel or elliptic springs were introduced, so great a
novelty was not at first patronized by members of the meeting; but an
infirm brother, desiring to visit his friends, directed the blacksmith to
put a spring inside his wagon, under the seat, and since that time steel
springs have become common. I have even seen a youth with flowing hair
(as is common among the Amish), and two trim-bodied damsels, riding in a
very plain, uncovered buggy. A. Z. rode in a common buggy; but he became
a great backslider, poor man!
It was an Amish man, not well versed in the English language, from whom I
bought poultry, who sent me a bill for “chighans.”
In mentioning some ludicrous circumstances, far be it from me to ignore
the virtues of these primitive people.
HISTORY OF A SECT.
The Mennonites are named from Menno Symons, a reformer, who died in 1561,
though it is doubtful whether Menno founded the sect. “The prevailing
opinion among church historians, especially those of Holland, is that the
origin of the Dutch Baptists may be traced to the Waldenses, and that
Menno merely organized the concealed and scattered congregations as a
denomination.”
Mosheim says, “The true origin of that sect, which acquired the
denomination of Anabaptists, by their administering anew the rite of
baptism to those who came over to their communion, and derived that of
Mennonites from the famous man to whom they owe the greatest part of
their present felicity, is hidden in the depths of antiquity, and is of
consequence extremely difficult to be ascertained.” The “Martyr-Book,”
or “Martyr’s Mirror,” in use among our Mennonites, endeavors to prove
identity of doctrine between the Waldenses and these Baptists, as regards
opposition to infant baptism, to war, and to oaths.
Although the Mennonites are very numerous in the county of Lancaster, yet
in the whole State they were estimated, in 1850, to have but ninety-two
churches, while the Lutherans and German Reformed together were estimated
as having seven hundred.
The freedom of religious opinion which was allowed in Pennsylvania had
the effect of drawing hither the continental Europeans, who established
themselves in the fertile lands of the western part of the county of
Chester, now Lancaster. It was not until the revolution of 1848 that the
different German states granted full civil rights to the Mennonites; and
in some cases this freedom has since been withdrawn; Hanover, in 1858,
annulled the election of a representative to the second chamber, because
he was a Mennonite. Much of this opposition probably is because the
sect refuse to take oaths. With such opposing circumstances in the Old
World, it is not remarkable that the number of Mennonites in the United
States has been reported to exceed that in all the rest of the world
put together.[3] The Amish are named from Jacob Amen, a Swiss Mennonite
preacher of the seventeenth century.
As I understand the Mennonites, they endeavor in church government
literally to carry out the injunction of Jesus, “Moreover if thy brother
shall trespass against thee, go and tell him his fault between thee and
him alone; if he shall hear thee, thou hast gained thy brother. But if
he will not hear thee, then take with thee one or two more, that in the
mouth of two or three witnesses every word may be established. And if he
shall neglect to hear them, tell it unto the church; but if he neglect to
hear the church, let him be unto thee as an heathen man and a publican.”
Besides these sectaries, we have among us Dunkers (German _tunken_, to
dip), from whom sprang the Seventh-Day Baptists of Ephratah, with their
brother- and sister-houses of celibates.
Also at Litiz we have the Moravian church and Gottesacker (or
churchyard), and a Moravian church at Lancaster. Here, according to
custom, a love-feast was held recently, when a cup of coffee and a rusk
(sweet biscuit) were handed to each person present.
We have, too, a number of “Dutch Methodists,” or _Albrechtsleute_
(followers of Albrecht), to whom is given the name Evangelical
Association. These are full of zeal or activity in church, like the early
Methodists; and I saw a young man fall apparently into a trance at a
camp-meeting, lying upon the ground, to the satisfaction of his wife, who
probably thought he was “happy.”
POLITICS.
As our county was represented in Congress by Thaddeus Stevens, you have
some idea of what our politics are. We have returned about five or six
thousand majority for the Whig, Anti-Masonic, and Republican ticket, and
the adjoining very “Dutch” county of Berks invariably as great a majority
for the Democratic. So striking a difference has furnished much ground
for speculation. The Hon. John Strohm says that Berks is Democratic
because so many Hessians settled there after the Revolution. “No,” says
the Hon. Mr. B., “I attribute it to the fact that the people are not
taught by unpaid ministers, as with us, but are Lutherans and German
Reformed, and can be led by their preachers.” “Why is Berks Democratic?”
I once asked our Democratic postmaster. “I do not know,” said he; “but
the people here are ignorant; they do not read a paper on the other
side.” A former postmaster tells me that he has heard that the people of
Berks were greatly in favor of liberty in the time of the elder Adams;
that they put up liberty-poles, and Adams sent soldiers among them and
had the liberty-poles cut down; and “ever since they have been opposed to
that political party, under its different names.”
A gentleman of Reading has told me that he heard James Buchanan
express, in the latter part of his life, a similar opinion to one given
before. Mr. Buchanan said, in effect, that while peace sects prevailed
in Lancaster County, in Berks were found many Lutherans and German
Reformed, who were more liberal (according, of course, to Mr. Buchanan’s
interpretation of the word).
The troubles alluded to in Berks seem to have been principally on
account of a direct tax, called “the house-tax,” imposed during the
administration of John Adams.
The people of Berks and Lancaster gave another striking proof of the
difference of their political sentiments, on the question of holding
the Constitutional Convention of 1874. The vote of Berks was 5269 for a
convention, and 10,905 against a convention; the vote of Lancaster was,
for a convention 16,862, against the same 116.
A gentleman of Easton, Northampton County, tells me of a German farmer,
who lived near that town, who said he did not see any need of so many
parties,—the Democrats and Lutherans were enough. On his death-bed he
is reported to have said to his son, “I never voted anything but the
Democratic ticket, and I want you to stick to the party.”
FESTIVALS.
The greatest festive occasion, or the one which calls the greatest number
of persons to eat and drink together, is the funeral.
My friends Jacob and Susanna E. have that active benevolence and correct
principle which prompt to a care for the sick and dying, and kind offices
toward the mourner. Nor are they alone in this. When a death occurs,
our “Dutch” neighbors enter the house, and, taking possession, relieve
the family as far as possible from the labors and cares of a funeral.
Some “redd up” the house, making that which was neglected during the sad
presence of a fatal disease again in order for the reception of company.
Others visit the kitchen, and help to bake great store of bread, pies,
and rusks for the expected gathering. Two young men and two young women
generally sit up together overnight to watch in a room adjoining that of
the dead.
At funerals occurring on Sunday three hundred carriages have been seen
in attendance; and so great at all times is the concourse of people
of all stations and all shades of belief, and so many partake of the
entertainment liberally provided, that I may be excused for calling
funerals the great festivals of the “Dutch.” (Weddings are also highly
festive occasions, but they are confined to the “freundschaft,” and to
much smaller numbers.)
The services at funerals are generally conducted in the German language.
An invitation is extended to the persons present to return to eat
after the funeral, or the meal is partaken of before leaving for the
graveyard: hospitality, in all rural districts, where the guests come
from afar, seems to require this. The tables are sometimes set in a barn,
or large wagon-house, and relays of guests succeed one another, until all
are done. The neighbors wait upon the table. The entertainment generally
consists of meat, frequently cold; bread and butter; pickles or sauces,
such as apple-butter; pies and rusks; sometimes stewed chickens, mashed
potatoes, cheese, etc.; and coffee invariably. All depart after the
dish-washing, and the family is left in quiet again.
I have said that persons of all shades of belief attend funerals; but
our New Mennists are not permitted to listen to the sermons of other
denominations. Memorial stones over the dead are more conspicuous than
among Friends; but they are still quite plain, with simple inscriptions.
Occasionally family graveyards are seen. One on a farm adjoining ours
seems cut out of the side of a field; it stands back from the high-road,
and access to it is on foot. To those who are anxious to preserve the
remains of their relatives, these graveyards are objectionable, as they
will probably not be regarded after the property has passed into another
family.
A Lutheran gentleman, living in Berks County, in speaking of the great
funerals among the “Dutch,” says, “Our Germans look forward all their
lives to their funerals, hoping to be able to entertain their friends
on that great occasion with the hospitality due to them, and the honor
due to the memory of the departed.” No spirituous liquors, he added, are
_now_ used at funerals, the clergy having discouraged their use on these
religious occasions. In a mountain valley in Carbon County, about thirty
years ago, a bottle of whiskey was handed to a Lutheran minister, and he
was asked to take some. “Yes, I’ll have some,” he answered; and taking
the bottle, he broke it against a tree.
WEDDINGS.
Our farmer had a daughter married lately, and I was invited to see the
bride leave home. The groom, in accordance with the early habits of the
“Dutch” folks, reached the bride’s house about six in the morning, having
previously breakfasted and ridden four miles. As he probably fed and
harnessed his horse, besides attiring himself for the grand occasion, he
must have been up betimes on an October morning.
The bride wore purple mousseline-de-laine and a blue bonnet. As some of
the “wedding-folks” were dilatory, the bride and groom did not get off
before seven. The bridegroom was a mechanic. The whole party was composed
of four couples, who rode to Lancaster in buggies, where two pairs were
married by a minister. In the afternoon the newly-married couples went
down to Philadelphia for a few days; and on the evening that they were
expected at home we had a reception, or home-coming. Supper consisted
of roast turkeys, beef, and stewed chickens, cakes, pies, and coffee
of course. We had raisin-pie, which is a great treat in “Dutchland”
on festive or solemn occasions. “Nine couples” of the party sat down
to supper, and then the remaining spare seats were occupied by the
landlord’s wife, the bride’s uncle, etc. We had a fiddler in the evening.
He and the dancing would not have been there had the household “belonged
to meeting;” and, as it was, some young Methodist girls did not dance.
One of my “English” acquaintances was sitting alone on a Sunday evening,
when she heard a rap at the door, and a young “Dutchman,” a stranger,
walked in and sat down, “and there he sot, and sot, and sot.” Mrs. G.
waited to hear his errand, politely making conversation; and finally
he asked whether her daughter was at home. “Which one?” He did not
know. But that did not make much difference, as neither was at home.
Mrs. G. afterwards mentioned this circumstance to a worthy “Dutch”
neighbor, expressing surprise that a young man should call who had not
been introduced. “How then _would_ they get acquainted?” said he. She
suggested that she did not think that her daughter knew the young man.
“She would not tell you, perhaps, if she did.” The daughter, however,
when asked, seemed entirely ignorant, and did not know that she had ever
seen the young man. He had probably seen her at the railroad station,
and had found out her name and residence. It would seem to indicate much
confidence on the part of parents, if, when acquaintances are formed in
such a manner, the father and mother retire at nine o’clock, and leave
their young daughter thus to “keep company” until midnight or later.
It is no wonder that one of our German sects has declared against the
popular manner of “courting.”
I recently attended a New Mennist wedding, which took place in the frame
meeting-house. We entered through an adjoining brick dwelling, one
room of which served as an ante-room, where the “sisters” left their
bonnets and shawls. I was late, for the services had begun about nine
on a bitter Sunday morning in December. The meeting-house was crowded,
and in front on the left was a plain of book-muslin caps on the heads
of the sisters. On shelves and pegs, along the other side, were placed
the hats and overcoats of the brethren. The building was extremely
simple,—whitewashed without, entirely unpainted within, with whitewashed
walls. The preacher stood at a small, unpainted desk, and before it was a
table, convenient for the old men “to sit at and lay their books on.” Two
stoves, a half-dozen hanging tin candlesticks, and the benches completed
the furniture. The preacher was speaking extemporaneously in English, for
in this meeting-house the services are often performed in this tongue;
and he spoke readily and well, though his speech was not free from such
expressions as, “It would be wishful for men to do their duty;” “Man
cannot separate them together;” and “This, Christ done for us.”
He spoke at length upon divorce, which, he said, could not take place
between Christians. The preacher spoke especially upon the duty of the
wife to submit to the husband whenever differences of sentiment arose;
of the duty of the husband to love the wife, and to show his love by his
readiness to assist her. He alluded to Paul’s saying that it is better to
be unmarried than married, and he did not scruple to use plain language
touching adultery. His discourse ended, he called upon the pair proposing
marriage to come forward; whereupon the man and woman rose from the
body of the congregation on either side, and, coming out to the middle
aisle, stood together before the minister. They had both passed their
early youth, but had very good faces. The bride wore a mode-colored
alpaca, and a black apron; also a clear-starched cap without a border,
after the fashion of the sect. The groom wore a dark-green coat, cut
“shad-bellied,” after the fashion of the brethren.
This was probably the manner of their acquaintance: If, in spite of
Paul’s encouragement to a single life, a brother sees a sister whom he
wishes to marry, he mentions the fact to a minister, who tells it to
the sister. If she agrees in sentiment, the acquaintance continues for
a year, during which private interviews can be had if desired; but this
sect entirely discourages courting as usually practised among the “Dutch.”
The year having in this case elapsed, and the pair having now met before
the preacher, he propounded to them three questions:
1. I ask of this brother, as the bridegroom, do you believe that this
sister in the faith is allotted to you by God as your helpmeet and
spouse? And I ask of you, as the bride, do you believe that this your
brother is allotted to you by God as your husband and head?
2. Are you free in your affections from all others, and have you them
centred alone upon this your brother or sister?
3. Do you receive this person as your lawfully wedded husband [wife], do
you promise to be faithful to him [her], to reverence him [to love her],
and that nothing but death shall separate you; that, by the help of God,
you will, to the best of your ability, fulfil all the duties which God
has enjoined on believing husbands and wives?
In answering this last question, I observed the bride to lift her eyes
to the preacher’s face, as if in fearless trust. Then the preacher,
directing them to join hands, pronounced them man and wife, and invoked
a blessing upon them. This was followed by a short prayer, after
which the wedded pair separated, each again taking a place among the
congregation. The occasion was solemn. On resuming his place in the desk,
the preacher’s eyes were seen to be suffused, and pocket-handkerchiefs
were visible on either side (the sisters’ white, those of the brethren of
colored silk). The audience then knelt, while the preacher prayed, and
I heard responses like those of the Methodists, but more subdued. The
preacher made a few remarks, to the effect that, although it would be
grievous to break the bond now uniting these two, it would be infinitely
more grievous to break the tie which unites us to Christ; and then a
quaint hymn was sung to a familiar tune. This “church” does not allow
wedding-parties, but a few friends may gather at the house after meeting.
At Amish weddings the meeting is not in a church, like the one just
spoken of, for their meetings are held in private houses. I hear that
none go to this meeting but invited guests, except that the preachers are
always present; and after the ceremony the wedded pair with the preachers
retire into a private apartment, perhaps for exhortation upon their new
duties.
A neighbor tells me that the Amish have great fun at weddings; that they
have a table set all night, and that when the weather is pleasant they
play in the barn. “Our Pete went once,” she continued, “with a lot of the
public-school scholars. They let them go in and look on. They twisted a
towel for the bloom-sock, and they did hit each other.” (Bloom-sock,
_plump-sack_, a twisted kerchief,—a clumsy fellow.)
“The bloom-sock” (_oo_ short), I hear, “is a handkerchief twisted long,
from the two opposite corners. When it is twisted, you double it, and tie
the ends with a knot. One in front hunts the handkerchief, and those on
the bench are passing it behind them. If they get a chance, they’ll hit
him with it, and if he sees it he tears it away. Then he goes into the
row, and the other goes out to hunt it.”
It has also been said that at Amish wedding-parties they have what
they call _Glücktrinke_, of wine, etc. Some wedding-parties are called
infares. Thus, a neighbor spoke of “Siegfried’s wedding, where they had
such an infare.” The original meaning I suppose to be home-coming.
It must not be inferred from these descriptions that we have no
“fashionable” persons among us, of the old German stock. When they have
become fashionable, however, they do not desire to be called “Dutch.”
QUILTINGS.
There lives in our neighborhood a pleasant, industrious “Aunt Sally,” a
yellow woman; and one day she had a quilting, for she had long wished
to re-cover two quilts. The first who arrived at Aunt Sally’s was our
neighbor from over the “creek,” or mill-stream, Polly M., in her black
silk Mennist bonnet, formed like a sun-bonnet; and at ten came my dear
friend Susanna E., who is tall and fat, and very pleasant; who has
Huguenot blood in her veins, and—
“Whose heart has a look southward, and is open
To the great noon of nature.”
Aunt Sally had her quilt up in her landlord’s east room, for her own
house was too small. However, at about eleven she called us over to
dinner; for people who have breakfasted at five or six have an appetite
at eleven.
We found on the table beefsteaks, boiled pork, sweet potatoes,
kohl-slaw,[4] pickled tomatoes, cucumbers, and red beets (thus the
“Dutch” accent lies), apple-butter and preserved peaches, pumpkin- and
apple-pie, with sponge-cake and coffee.
After dinner came our next neighbors, “the maids,” Susy and Katy Groff,
who live in single blessedness and great neatness. They wore pretty,
clear-starched Mennist caps, very plain. Katy is a sweet-looking woman;
and, although she is more than sixty years old, her forehead is almost
unwrinkled, and her fine fair hair is still brown. It was late when
the farmer’s wife came,—three o’clock; for she had been to Lancaster.
She wore hoops, and was of the “world’s people.” These women all spoke
“Dutch;” for “the maids,” whose ancestor came here probably one hundred
and fifty years ago, do not yet speak English with fluency.
The first subject of conversation was the fall house-cleaning; and I
heard mention of “die carpet hinaus an der fence,” and “die fenshter und
die porch;” and the exclamation, “My goodness, es war schlimm” (it was
bad). I quilted faster than Katy Groff, who showed me her hands, and
said, “You have not been corn-husking, as I have.”
So we quilted and rolled, talked and laughed, got one quilt done, and put
in another. The work was not fine; we laid it out by chalking around a
small plate. Aunt Sally’s desire was rather to get her quilting finished
upon this great occasion, than for us to put in a quantity of needlework.
About five o’clock we were called to supper. I need not tell you all the
particulars of this plentiful meal. But the stewed chicken was tender,
and we had coffee again.
Polly M.’s husband now came over the creek in the boat, to take her home,
and he warned her against the evening dampness. The rest of us quilted a
while by candle and lamp, and got the second quilt done at about seven.
At this quilting I heard but little gossip, and less scandal. I displayed
my new alpaca, and my dyed merino, and the Philadelphia bonnet which
exposes the back of my head to the wintry blast. Polly, for her part,
preferred her black silk sun-bonnet; and so we parted, with mutual
invitations to visit.
“SINGINGS.”
Mary ⸺ tells me that she once attended a “singing” among the Amish. About
nightfall, on a Sunday evening in summer, a half-dozen “girls” and a few
more “boys” met at the house of one of the members. They talked a while
first on common subjects, and then sang hymns from the Amish hymn-book
in the German tongue. They chanted in the slow manner common in their
religious meetings; but Mary says that some are now learning to sing by
note, and are improving their manner. They thus intoned until about ten
o’clock, and then laid aside their hymn-books, and the old folks went
to bed. Then the young people went out into the wash-house, or outside
kitchen, so as not to wake the sleepers, and played, “Come, Philander,
let’s be marching,” and
“The needle’s eye we do supply
With thread that runs so true;
And many a lass have I let pass
Because I wanted you.”
Which game seems to be the same as
“Open the gates as high as the sky
And let King George and his troops go by.”
In these kissing plays, and in some little romping among the young men,
the time was spent until about two or three in the morning, when they
separated, two girls from a distance staying all night. Mary was able to
sleep until daylight only, for no allowance is made for those who partake
in these gay vigils to make up in the morning for loss of sleep.
There were no refreshments upon this occasion, but once at a singing at
Christ. Yoder’s, it is said that the party took nearly all the pies out
of the cellar, and the empty plates were found in the wash-house next
morning.
Dancing-parties are not unknown among us, but they are not popular among
the plain people whom I especially describe.
FARMING.
In this fertile limestone district farming is very laborious, being
entirely by tillage. Our regular routine is once in five years to
plough the sod ground for corn. In the next ensuing year the same
ground is sowed with oats; and when the oats come off in August, the
industrious “Dutchmen” immediately manure the stubble-land for wheat.
I have seen them laying the dark-brown heaps upon the yellow stubble,
when, in August, I have ridden some twelve or fourteen miles down to the
hill-country for blackberries.
After the ground is carefully prepared, wheat and timothy (grass) seed
are put in with a drill, and in the ensuing spring clover is sowed upon
the same ground. By July, when the wheat is taken off the ground, the
clover and timothy are growing, and will be ready to mow in the next or
fourth summer. In the fifth the same grass constitutes a grazing-ground,
and then the sod is ready to be broken up again for Indian corn. Potatoes
are seldom planted here in great quantities; a part of one of the
oat-fields or corn-fields can be put into potatoes, and the ground will
be ready by fall to be put into wheat, if it is desired. A successful
farmer put more than half of his forty acres into wheat; this being
considered the best crop. The average crop of wheat is about twenty
bushels, of Indian corn about forty. I have heard of one hundred bushels
of corn in the Pequea valley, but this is very rare.
When the wheat and oats are in the barn or stack, enormous eight-horse
threshers, whose owners go about the neighborhood from farm to farm,
thresh the crop in two or three days; and thus what was once a great job
for winter may all be finished by the first of October.
Jacob E. is a model farmer. His buildings and fences are in good order,
and his cattle well kept. He is a little past the prime of life; his
beautiful head of black hair being touched with silver. His wife is
dimpled and smiling, and her weight of nearly two hundred does not
prevent her being active, energetic, forehanded, and “thorough-going.”
During the winter months the two sons go to the public school,—the older
one with reluctance; there they learn to read and write and cipher,
and possibly they study geography; they speak English at school, and
“Dutch” at home. Much education the “Dutch” farmer fears, as productive
of laziness; and laziness is a mortal sin here. The E.’s rarely buy a
book. I suggested to one of our neighbors that he might advantageously
have given a certain son a chance with books. “Don’t want no books,” was
the answer. “There’s enough goes to books! Get so lazy after a while
they won’t farm.” The winter is employed partly in preparing material to
fertilize the wheat-land during the coming summer. Great droves of cattle
and sheep come down our road from the West, and our farmers buy from
these, and fatten stock during the winter months for the Philadelphia
market. A proper care of his stock will occupy some portion of the
farmer’s time. A farmer’s son told me also of cutting wood and quarrying
stone in the winter, adding, “If a person wouldn’t work in the winter,
they’d be behindhand in the spring.”
Besides these, the farmer has generally a great “freundschaft,” or family
connection, both his and his wife’s; and the paying visits within a
range of twenty or thirty miles, and receiving visits in return, help
to pass away the time. Then Jacob and Susanna are actively benevolent;
they are liable to be called upon, summer and winter, to wait on the sick
and to help bury the dead. Susanna was formerly renowned as a baker at
funerals, where her services were freely given.
This rich level land of ours is highly prized by the “Dutch” for farming
purposes, and the great demand has enhanced the price. The farms, too,
are small, seventy acres being a fair size. When Seth R., the rich
preacher, bought his last farm from an “Englishman,” William G. said to
him, “Well, Seth, it seems as if you Dutch folks had determined to root
us English out; but thee had to pay pretty dear for thy root this time.”
There are some superstitious ideas that still hold sway here, regarding
the growth of plants. A young girl coming to us for cabbage-plants said
that it was a good time to set them out, for “it was in the Wirgin.” It
is very doubtful whether she knew _what_ was in Virgo, but I suppose that
it was the moon. So our farmer’s wife tells me that the Virgin will do
very well for cabbages, but not for any plant like beans, for, though
they will flower well, they will not mature the fruit. Fence should be
set in the up-going of the moon; meat butchered in the down-going will
shrink in the pot.
FARMERS’ WIVES.
One of my “Dutch” neighbors, who, from a shoemaker, became the owner of
two farms, said to me, “The woman is more than half;” and his own very
laborious wife (with her portion) had indeed been so.
The woman (in common speech, “the old woman”) milks, raises the poultry,
has charge of the garden,—sometimes digging the ground herself, and
planting and hoeing, with the assistance of her daughters and the
“maid,” when she has one. (German, _magd_.) To be sure, she does not
go extensively into vegetable-raising, nor has she a large quantity of
strawberries and other small fruits; neither does she plant a great
many peas and beans, that are laborious to “stick.” She has a quantity
of cabbages and of “red beets,” of onions and of early potatoes, in
her garden, a plenty of cucumbers for winter pickles, and store of
string-beans and tomatoes, with some sweet potatoes.
Peter R. told me that in one year, off their small farm, they sold “two
hundred dollars’ worth of _wedgable_ things, not counting the butter.” As
in that year the clothing for each member of the family probably cost no
more than fifteen dollars, the two hundred dollars’ worth of vegetable
things was of great importance.
Our “Dutch” never make _store_-cheese. At a county fair, only one cheese
was exhibited, and that was from Chester County. The farmer’s wife boards
all the farm-hands, and the mechanics—the carpenter, mason, etc.—who
put up the new buildings, and the fence-makers. At times she allows the
daughters to go out and husk corn. It was a pretty sight which I saw one
fall day,—an Amish man with four sons and daughters, husking in the
field. “We do it all ourselves,” said he.
(Said a neighbor, “A man told me once that he was at an Amish husking—a
husking-match in the kitchen. He said he never saw as much sport in all
his life. There they had the bloom-sock. There was one old man, quite
gray-headed, and gray-bearded; he laughed till he shook.” Said another,
“There’s not many huskings going on now. The most play now goes on at the
infares.”)
In winter mornings perhaps the farmer’s wife goes out to milk in the
stable with a lantern, while her daughters get breakfast; has her house
“redd up” about eight o’clock, and is prepared for several hours’ sewing
before dinner, laying by great piles of shirts for summer. We no longer
make linen; but I have heard of one “Dutch” girl who had a good supply of
domestic linen made into shirts and trousers for the future spouse whose
fair proportions she had not yet seen.
There are, of course, many garments to make in a large family, but
there is not much work put upon them. We do not yet patronize the
sewing-machine very extensively, but a seamstress or tailoress is
sometimes called in. At the spring cleaning the labors of the women folk
are increased by whitewashing the picket-fences.
In March we make soap, before the labors of the garden are great. The
forests are being obliterated from this fertile tract, and many use
what some call _consecrated_ lye; formerly, the ash-hopper was filled,
and a good lot of egg-bearing lye run off to begin the soap with, while
the weaker filled the soft-soap kettle, after the soap had “come.”
The chemical operation of soap-making often proved difficult, and, of
course, much was said about luck. “We had bad luck making soap.” A
sassafras stick was preferred for stirring, and the soap was stirred
always in one direction. In regard to this, and that other chemical
operation, making and keeping vinegar, there are certain ideas about the
temporary incapacity of some persons,—ideas only to be alluded to here.
If the farmer’s wife never “has luck” in making soap, she employs some
skilful woman to come in and help her. It is not a long operation, for
the “Dutch” rush this work speedily. If the lye is well run off, two
tubs of hard soap and a barrel of soft can be made in a day. A smart
housekeeper can make a barrel of soap in the morning, and go visiting in
the afternoon.
Great are the household labors in harvest; but the cooking and baking in
the hot weather are cheerfully done for the men, who are toiling in hot
suns and stifling barns. Four meals are common at this season, for “a
piece” is sent out at nine o’clock. I heard of one “Dutch” girl’s making
some fifty pies a week in harvest; for if you have four meals a day, and
pie at each, many are required. We have great faith in pie.
I have been told of an inexperienced Quaker housewife in the neighboring
county of York, who was left in charge of the farm, and during harvest
these important labors were performed by John Stein, John Stump, and John
Stinger. She also had guests, welcome perhaps as “rain in harvest.” To
conciliate the Johns was very important, and she waited on them first.
“What will thee have, John Stein?” “What shall I give thee, John Stump?”
“And thee, John Stinger?” On one memorable occasion there was mutiny in
the field, for John Stein declared that he never worked where there were
not “kickelin” cakes in harvest, nor would he now. _Küchlein_ proved to
be cakes fried in fat; and the housewife was ready to appease “Achilles’
wrath,” as soon as she made this discovery.
We made in one season six barrels of cider into apple-butter, three at
a time. Two large copper kettles were hung under the beech-trees, down
between the spring-house and smoke-house, and the cider was boiled down
the evening before, great stumps of trees being in demand. One hand
watched the cider, and the rest of the family gathered in the kitchen
and labored diligently in preparing the cut apples, so that in the
morning the “schnits” might be ready to go in. (_Schneiden_, to cut,
_geschnitten_.)
One bushel and a half of cut apples are said to be enough for a barrel
of cider. In a few hours the apples will all be in, and then you will
stir, and stir, and stir, for you do not want to have the apple-butter
burn at the bottom, and be obliged to dip it out into tubs and scour the
kettle. Some time in the afternoon, you will take out a little on a dish,
and when you find that the cider no longer “weeps out” round the edges,
but all forms a simple heap, you will dip it up into earthen vessels,
and when cold take it “on” to the garret to keep company with the hard
soap and the bags of dried apples and cherries, perhaps with the hams and
shoulders. Soap and apple-butter are usually made in an open fireplace,
where hangs the kettle. At one time (about the year 1828) I have heard
that there was apple-butter in the Lancaster Museum which dated from
Revolutionary times; for we do not expect it to ferment in the summer.
It dries away; but water is stirred in to prepare it for the table.
Sometimes peach-butter is made, with cider, molasses, or sugar, and,
in the present scarcity of apples, cut pumpkin is often put into the
apple-butter.
Soon after apple-butter-making comes butchering, for we like an early
pig in the fall, when the store of smoked meat has run out. Pork is the
staple, and we smoke the flitches, not preserving them in brine like the
Yankees. We ourselves use much beef, and do not like smoked flitch, but I
speak for the majority. Sausage is a great dish with us, as in Germany.
Butchering is one of the many occasions for the display of friendly
feeling, when brother or father steps in to help hang the hogs, or a
sister to assist in rendering lard, or in preparing a plentiful meal. An
active farmer will have two or three porkers killed, scalded, and hung
up by sunrise, and by night the whole operation of sausage and “pudding”
making, and lard rendering, will be finished, and the house set in order.
The friends who have assisted receive a portion of the sausage, etc.,
which portion is called the “metzel-sup” (or soop). The metzel-sup is
very often sent to poor widows and others.
_We_ make scrapple from the skin, a part of the livers, and heads, with
the addition of corn-meal; but, instead, our “Dutch” neighbors make
_liverwurst_ (“woorsht”), or meat pudding, omitting the meal, and this
compound, stuffed into the larger entrails, is very popular in Lancaster
market. Some make _pawn-haus_ from the liquor in which the pudding-meat
was boiled, adding thereto corn-meal. The name is properly _pann-haas_,
and signifies, perhaps, panned-rabbit. It is sometimes made of richer
material.
These three dishes, just before mentioned, are fried before eating.
I have never seen hog’s-head cheese in “Dutch” houses. If the
boiling-pieces of beef are kept over summer, they are smoked, instead of
being preserved in brine. Much smear-case (_schmier-käse_), or cottage
cheese, is eaten in these regions. Children, and some grown people too,
fancy it upon bread with molasses; which may be considered as an offset
to the Yankee pork and molasses.
In some Pennsylvania families smear-case and apple-butter are eaten to
save butter, which is a salable article. The true “Dutch” housewife’s
ambition is to supply the store-goods for the family as far as possible
from the sale of the butter and eggs.
We have also Dutch cheese, which may be made by crumbling the dry
smear-case, working in butter, salt, and chopped sage, forming it into
pats, and setting them away to ripen. The _sieger-käse_ is made from
sweet milk boiled, with sour milk added and beaten eggs, and then set to
drain off the whey. (_Ziegen-käse_ is German for goat’s milk cheese.)
“Schnits and knep” is said to be made of dried apples, fat pork, and
dough-dumplings cooked together.
“Tell them they’re good,” says one of my “Dutch” acquaintances.
Knep is from the German, _knöpfe_, buttons or knobs. In common speech the
word has fallen to nep. The “nep” are sometimes made from pie-crust, or
sometimes from a batter of eggs and milk, and may be boiled without the
meat; but one of my acquaintances says that the smoke gives a peculiar
and appetizing flavor.
Apple-dumplings in “Dutch” are _aepel-dumplins_; whence I infer that
like _pye-kroosht_ they are not of German origin.
In the fall our “Dutch” make _sauer-kraut_. I happened to visit the house
of my friend Susanna when her husband and son were going to take an
hour at noon to help her with the kraut. Two white tubs stood upon the
back porch, one with the fair round heads, and the other to receive the
cabbage when cut by a knife set in a board (a very convenient thing for
cutting kohl-slaw and cucumbers). When cut, the cabbage is packed into a
“stand” with a sauer-kraut staff, resembling the pounder with which New
Englanders beat clothes in a barrel. Salt is added during the packing.
When the cabbage ferments it becomes acid. The kraut-stand remains in the
cellar; the contents not being unpalatable when boiled with potatoes and
the chines or ribs of pork. But the smell of the boiling kraut is very
strong, and that stomach is probably strong which readily digests the
meal.
Sometimes “nep” or dumplings are boiled with the salt meat and
sour-krout. A young teacher, who was speaking of sour-krout and nep, was
asked how he spelt this word. He did not know, and said he did not care,
so he got the nep.
“As Dutch as sour-krout,” has become a familiar saying here. In Lehigh
County, if I mistake not, I heard the common dialect called “sour-krout
Dutch.”
Our “Dutch” make soup in variety, and pronounce the word short, between
_soup_ and _sup_. Thus there is Dutch soup, potato soup, etc.; scalded
milk and bread is “bread and milk soup,” bread crumbed into coffee
“coffee soup.”
Noodel soup (_nudeln_) is a treat. Noodels may be called domestic
macaroni. I have seen a dish in which bits of fried bread were laid upon
the piled-up noodels, to me unpalatable from the quantity of eggs in the
latter.
Dampf-noodles, or _gedämpfte nudeln_, are boiled, and melted butter is
poured over them.
The extremely popular cakes, twisted, sprinkled with salt, and baked
crisp and brown, called pretzels (_brezeln_), were known in Pennsylvania
long before the cry for “ein lager, zwei brezeln” (a glass of lager and
two pretzels), was heard in the land.
One of my “Dutch” neighbors, who visited Western New York, was detained
several hours at Elmira. “They hadn’t no water-crackers out there,” he
complained. “Didn’t know what you meant when you said water-crackers; and
they hain’t got pretzels. You can’t get no pretzels.”
Perhaps not at the railroad stations.
We generally find excellent home-made wheat bread in this limestone
region. We make the pot of “sots” (or rising) overnight, with boiled
mashed potatoes, scalded flour, and sometimes hops. Friday is baking-day.
The “Dutch” housewife is very fond of baking in the brick oven, but the
scarcity of wood must gradually accustom us to the great cooking-stove.
One of the heavy labors of the fall is the fruit-drying. Afterward your
hostess invites you to partake, thus: “Mary, will you have pie? This is
snits, and this is elder” (or dried apples, and dried elderberries).
Dried peaches are peach snits.
A laboring woman once, speaking to me of a neighbor, said, “She hain’t
got many dried apples. If her girl would snits in the evening, as I
did!—but she’d rather keep company and run around than to snits.”
The majority keep one fire in winter. This is in the kitchen, which with
nice housekeepers is the abode of neatness, with its rag carpet and
brightly polished stove. An adjoining room or building is the wash-house,
where butchering, soap-making, etc., are done by the help of a great
kettle hung in the fireplace, not set in brick-work.
Adjoining the kitchen, on another side, is a state apartment, also
rag-carpeted, and called “the room.” The stove-pipe from the kitchen
sometimes passes through the ceiling, and tempers the sleeping-room of
the parents. These arrangements are not very favorable to bathing in cold
weather; indeed, to wash the whole person is not very common, in summer
or in winter.
Will you go up-stairs in a neat Dutch farm-house? Here are rag carpets
again. Gay quilts are on the best beds, where green and red calico,
perhaps in the form of a basket, are displayed on a white ground; or the
beds bear brilliant coverlets of red, white, and blue, as if to “make the
rash gazer wipe his eye.” The common pillow-cases are sometimes of blue
check, or of calico. In winter, people often sleep under feather-covers,
not so heavy as a feather-bed. In the spring there is a great washing
of bedclothes, and then the blankets are washed, which during winter
supplied the place of sheets.
HOLIDAYS.
I was sitting alone, one Christmas time, when the door opened and there
entered some half-dozen youths or men, who frightened me so that I
slipped out at the door. They, being thus alone, and not intending any
harm, at once left. These, I suppose, were Christmas mummers, though I
heard them called “bell-schnickel.”
At another time, as I was sitting with my little boy, Aunt Sally came
in smiling and mysterious, and took her place by the stove. Immediately
after, there entered a man in disguise, who very much alarmed my little
Dan.
The stranger threw down nuts and cakes, and, when some one offered to
pick them up, struck at him with a rod. This was the real bell-schnickel,
personated by the farmer.
It will hardly be supposed that Bell-schnickel and Santa Claus are the
same; but the former is Peltz-nickel[5] or Nicholas dressed in fur. St.
Nicholas’ day, the 6th of December, is in Advent.
On Christmas morning the cry is, “Christmas-gift!” and not, as elsewhere,
“A merry Christmas!” Christmas is a day when people do not work, but go
to meeting, when roast turkey and mince-pie are in order, and when the
“Dutch” housewife has store of cakes on hand to give to the little folks.
We still hear of barring-out at Christmas. The pupils fasten themselves
in the school-house, and keep the teacher out to obtain presents from
him.
The first of April (which our neighbors generally call Aprile) is a great
occasion. This is the opening of the farming year. The tenant farmers
and other “renters” move to their new homes, and interest-money and
other debts are due; and so much money changes hands in Lancaster, on
the first, that pickpockets are attracted thither, and the unsuspicious
“Dutch” farmer sometimes finds himself a loser.
The movings, on or about the first, are made festive occasions;
neighbors, young and old, are gathered; some bring wagons to transport
farm utensils and furniture, others assist in driving cattle, put
furniture in its place, and set up bedsteads; while the women are ready
to help prepare the bountiful meal. At this feast I have heard a worthy
tenant farmer say, “Now help yourselves, as you did out there” (with the
goods).
Whitsuntide Monday is a great holiday with the young “Dutch” folks.
It occurs when there is a lull in farm-work, between corn-planting
and hay-making. Now the new summer bonnets are all in demand, and the
taverns are found full of youths and girls, who sometimes walk the street
hand-in-hand, eat cakes and drink beer, or visit the “flying horses.” A
number of seats are arranged around a central pole, and, a pair taking
each seat, the whole revolves by the work of a horse, and you can have a
circular ride for six cents.
On the Fourth of July we are generally at work in the harvest-field.
Several of the festivals of the church are held here as days of rest, if
not of recreation. Such are Good Friday, Ascension-day, etc. On Easter,
eggs colored and otherwise ornamented were formerly much in vogue.
Thanksgiving is beginning to be observed here, but the New Englander
would miss the family gatherings, the roast turkeys, the pumpkin-pies.
Possibly we go to church in the morning, and sit quiet for the rest
of the day; and as for pumpkin-pies, we do not greatly fancy them.
Raisin-pie, or mince-pie, we can enjoy.
The last night of October is “Hallow-eve.” I was in Lancaster one
Hallow-eve, and boys were ringing door-bells, carrying away door-steps,
throwing corn at the windows, or running off with an unguarded wagon. I
heard of one or two youngsters who had requested an afternoon holiday to
go to church, but who had spent their time in going out of town to steal
corn for this occasion. In the country, farm-gates are taken from their
hinges and removed; and it was formerly a favorite amusement to take
a wagon to pieces, and, after carrying the parts up to the barn-roof,
to put it together again, thus obliging the owner to take it apart and
bring it down. Such “tricks” as are described by Burns in the poem of
“Hallow-e’en” may be heard of occasionally, continued perhaps by the
Scotch-Irish element in our population.
PUBLIC SCHOOLS.
Over twenty years ago I was circulating an anti-slavery petition among
women. I carried it to the house of a neighboring farmer, who was
a miller also, and well to do. His wife signed the petition (_all_
women did not in those days), but she signed it with her mark. I have
understood that it is about twenty years since the school law was
made universal here, and that our township of Upper Leacock wanted
to resist by litigation the establishment of public schools.[6] It
is the school-tax that is onerous. Within about twenty years a great
impetus has been given to education by the establishment of the county
superintendency, of normal schools, and of teachers’ institutes. I think
it is within this time, however, that the board of directors met, in an
adjoining township, and, being called upon to vote by ballot, there were
afterward found in the box several different ways of spelling the word
“no.”
At the last institute, a worthy young man at the blackboard was telling
the teachers how to make their pupils pronounce the word “did,” which
they inclined to call _dit_; and a young woman told me that she found it
necessary, when teaching in Berks County, to practise speaking “Dutch,”
in order to make the pupils understand their lessons. It must be rather
hard to hear and talk “Dutch” almost constantly, and then to go to a
school where the text-books are English.
There is still an effort made to have German taught in our public
schools. The reading of German is considered a great accomplishment,
and is one required for a candidate for the ministry among some of our
plainer sects. But the teacher is generally overburdened in the winter
with the necessary branches in a crowded, ungraded school. Our township
generally has school for seven months in the year; some townships have
only five; and in Berks County I have heard of one having only four
months. About thirty-five dollars a month is paid to teachers, male and
female.
My little boy of seven began to go to public school this fall. For a
while I could hear him repeating such expressions as, “Che, double o, t,
coot” (meaning good). “P-i-g, pick.” “Kreat A, little A, pouncing P.” “I
don’t like chincherpread.” Even among our “Dutch” people of more culture,
_etch_ is heard for _aitch_ (h), and _chay_ for jay (j), and these are
relics of early training.
The standard of our county superintendent is high (1868), and his
examinations are severe. His salary is about seventeen hundred dollars.
Where there is so much wealth as here, it seems almost impossible that
learning should not follow, as soon as the minds of the people are turned
toward it; but the great fear of making their children “lazy” operates
against sending them to school. Industrious habits will certainly tend
more to the pecuniary success of a farmer than the “art of writing and
speaking the English language _correctly_.”
MANNERS AND CUSTOMS.
My dear old “English” friend, Samuel G., had often been asked to stay
and eat with David B., and on one occasion he concluded to accept the
invitation. They went to the table, and had a silent pause; then David
cut up the meat, and each workman or member of the family put in a fork
and helped himself. The guest was discomfited, and, finding that he was
likely to lose his dinner otherwise, he followed their example. The
invitation to eat had covered the whole. When guests are present, many
say, “Now help yourselves;” but they do not use vain repetitions, as the
city people do.
Coffee is still drunk three times a day in some families, but frequently
without sugar. The sugar-bowl stands on the table, with spoons therein
for those who want sugar; but at a late “home-coming” party I believe
that I was the only one at the table who took sugar. The dishes of
smear-case, molasses, apple-butter, etc., are not always supplied with
spoons. _We_ dip in our knives, and with the same useful implements
convey the food to our mouths. Does the opposite extreme prevail among
the farmers of Massachusetts? Do they always eat with their forks, and
use napkins?
On many busy farm-occasions, the woman of the house will find it
more convenient to let the men eat first,—to get the burden of the
harvest-dinner off her mind and her hands, and then sit down with her
daughters, her “maid” and little children, to their own repast. But the
allowing to the men the constant privilege of eating first has passed
away, if indeed it ever prevailed. At funeral feasts the old men and
women sit down first, with the mourning family. Then succeed the second,
third, and fourth tables.
Among the children of well-to-do parents, the unmarried daughter will
sometimes go into the service of the married one, receiving wages
regularly, or allowing them to accumulate. An acquaintance of mine in
Lancaster had a hired girl living in his family who was worth twelve
thousand dollars in cash means, her father having been a rich farmer.
Among our plain farmers, such persons are considered more praiseworthy
than the reverse.
I lately asked a lawyer in Northampton County why certain persons had
allowed the Lutheran and Reformed farmers, men of very little school
learning, to outstrip them in the pursuit of wealth. He answered that
all the tendency of the education of these last was saving. “In old
times,” he continued, “when we had no ranges nor cooking-stoves, but a
fire on the hearth, I used to hear my mother say to her daughters that
they must not let the dish-water boil, or they would not be married for
seven years.” On the same principle, when a young “English” girl whom I
knew told a young “Dutchman” that she was going to make bread, he said,
“I’m coming for a handful of your dough-trough scrapings;” the idea being
that there should be no scrapings left.
Mr. S., of Lehigh County, says, “We make money in Pennsylvania by saving;
in New York, they make money by paying out.”
Mrs. E., of the same county, says, “We Pennsylvanians are brought up
to work in the house and to family affairs, but the Eastern girls
are brought up more in the factories, and they don’t know anything
about housework. Many have been married, and lived here in this town
(Allentown), of whom I have heard speak, who have not lived happily,
because they were not used to keep house in the way that their husbands
had been accustomed to. They were very intelligent, but not accustomed
to work, and their families would get poor, and stay poor.” Mrs. R.’s
daughter added, that “the New England men, the Eastern men, milk and do
all the outside work.”
The writer thinks, nevertheless, that New England women will not be
willing to admit that they do not understand housework, and are not
eminently “faculized.”
We Lancaster “Dutch” are always striving to seize Time’s forelock. We
rise, even in the winter, about four, feed the stock while the women
get breakfast, eat breakfast in the short days by coal-oil lamps, and
by daylight are ready for the operations of the day. The English folks
and the backsliding “Dutch” are sometimes startled when they hear their
neighbors blow the horn or ring the bell for dinner. On a recent pleasant
October day the farmer’s wife was churning out-of-doors, and cried, “Why,
there’s the dinner-bells a’ready. Mercy days!” I went in to the clock,
and found it at twenty minutes of eleven. The “Dutch” farmers almost
invariably keep their time half an hour or more ahead, like that village
in Cornwall where it was twelve o’clock when it was but half-past eleven
to the rest of the world. Our “Dutch” are never seen running to catch a
railroad train.
We are not a total-abstinence people. Before these times of high prices,
liquor was often furnished to hands in the harvest-field.
A few years ago a meeting was held in a neighboring school-house to
discuss a prohibitory liquor law. After various speeches the question
was put to the vote, thus: “All those who want leave to drink whiskey
will please to rise.” “Now all those who don’t want to drink whiskey will
rise.” The affirmative had a decided majority.
Work is a cardinal virtue with the “Dutchman.” “He is lazy,” is a very
opprobrious remark. At the quilting, when I was trying to take out one of
the screws, Katy Groff, who is sixty-five, exclaimed, “How lazy I am, not
to be helping you!” (“_Wie ich bin faul._”)
Marriages sometimes take place between the two nationalities; but I do
not think the “Dutch” farmers desire English wives for their sons, unless
the wives are decidedly rich. On the other hand, I heard of an English
farmer’s counselling his son to seek a “Dutch” wife. When the son had
wooed and won his substantial bride, “Now he will see what good cooking
is,” said a “Dutch” girl to me. I was surprised at the remark, for his
mother was an excellent housekeeper.
The circus is the favorite amusement of our people. Lancaster papers
have often complained of the slender attendance which is bestowed upon
lectures and the like; even theatrical performances are found “slow,”
compared with the feats of the ring.
Our “Dutch” use a freedom of language that is not known to the English,
and which to them savors of coarseness. “But they mean no harm by it,”
says one of my English friends. It is difficult to practise reserve where
the whole family sit in one heated room. This rich limestone land in
which the “Dutch” delight is nearly level to an eye trained among the
hills. Do hills make a people more poetical or imaginative?
Perhaps so; but there is vulgarity too among the hills.
* * * * *
The foregoing article was written about fourteen years ago, and appeared
(with perhaps some small changes) in the _Atlantic Monthly_ for October,
1869. It was published in the first edition of this work in 1872, and in
the second edition in 1874. Many of the alterations which were made in
one or both of these editions are now removed to the Appendix, where will
also be found additional matter on similar subjects.
The passage of over twelve years has considerably changed the
neighborhood in which I live. The greatest differences are the rise
in the value of land; the division into smaller farms; the general
introduction of the culture of tobacco; and the change in the population
by the coming in of a larger number of that plainest sect of Mennonites,
called Amish.
As regards the rise in the value of land, it is doubtless in part
apparent only, from the greater amount of money at this time. I have
spoken of one who said, “Well, Seth, it seems as if you Dutch folks had
determined to root us English out; but thee had to pay pretty dear for
thy root this time.” The farm alluded to was sold about 1855, and brought
less than one hundred and sixty-three dollars per acre,—there being one
hundred and ten acres. It has since been divided, and eighty acres, now a
very large farm here, with the newer farm buildings, it is supposed would
now bring over two hundred and fifty dollars. Small properties sell much
higher in proportion. I hear of twenty acres, with fair farm buildings,
having sold last fall for nine thousand dollars.
The division into smaller farms is caused in a great measure by the Amish
increasing and dividing properties among their children, so that farms
are running as low, in many cases, as from twenty-five down to ten acres.
It is rare for the Amish to remain unmarried. The owners of such small
properties cannot afford to hire help; the Amish help one another, and
are willing to help others also. Many acts of neighborly kindness are
exchanged here, even to giving a sick neighbor several days’ work in the
harvest-field.
Tobacco was cultivated to profit long ago on farms and islands lying on
the Susquehanna; but one of the consequences of the civil war was to
make the cultivation of the weed more general here, and the immense sums
obtained for fine crops have also kept up the value of this land.
The routine of farming described in the foregoing article is now
abandoned. The following are the crops raised lately on a farm visible
from where I write,—a farm that has been for years under excellent
cultivation. It contains sixty-eight acres, of which (in round numbers)
twenty-six are in wheat, eighteen in Indian corn, eleven in grass, six
in tobacco, three-quarters of an acre in potatoes, and the remainder
is occupied by garden, orchard, and buildings. Oats has not been grown
on this farm for six years. The ground is so rich that oats lodge or
fall, and will not mature the grain. For the last four years wheat has
averaged thirty bushels to the acre. During the same time Indian corn
has averaged about fifty-five bushels. To speak slang, it is not one of
our brag crops. One year the cut-worms took two-thirds of it on the farm
mentioned; and this had to be replanted. The greatest crop of corn of
which I hear mention on this farm was grown some years ago, and was nine
hundred bushels on ten acres.
As regards grass, the owner estimates that for the last four years they
have made on an average nearly three tons of hay to the acre; last year
they had thirty-six tons on ten acres.
Of the six acres in tobacco this year, they prepare the whole for
planting, but only plant two themselves, giving out four to others. The
men who take this land plant and cultivate it, and receive one-half of
the produce, not being charged for the preparation of the ground, nor
for taking the crop to market. One of the advantages of the cultivation
of tobacco (I am sensible of its disadvantages, and do not recommend its
use) is that it gives the poor laboring man and woman more independence.
He or she takes an acre or more, plants, waters, destroys the large
tobacco-worm, strips off the suckers, tops it, breaks down the flowering
stem, gathers, dries, sorts, and packs, and receives perhaps one hundred
dollars per acre in lump, which is very acceptable. They estimate that
they make about double wages.
The eight-horse threshers before mentioned are getting out of date; steam
threshes now almost entirely, and completes the work on such a farm as
just described in two days. The threshing is frequently finished as early
as the first of September, so that the farmer can hang tobacco in the
barn. Large tobacco-houses have also been erected, in the cellar of which
this crop is prepared for sale.
It will be observed that very little attention was paid to potatoes. Last
year they brought at the rate of two hundred bushels to the acre. We had
a pretty severe drought in 1881, and potatoes have sold this winter at
one dollar per bushel, which would make the potato crop superior in value
to the tobacco.
The great amount of manure required to keep the land up to such a
standard is thus supplied on this farm, which is a model one in the
neighborhood. For several months last winter the owner had sixteen
horses, five of his own and the rest boarding; he also had twelve head of
horned cattle, and fattened nine swine. All the corn, hay, and fodder
raised on the farm were fed upon it. (Straw is rarely fed here.) Besides,
the farmer bought five tons of Western mill-feed (the bran and other
refuse from wheat flour) and about three hundred bushels of corn. This
spring he has bought two tons of a certain fertilizer for his corn, and
applied his own barn-yard manure to the tobacco and wheat. He has been
indemnified in part for the great amount fed, by the money received for
boarding horses at twelve dollars apiece by the month. Horses from Canada
and the West are often fattened here for the Eastern market. This farmer
bought two last year, worked them himself on the farm, fattened and
groomed them, and sold them so as to make one hundred dollars apiece on
them; but this was exceptional.
Besides the fertilizers before mentioned, lime is used in this region,
although some have doubted the necessity of applying it to our rich
limestone land. On the farm which I have been describing it is put on
about every sixth year, at the rate of six hundred bushels on eleven
acres. It costs ten cents a bushel.
* * * * *
Another change here is that many now buy bread, and several bakers
regularly supply the neighborhood. This has caused a great lightening of
the labor at funerals. The bread and rusks (or buns) are bought and the
pies dispensed with, which were once considered so necessary. A jocose
youth in a near village used to say, “There will be raisin-pie there,”
when he wished to express that there was fatal illness; but raisin-pies
are no longer so fashionable at funerals. There is no diminution,
however, in the great gatherings. A wealthy farmer died lately who was
also a Mennonite preacher. The funeral was on Sunday; the guests heard
preaching at the house, then dined, and the funeral went to the church,
where was preaching again. Four hundred carriages, it is said, were on
the ground.
Our school-term in this district is not increased beyond seven months;
but the salary has risen, and is from thirty-five to forty dollars per
month, according to merit.
The Amish in this immediate neighborhood still cling to the plain customs
I have described, except that it has become quite common for young people
to drive in simple buggies. Now the yellow-covered wagons are not so
universal; other colors are also used, and more elegant harness. (They
generally keep very good harness.) Neither do the young men wear their
hair to their shoulders. Many of the Amish now wear suspenders. One of
my friends, who is Amish, says that you cannot speak of any such rule as
regards the church in general, for every congregation has its own rules
in these minor affairs.
The family graveyard, especially mentioned, has been removed, and all
the bodies that were recovered interred at the Mennonite church in the
neighborhood.
* * * * *
Two or three small changes in this neighborhood are the following:
Sewing-machines are now found here in great numbers; many houses have
large stoves, which heat at least one room up-stairs; and it is not
common in this immediate neighborhood to sit up with the dead, in the
manner before described.
AN AMISH MEETING.[7]
It was on a Sunday morning in March, when the air was bleak and the roads
were execrable, that I obtained a driver to escort me to the farm-house
where an Amish meeting was to be held.
It was a little after nine o’clock when I entered, and, although the
hour was so early, I found the congregation nearly all gathered, and the
preaching begun.
There were forty men present, as many women, and one infant. Had the
weather been less inclement, we should probably have had more little
ones, for such plain people do not think it necessary to leave the babies
at home.
The rooms in which we sat seemed to have been constructed for these great
occasions. They were the kitchen and “the room,”—as our people call the
sitting-room, or best room,—and were so arranged as to be made into one
by means of two doors.
Our neighbors wore the usual costume of the sect, which is a branch of
the Mennonite Society, or nearly allied to it, the men having laid off
their round-crowned and remarkably wide-brimmed hats. Their hair is
usually cut square across the forehead, and hangs long behind; their
coats are plainer than those of the plainest Quaker, and are fastened,
except the overcoat, with hooks and eyes in place of buttons; whence they
are sometimes called Hooker or Hook-and-Eye Mennists. The pantaloons
are worn without suspenders. Formerly the Amish were often called
“beardy men,” but since beards have become fashionable theirs are not so
conspicuous.
The women, whom I have sometimes seen with a bright purple apron, an
orange neckerchief, or some other striking bit of color, were now more
soberly arrayed in plain white caps without ruffle or border, and white
neckerchiefs, though occasionally a cap or kerchief was black. They wear
closely fitting waists, with a little basquine behind, which is probably
a relic from the times of the short gown and petticoat. Their gowns were
of sober woollen stuff, frequently of flannel; and all wore aprons.
But the most surprising figures among the Amish are the little children,
dressed in garments like those of old persons. It has been my lot to see
at the house of her parents a tender little dark-eyed Amish maiden of
three years, old enough to begin to speak “Dutch,” and as yet ignorant
of English. Seated upon her father’s lap, sick and suffering, with that
sweet little face encircled by the plain muslin cap, the little figure
dressed in that plain gown, she was one not to be soon forgotten. But
the little girl that was at meeting to-day was either no Amish child or
a great backslider, for she was hardly to be distinguished in dress from
the “world’s people.”
The floors were bare, but on one of the open doors hung a long white
towel, worked at one end with colored figures, such as our mothers or
grandmothers put upon samplers. These perhaps were meant for flowers. The
congregation sat principally on benches. On the men’s side a small shelf
of books ran around one corner of the room.
The preacher, who was speaking when I entered, continued for about
fifteen minutes. His remarks and the rest of the services were in
“Dutch.” I have been criticised for applying the epithet to my neighbors,
or to their language, but “Dutch” is the title which they generally
apply to themselves, speaking of “us Dutch folks and you English folks,”
and sometimes with a pretty plain hint that some of the “Dutch” ways
are discreeter and better, if not more virtuous, than the English.
But, though I call them “Dutch,” I am fully aware that they are not
Hollanders. Most of them are Swiss, of ancient and honorable descent,
exiles on account of religious persecution.
I am sorry that I do not understand the language well enough to give
a sketch of some of the discourses on this occasion. At times I
understood an expression of the first speaker, such as “Let us well
reflect and observe,” or “Let us well consider,” expressions that
were often repeated. As he was doubtless a farmer, and was speaking
extemporaneously, it is not remarkable that they were so.
When the preacher had taken his seat, the congregation knelt for five
minutes in silence. A brother then read aloud from the German Bible,
concerning Nicodemus who came to Jesus by night, etc. After this
another brother rose and spoke in a tone like that which is so common
among Friends, namely, a kind of singing or chanting tone, which he
accompanied by a little gesture.
While he was speaking, one or two women went out, and, as I wished to
take note of the proceedings, I followed them into the wash-house or
outside kitchen, which was quite comfortable. As I passed along, I saw in
the yard the wagons which had brought the people to meeting. Most of them
were covered with plain yellow oil-cloth. I have been told that there are
sometimes a hundred wagons gathered at one farm-house, and that in summer
the meetings are often held in barns.
I sat down by the stove in the wash-house, and a very kindly old woman,
the host’s mother, came and renewed the fire. As she did not talk
English, I spoke to her a little in German, and she seemed to understand
me. When I wrote, she wondered and laughed at my rapid movements, for
writing is slower work with these people than some other kinds of labor.
I suppose, indeed, that there are still some of the older women who
scarcely know how to write.
I asked her whether after meeting I might look at the German books on the
corner shelf,—ancient books with dark leather covers and metallic clasps.
She said in reply, “Bleibsht esse?” (“Shall you stay and eat?”) Yes, I
would. “Ya wohl,” said she, “kannst.” (“Very well, you can.”)
A neat young Amish woman, the “maid” or housekeeper, came and put upon
the stove a great tin wash-boiler, shining bright, into which she put
water for making coffee and for washing dishes.
I soon returned to the meeting, and found the same preacher still
speaking. I suppose that he had continued during my absence, and, if so,
his discourse was an hour and ten minutes in length. This was quite too
long to be entertaining to one who only caught the sense of an occasional
passage, or of a few texts of Scripture. It was while these monotonous
tones continued that I heard a rocking upon the floor overhead. It
proceeded, I believe, from the young mother,—the mother of the little one
before spoken of. When the child had become restless before this, or when
she was tired, a young man upon the brethren’s side of the room had taken
it for a while, and now it was doubtless being put to sleep in a room
overhead, into which a stove-pipe passed from the apartment where we sat.
My attention was also attracted by an old lady who sat near me, and
facing the stove, with her hands crossed in her lap, and a gold or brass
ring on each middle finger. She wore a black flannel dress and a brown
woollen apron, leather shoes and knit woollen stockings. Her head was
bent forward toward her broad bosom, upon which was crossed a white
kerchief. With her gray hair, round face, and plain linen cap, her whole
figure reminded me of the peasant women of continental Europe or of a
Flemish picture.
I have spoken of her wearing rings. Says one of my neighbors of a
different Mennist sect, “Were they not brass? She wears them for some
sickness, I reckon. She would not wear them for show. One of our
preachers wears steel rings on his little fingers for cramps.”
When the long sermon was ended, different brethren were called upon, and
during a half-hour we had from them several short discourses, one or
two of them nearly inaudible. The speakers were, I think, giving their
views on what had been said, or perhaps they were by these little efforts
preparing themselves to become preachers, or showing their gifts to the
congregation.
It is stated in Herzog’s Cyclopædia that among the Mennonites in Holland
the number of _liebesprediger_ has greatly declined, so that some
congregations had no preacher. (The word _liebesprediger_ I am inclined
to translate as voluntary, unpaid preachers, like those among Friends.)
I am in doubt, indeed, whether any such are now found in Holland. There
seems to be no scarcity in this country of preachers, who are, however,
in some, if not all three of the divisions of Mennonites, chosen by lot.
When these smaller efforts were over, the former preacher spoke again for
twenty minutes, and several of the women were moved to tears. After this
the congregation knelt in vocal prayer. When they rose, the preacher said
that the next meeting would be at the house of John Lapp, in two weeks.
He pronounced a benediction, ending with the name of Jesus, and the whole
congregation, brethren and sisters, curtsied, or made a reverence, as the
French express it. This was doubtless in allusion to the text, that at
the name of Jesus every knee should bow. Finally, a hymn, or a portion of
one, was sung, drawn out in a peculiar manner by dwelling on the words. I
obtained a hymn-book, and copied a portion. It seems obscure:
“Der Schopfer auch der Vater heisst,
Durch Christum, seinen Sohne;
Da wirket mit der Heilig Geist,
Einiger Gott drey Namen,
Von welchem kommt ein Gotteskind
Gewaschen ganz rein von der Sund,
Wird geistlich gespeisst und trancket,
Mit Christi Blut, sein Willen thut
Irdisch verschmacht aus ganzen Muth,
Der Vater sich ihm schenket.”
The book from which I copied these lines was in large German print, and
bore the date 1785. In front was this inscription in the German tongue
and handwriting: “This song-book belongs to me, Joseph B⸺. Written in the
year of Christ 1791; and I received it from my father.” Both father and
son have been gathered to their fathers; the book, if I mistake not, was
in the house of the grandson, and it may yet outlast several generations
of these primitive people.
The services closed at a little after noon. From their having been
conducted entirely in German, or in German and the dialect, some persons
might suppose that these were recent immigrants to our country. But the
B. family just alluded to was one of the first Amish families that came
here, having arrived in 1737.
It seems that the language is cherished with care, as a means of
preserving their religious and other peculiarities. The public schools,
however, which are almost entirely English, must be a powerful means of
assimilation.
The services being ended, the women quietly busied themselves (while I
wrote) in preparing dinner. In a very short time two tables were spread
in the apartment where the meeting had been held. Two tables, I have
said,—and there was one for the men to sit at,—but on the women’s side
the _table_ was formed of benches placed together, and of course was
quite low. I should have supposed that this was a casual occurrence, had
not an acquaintance told me that many years ago, when she attended an
Amish meeting, she sat up to two benches.
Before eating there was a silent pause, during which those men who had
not yet a place at the table stood uncovered reverentially, holding their
hats before their faces. In about fifteen minutes the “first table” had
finished eating, and another silent pause was observed in the same manner
before they rose.
I was invited to the second table, where I found beautiful white bread,
butter, pies, pickles, apple-butter, and refined molasses. I observed
that there were no spoons in the molasses and apple-butter. A cup of
coffee also was handed to each person who wished it. We were not invited
to take more than one.
This meal marks the progress of wealth and luxury, or the decline of
asceticism, since the day when bean soup was the principal, if not the
only, dish furnished on these occasions. The same neighbor who told me of
sitting up to two benches, many years ago, told me that at that time they
were served with bean soup in bright dishes, doubtless of pewter or tin.
Three or four persons ate out of one dish. It was very unhandy, she said.
But while thus sketching the manners of my simple, plain neighbors, let
me not forget to acknowledge that ready hospitality which thus provides a
comfortable meal even to strangers visiting the meeting. Besides myself,
there were at least two others present who were not members,—two German
Catholic women, such as hire out to work.
The silent pause before and after eating was also observed by the second
table; and after we rose a third company sat down.
When all had done, I gave a little assistance in clearing the tables, in
carrying the butter into the cellar and the other food to the wash-house.
The dishes were taken to the roofed porch between the latter and the
house, where some of the women-folk washed them. A neat table stood at
the foot of the cellar-stairs, and received the valued product of the
dairy, the fragments being put away in an orderly manner.
I now had a time of leisure, for my driver had gone to see a friend, and
I must await his coming. This gave me an opportunity to talk with several
sisters. I inquired of a fine-looking woman when the feet-washing would
be held, and when they took the Lord’s Supper. When I asked whether they
liked those who were not members to attend the feet-washing, I understood
her to say that they did not.[8] (I attended, not a great while after, a
great Whitsuntide feet-washing and bread-baking in the meeting-house of
the New Mennonites.)
I had now an opportunity to examine the books. Standing upon a bench,
I took down a great volume, well printed in the German language, and
entitled “The Bloody Theatre; or, The Martyr’s Mirror of the Baptists,
or Defenceless Christians, who, on Account of the Testimony of Jesus,
their Saviour, Suffered and were Put to Death, from the Time of Christ to
the Year 1660. Lancaster, 1814.” This book was a version from the Dutch
(_Holländisch_) of Thielem J. van Bracht, and it has also been rendered
from German into English. I was not aware, at the time, that I had before
me one of the principal sources whence the history of the Mennonites is
to be drawn,—a history which is still unwritten.
The books were few in number, and I noticed no other so remarkable
as this. Another German one, more modern in appearance, was entitled
“Universal Cattle-Doctor Book; or, The Cures of the old Shepherd Thomas,
of Bunzen, in Silesia, for Horses, Cattle, Sheep, Swine, and Goats.”
While I was looking over the volumes, a little circumstance occurred,
which, although not flattering to myself, is perhaps too characteristic
to be omitted. My “Dutch” neighbors are not great readers, and to read
German is considered an accomplishment even among those who speak the
dialect. To speak “Dutch” is very common, of course, but to read German
is a considerable attainment. I have, therefore, sometimes surprised
a neighbor by being able to read the language. I am naturally not
unwilling to be admired, and, as two or three sisters were standing
near while I examined the books, I endeavored in haste to give them a
specimen of my attainments. I therefore took a passage quickly from
the great “Martyr-Book,” and read aloud a sentence like this: “Grace,
peace, and joy through God our Heavenly Father; wisdom, righteousness,
and truth, through Jesus Christ his Son, together with the illumining of
the Holy Spirit, be with you.” Glancing up to see the surprise which my
proficiency must produce, I beheld a different expression of countenance,
for the attention of some of the thoughtful sisters was attracted by the
subject-matter, instead of the reader, and that aroused a sentiment of
devotion beautifully expressed.
I asked our host, “Have you no history of your society?”
“No,” he answered; “we just hand it down.”
I have since heard, however, that there are papers or written records
in charge of a person who lives at some distance from me. From certain
printed records I have been able to trace a streamlet of history from
its source in Switzerland, where the Anabaptists suffered persecution
in Berne, Zurich, etc. I have read of their exile into Alsace and the
Palatinate; of the aid afforded to them by their fellow-believers, the
Mennonites of Holland; and of their final colonization in Pennsylvania,
where they also are called Mennonites. The Amish, however, seem to have
been a body of a more rigid rule, with a preacher named Amen, from whom
they are called. It has been stated that they took their rise in Alsace
in 1693.
Nearly all the congregation had departed when my driver at last arrived.
I shook hands with those that were left, and kissed the pleasant mother
of our host.
SWISS EXILES.
The plain people among whom I live, Quaker-like in appearance, and,
like the Quakers, opposed to oaths and to war, are to a great extent
descendants of Swiss Baptists or Anabaptists, who were banished from
their country for refusing to conform to the established Reformed
Church.[9]
Some of the early exiles took refuge in Alsace and the Palatinate, and
afterwards came to Pennsylvania, settling in Lancaster County, under the
kind patronage of our distinguished first proprietor. William Penn’s
sympathy for them was doubtless increased by their resembling himself in
so many important particulars. Mennonites from Holland were also among
the early settlers at Germantown.
If any one inclines to investigate the traditions of these people, let
him ask the plain old men of the county whence they originated. I think
that a great part of the Amish and other Mennonites will tell him of
their Swiss origin.
Nor are very important written records wanting upon the subject of the
Swiss persecutions. Two volumes in use among our German Baptists narrate
the story. The first is the great Martyr-book, called “The Bloody
Theatre; or, Martyr’s Mirror of the Defenceless Christians,” by Thielem
J. van Bracht, published in Dutch, about the year 1660; translated into
German, and afterwards into English.
The second printed record, circulating in our county, and describing the
sufferings of some of the Swiss Anabaptists, is a hymn-book formerly in
use among our Old Mennists, but now, I think, employed only by the Amish.
It is a collection of “several beautiful Christian songs,” composed in
prison at Bassau, in the castle, by the Switzer Brethren, “and by other
orthodox (_rechtglaubige_) Christians, here and there.”
The first of these works, the Martyr-book, was translated into English
by Daniel Rupp, the historian. I have seen no English version of the
hymn-book. I met both these volumes in the Rhenish Palatinate in 1881.
Bassau, mentioned in the hymn-book as the place where the brethren were
imprisoned, I have supposed to be Passau, upon the Danube, in Bavaria. Is
it not so written in the Martyr-book?
Near the close of the hymn-book is an account of the afflictions which
were endured by the brethren in Switzerland, in the canton of Zurich, on
account of the gospel (“_um des Evangeliums willen_”).
The first-mentioned work, the great Martyr-book, is a ponderous volume.
The author begins his martyrology with Jesus, John, and Stephen, whom he
includes among the Baptist or the defenceless martyrs. I suppose that
he includes them among the Baptists on the ground that they were not
baptized in infancy, but upon faith. From these the great story comes
down in one thousand octavo pages, describing the intense cruelties of
the Roman emperors, telling of persecutions by the Saracens, persecutions
of the Waldenses and Albigenses, and describing especially the sufferings
which the Baptists (in common with other Protestants) endured in Holland
under the reigns of Charles V. and Philip II.[10]
The narrative of the persecution of the Anabaptists of Switzerland by
their fellow-Protestants is mostly found at the close of the volume. It
comes down to the year 1672, and must therefore be, in part at least, an
appendix to the original volume.
Allusions to the severe treatment of the Anabaptists of Switzerland may
also be found in Herzog’s and Appleton’s Cyclopædias.
In the former work we read that Anabaptism, after a public theological
disputation, was by the help of the authorities suppressed in
Switzerland. And how thoroughly it was suppressed may be inferred from
the statement in the latter of the population of Berne. In 1850 the
population is given (in round numbers) as 458,000,—of which only 1000 are
Baptists, 54,000 are Catholics, and the remainder of the Reformed Church.
In Appleton’s Cyclopædia (article Anabaptists), we read that Melanchthon
and Zwingle were themselves troubled by questions respecting infant
baptism, in connection with the personal faith required by Protestantism.
Nevertheless, Zwingle himself is said to have pronounced sentence upon
Mentz, who had been his friend and fellow-student, in these words:
“Whosoever dips (or baptizes) a second time, let him be dipped.” “_Qui
iterum mergit, mergatur._” This humorous saying seems to be explained in
the Martyr-book, for we read that Felix Mentz was drowned at Zurich for
the truth of the gospel in 1526. The persecution of such men is said to
have shocked the moderate of all parties.
Upon the authority of Balthazar Hubmor (whom I suppose to be the Hubmeyer
of the Cyclopædia), the Martyr-book states that Zwingle, etc., imprisoned
at one time twenty persons of both sexes, in a dark tower, never more
to see the light of the sun. This early Swiss Protestant persecution
occurred, it will be observed, about 1526, and the latest recorded in the
Martyr-book in or about 1672, covering a period of nearly one hundred and
fifty years.[11]
At the same time that the Swiss Baptists were suffering at the hands
of other Protestants, Anabaptists of the peaceful class were found in
Holland in large numbers. The record of their sufferings and martyrs
(says Appleton’s Cyclopædia) furnished a touching picture in human
history. William of Orange, founder of the Dutch republic, was sustained
in the gloomiest hours by their sympathy and aid.[12] That great prince,
however importuned, steadily refused to persecute them.
Menno Symons, born at the close of the fifteenth or the commencement of
the sixteenth century, educated for the priesthood of the Roman Catholic
church, converted in manhood to the faith of the Anabaptists, became
their chief leader. Mennonites and Anabaptists have from his time been
interchangeable terms.[13]
It was about seventeen years after the drowning of Mentz in Switzerland,
and while the Catholic persecution was raging in Holland, that in the
year 1543 an imperial edict was issued against Menno; for both parties
persecuted the Baptists,—the Catholics in the Low Countries, the
Protestants in Switzerland. The Martyr-book tells us that a dreadful
decree was proclaimed through all West Friesland, containing an offer of
general pardon, the favor of the emperor, and a hundred carlgulden to all
malefactors and murderers who would deliver Menno into the hands of the
executioners. Under pain of death, it was forbidden to harbor him; but
God preserved and protected him wonderfully, and he died a natural death,
near Lubeck, in the open field, in 1559, aged sixty-six. It is further
mentioned that he was buried in his own garden.[14]
About fourteen years after the death of Menno, or in the year 1573, we
read in the Martyr-book that Dordrecht had submitted to the reigning
prince, William of Orange, the first not to shed blood on account of
faith or belief.
But the toleration which William extended to the Baptists was not
imitated by his great compeer, Elizabeth of England. For the Martyr-book
tells us that in 1575 “some friends,” who had fled to England, having met
in the suburbs of London “to hear the word of God,” were spied out, and
the constable took them to prison. Two of these were burnt at Smithfield,
in the eighteenth year of Elizabeth. Jan Pieters was one of them, a poor
man whose first wife had been burnt at Ghent; he then married a second,
whose first husband had been burnt at the same place.
Thus it befell the unfortunate Jan that while his wife was burnt by
Catholics, he himself suffered at the hands of English Protestants.[15]
The expression “sheep” or “lambs,” which is applied to some of the
Baptist martyrs, alludes, I suppose, to their non-resistance. Thus, in
1576, Hans Bret, a servant, whose master was about to be apprehended,
gave him warning, so that he escaped, but himself, “this innocent
follower of Christ, fell into the paws of the wolves.... As he stood at
the stake, they kindled the fire, and burnt this sheep alive.”
The next year after this, William of Orange had occasion to call to
order, as it appears, some of his own subjects. The magistrates of
Middelburg had announced to the Baptists that they must take an oath of
fidelity and arm themselves, or give up their business and shut up their
houses. The Baptists had recourse to William, promising to pay levies and
taxes, and desiring to be believed on their yea and nay. William granted
their request, their yea was to be taken in the place of an oath, and the
delinquent was to be punished as for perjury.
In William Penn’s Treatise on Oaths it is stated that William of Orange
said, “Those men’s yea must pass for an oath, and we must not urge this
thing any further, or we must confess that the Papists had reason to
force us to a religion that was against our conscience.”
About nine years after William had thus reproved the magistrates of
Middelburg, or in the year 1586, the Baptists came to grief elsewhere.
It is stated that those called Anabaptists, who had taken refuge in
the Prussian dominions, were ordered by “the prince of the country” to
depart from his entire duchy of Prussia, and in the next year from all
his dominions. This was because they were said to speak scandalously of
infant baptism.
About the close of the century, pleasanter times for the Baptists seem
to have followed. “When the north wind of persecution became violent,
there were intervals when the pleasant south wind of liberty and repose
succeeded.”
“But now occurred the greatest mischief in Zurich and Berne, by those who
styled themselves Reformed;” but others of the same name, “especially the
excellent regents of the United Netherlands,” opposed such proceedings.
The Martyr-book says, in substance, “It is a lamentable case that those
who boast that they are the followers of the defenceless Lamb do no
longer possess the lamb’s disposition, but, on the contrary, have the
nature of the wolf. It seems as if they could not bear it that any
should travel towards heaven in any other way than that which they go
themselves, as was exemplified in the case of Hans Landis, who was a
minister and teacher of the gospel of Christ. Being taken to Zurich, he
refused to desist from preaching and to deny his faith, and was sentenced
to death,—the edict of eighty years before not having died of old age.
They, however, persuaded the common people that he was not put to death
for religion’s sake, but for disobedience to the authorities.”[16]
After the death of Hans Landis, persecution rested for twenty-one years,
when the ancient hatred broke out afresh in Zurich.
The Baptists now asked permission to leave the country with their
property, but this was not granted to them. “They might choose,” says
the Martyrology, “to go with them [the Reformed] to church, or to die in
prison. To the first they would not consent; therefore they might expect
the second.”
This brings us to the era of the persecution described in the hymn-book
of which I formerly spoke,—the book now in use among the Amish of our
county.
This little volume—little when compared to the ponderous
Martyr-book—gives an account of the persecution in Zurich between the
years 1635 and 1645. Many of the persons mentioned in the hymn-book as
suffering at that time appear to be of families now found in Lancaster
County,—not merely from the hymn-book’s being preserved here, but
especially because some of the surnames are the same as are now found
here, or only slightly different. Thus we have Landis, Meylin, Strickler,
Bachmann; and Gut, now Good; Müller, now Miller; Baumann, now Bowman.
Mention is made of about eighteen persons who died in prison during this
persecution, in the period of nine or ten years. Proclamation was made
from the pulpits forbidding the people to afford shelter to the Baptists:
even their own children who harbored them were liable to be fined,—as
Hans Müller’s wife and children, who were fined forty pounds because
“they showed mercy to their dear father.”
The hymn-book states that the _Gelehrte_ (the learned or the clergy?)
accompanied the captors, running day and night with their servants. Many
of the persecuted fell into the power of the authorities,—men and women,
the pregnant, the nursing mother, the sick.
In the midst of this, the authorities of Amsterdam, themselves Calvinists
or Reformed, being moved by the solicitations of the Baptists of
Amsterdam, sent a respectful petition to the burgomaster and council of
Zurich to mitigate the persecution; but the petition, it is said, excited
an unfriendly and irritating answer.
It seems that some of the Baptists, harassed in Zurich, took refuge
in Berne; and about the time that the persecution in Zurich came to a
close, or about 1645, it is stated that “those of Berne” threatened the
Baptists. About four years after, “those of Schaffhausen” issued an edict
against the people called Anabaptists.[17]
Only a few years later, or in 1653, as we read in the Martyr-book,
there was another persecution elsewhere. The record says, in substance,
“As a lamb in making its escape from the wolf is eventually seized by
the bear, so it obtained for several defenceless followers of the meek
Jesus, who, persecuted in Switzerland by the Zwinglians, were permitted
to live awhile in peace in the Alpine districts, under a Roman Catholic
prince, Willem Wolfgang. About this year, however, this prince banished
the Anabaptists, so called. But they were received in peace and with joy
elsewhere, particularly in Cleves, under the Elector of Brandenburg, and
in the Netherlands. ‘When they persecute you in one city,’ saith the
Lord, ‘flee ye into another.’”[18]
About six years after, or in 1659, an edict was issued in Berne, from
which extracts are given in the Martyr-book. If the edict in full brings
no more serious charges against the Baptists than do these extracts, this
paper itself may be regarded as a noble vindication of the Anabaptists of
Switzerland at this era.
According to the substance of this Bernese edict the teachers of this
people—_i.e._, the preachers—were to be seized wherever they could be
sought out, “and brought to our orphan asylum to receive the treatment
necessary to their conversion; or, if they persist in their obstinacy,
they are to receive the punishment in such cases belonging. Meantime the
officers are to seize their property, and present an inventory of the
same.
“To the Baptists in general, who refuse to desist from their error,
the punishment of exile shall be announced. It is our will and command
that they be escorted to the borders, a solemn promise obtained from
them, since they will not swear, and that they be banished entirely from
our country till it be proved that they have been converted. Returning
unconverted, and refusing to recant, they shall be whipped, branded, and
again banished, which condign punishment is founded upon the following
reasons and motives:
“1. All subjects should confirm with an oath the allegiance which they
owe to the authorities ordained them of God. The Anabaptists, who refuse
the oath, cannot be tolerated.
“2. Subjects should acknowledge that the magistracy is from God, and with
God. But the Anabaptists, who declare that the magisterial office cannot
exist in the Christian church, are not to be tolerated in the country.
“3. All subjects are bound to protect and defend their country. But the
Anabaptists refuse to bear arms, and cannot be tolerated....
“5. The magistracy is ordained of God to punish evil-doers, especially
murderers, etc. But the Anabaptists refuse to report these to the
authorities, and therefore they cannot be tolerated.[19]
“6. Those who refuse to submit to the wholesome ordinances of the
government, and who act in opposition to it, cannot be tolerated. Now the
Anabaptists transgress in the following manner:
“They preach without the calling of the magistracy; baptize without the
command of the authorities; ... and do not attend the meetings of the
church.
“We have unanimously resolved that all should inflict banishment and the
other penalties against all who belong to this corrupted and extremely
dangerous and wicked sect, that they may make no further progress, but
that the country may be freed from them; on which, in grace, we rely.
“As regards the estate of the disobedient exiles, or of those who have
run away, it shall, after deducting costs, be divided among the wives and
children who remain in obedience.
“We command that no person shall lodge nor give dwelling to a Baptist,
whether related to him or not, nor afford him the necessaries of life.
But every one of our persuasion should be exhorted to report whatever
information he can obtain of them to the high bailiff.
“And an especial proclamation of this last article shall be made from the
pulpit.”
This Bernese edict, being read in all parts, was a source of great
distress, and it appeared to the Baptists as if “the beautiful flower
of the orthodox Christian church” would be entirely extirpated in those
parts.
It was therefore concluded to send certain persons from the cities of
Dordrecht, Leyden, Amsterdam, etc., to the Hague, where the puissant
States-General were in session, to induce them to send petitions to Berne
and Zurich for the relief of the people suffering oppression.
The States-General, as “kind fathers of the poor, the miserable, and the
oppressed,” took immediate cognizance of the matter.
Letters were written “to the lords of Berne” for the liberation of
prisoners, etc., and to the lords of Zurich for the restoration of the
property of the imprisoned, deceased, and exiled Baptists. The letter to
Berne narrates (in brief) that “the States-General have learned, from
persons called in this country Mennonists, that their brethren called
Anabaptists suffer great persecution at Berne, being forbidden to
live in the country, but not allowed to remove with their families and
property. We have likewise learned that some of them have been closely
confined; which has moved us to Christian compassion.
“We request you, after the good example of the lords-regent of
Schaffhausen, to grant the petitioners time to depart with their families
and property wherever they choose. To this end we request you to consider
that when, in 1655, the Waldenses were so virulently persecuted by the
Romans for the confession of their Reformed religion, and the necessities
of the dispersed people could not be relieved but by large collections
raised in England, this country, etc., the churches of the Baptists, upon
the simple recommendation of their governments, and in Christian love and
compassion, contributed with so much benevolence that a remarkably large
sum was raised.... Farewell, etc. At the Hague, 1660.”
The letter of the States-General to Zurich is similar to the foregoing
abstract.
Besides these acts of the States-General, several cities of the United
Netherlands, being entirely opposed to restraint of conscience, reproved
“the members of their society in Switzerland,” and exhorted them to
gentleness.
Thus, the burgomasters and lords of Rotterdam, speaking in behalf of
the elders of the church called Mennonist, whose fellow-believers in
Berne are called in derision Anabaptists: “As to ourselves, honorable
lords, we are of opinion that these men can be safely tolerated in the
commonwealth, and for this judgment we have to thank William, Prince of
Orange, of blessed memory, who established, by his bravery, liberty of
conscience for us, and could never be induced to deprive the Mennonites
of citizenship.
“We have never repented of this, for we have never learned that these
people have sought to excite sedition, but, on the contrary, they have
cheerfully paid their taxes.
“Although they confess that Christians cannot conscientiously act as
officers of government, and are opposed to swearing, yet they do not
refuse obedience to the authorities, and, if they are convicted of a
violation of truth, are willing to undergo the punishment due to perjury.
We indulge the hope that your lordships will either repeal the onerous
decree against the Mennonists or at least grant to the poor wanderers
sufficient time to make their preparations, and procure residences in
other places.
“When this is done, your lordships will have accomplished a measure
well pleasing to God, advantageous to the name of the Reformed, and
gratifying to us who are connected with your lordships in the close ties
of religion. Rotterdam, 1660.”
These appeals of the States-General and of the cities of Holland seem to
have had very little effect, at least upon the authorities of Berne, for
there arose eleven years later, or in 1671, another severe persecution
of the Baptists in that canton, which was so virulent that it seemed as
if the authorities would not cease until they had expelled that people
entirely.
In consequence of this, seven hundred persons, old and young, were
constrained to forsake their property, relations, and country, and
retire to the Palatinate. Some of them, it seems, took refuge in Alsace,
above Strasburg.
An extract from a letter given in the Martyr-book says, “Some follow
chopping wood, others labor in the vineyards; hoping, I suppose, that
after some time tranquillity will be restored, and they will be able to
return to their habitations; but I am afraid that this will not happen
soon.... The authorities of Berne had six of the prisoners (one of whom
was a man that had nine children) put in chains and sold as galley-slaves
between Milan and Malta.”
(We may infer that this, however, was not the first infliction of this
punishment at Berne. A list in the Martyr-book of persons put to death
for their faith concludes thus: “Copied from the letter of Hans Loersch,
while in prison at Berne, 1667, whence he was taken in chains to sea.”)
This severe penalty of being sold as slaves to row the galleys or great
sail-boats which traversed the Mediterranean was also impending over
other able-bodied prisoners, as it is said, but “a lord of Berne,” named
Beatus, was excited to compassion, and obtained permission that the
prisoners should leave the country upon bail that they would not return
without permission.
In the year 1672 the brethren in the United Netherlands (the Mennonites
or Baptists) sent some of their members into the Palatinate to inquire
into the condition of the refugees, and the latter were comforted and
supported by the assistance of the churches and members of the United
Netherlands.
There were among the refugees husbands and wives who had to abandon
their consorts, who belonged to the Reformed Church and could not think
of removal. Among these were two ministers, whose families did not belong
to the church (Baptist), and who had to leave without finding whether
their wives would go with them, or whether they loved their property more
than their husbands. “Such incidents occasioned the greater distress,
since the authorities granted such persons remaining permission to marry
again.”[20]
Alsace and the Palatinate (lying upon the Rhine), where our Swiss exiles
had taken refuge, were soon after devastated in the great wars of their
ambitious neighbor, Louis XIV., King of France. Turenne, the French
general, put the Palatinate, a fine and fertile country, full of populous
towns and villages, to fire and sword. The Elector Palatine, from the top
of his castle at Mannheim, beheld two cities and twenty towns in flames.
Turenne, with the same indifference, destroyed the ovens, and laid waste
part of the country of Alsace, to prevent the enemy from subsisting.[21]
About fourteen years after, or in the winter of 1688-89, the Palatinate
was again ravaged by the French king’s army. The French generals gave
notice to the towns but lately repaired, and then so flourishing, to
the villages, etc., that their inhabitants must quit their dwellings,
although it was then the dead of winter; for all was to be destroyed by
fire and sword.
“The flames with which Turenne had destroyed two towns and twenty
villages of the Palatinate were but sparks in comparison to this last
terrible destruction, which all Europe looked upon with horror.”[22]
Between the time of these two great raids there occurred several
noteworthy incidents. There came to Holland and Germany, in the year
1677, a man who was then of little note, a man of peace, belonging to
a new and persecuted sect, but who has since become better known in
history, at least to us who inhabit Pennsylvania, than Marshal Turenne,
or the great Louis XIV. himself. It was the colonizer and statesman, the
Quaker William Penn.
The Elector Palatine then reigning was a relative of the King of England.
Penn failed to see this prince, but he addressed a letter to him, to the
“Prince Elector Palatine of Heydelbergh,” in which he desires to know
“what encouragement a colony of virtuous and industrious families might
hope to receive from thee, in case they should transplant themselves into
this country, which certainly in itself is very excellent, respecting
taxes, oaths, arms, etc.”
I know not what encouragement, if any, the Elector offered to Penn; but
only about four years later Penn’s great colony was founded across the
Atlantic, a colony which afforded refuge to many “Palatines.”[23]
Of this journey to Germany and Holland, just spoken of, Penn kept
a journal, and there is mention made at Amsterdam of Baptists and
“Menists,” or Mennonites; but whether he ever met on the Continent any
of our Swiss exiles I do not find stated in history. Of his other two
journeys to Germany, no journal has been found.
Eight years after Penn’s journey there occurred, in the year 1685, a
circumstance which may have especially interested our Swiss Baptists and
have operated to bring their colony to Pennsylvania; for in June of that
year the Elector Palatine dying without issue, the electoral dignity went
to a Roman Catholic family.[24]
The Swiss exiles that first took refuge in Lancaster County came here
about thirty-eight years after the severe Bernese persecution of 1671.
Rupp, the historian of our county, tells us that in 1706 or 1707 a
number of the persecuted Swiss Mennonites went to England and made
a particular agreement with the honorable proprietor, William Penn,
for lands. He further says that several families from the Palatinate,
descendants of the distressed Swiss, emigrated to America and settled in
Lancaster County in the year 1709.[25]
The sympathy of the Society of Friends, William Penn’s co-religionists,
was at this time called out for this people in a substantial manner.
Barclay says, “Not only did the leaders of the early Society of Friends
take great interest in the Mennonites, but the Yearly Meeting of
1709 contributed fifty pounds (a very large sum at that time) for the
Mennonites of the Palatinate who had fled from the persecution of the
Calvinists in Switzerland.”[26]
The next year the commissioners of property had agreed with Martin
Kendig, Hans Herr, etc., “Switzers” lately arrived in this province,
for ten thousand acres of land twenty miles east of Connystogoe. (This
Connystogoe I cannot locate. The Conestoga Creek empties into the
Susquehanna below Lancaster.)
The supplies of the colonists were at first scanty, until the seed sown
in a fertile soil yielded some thirty-, others forty-fold.[27] Their
nearest mill was at Wilmington, distant, as I estimate, some thirty miles.
One of their number was soon sent to Europe to bring out other emigrants,
and after the accession the colony numbered about thirty families. They
mingled with the Indians in hunting and fishing. These were hospitable
and respectful to the whites.[28]
We are told that the early colonists had strong faith in the fruitfulness
and natural advantages of their choice of lands. “They knew these would
prove to them and their children the home of plenty.” Their anticipations
have never failed.[29]
The harmony existing between the Indians and these men of peace is very
pleasing. Soon after their first settlement here, Lieutenant-Governor
Gookin made a journey to Conestogo (1711), and in a speech to the Indians
tells them that Governor Penn intends to present five belts of wampum
to the Five Nations, “and one to you of Conestogo, and requires your
friendship to the Palatines, settled near Pequea.”[30] About seven years
after this, William Penn died in England, in the year 1718.
* * * * *
Dr. Seidensticker compares the German emigration hither, in its origin,
to the Quaker and Puritan. After the Lutherans and Reformed had succeeded
in gaining a recognition, there were sects in Germany who did not agree
with the three recognized confessions and who were bitterly persecuted.
Against such Christians the indignation of the clergy and the wrath of
the civil authorities was directed in almost every German land.
Says Herzog’s Cyclopædia:
“When the Baptists were oppressed in Switzerland and the Palatinate,
the Mennonites united into one community with the Palatines at Groningen
(Holland), and established in 1726 a fund for the needy abroad, to which
Baptists of all parties richly contributed. About eighty years after this
fund was discontinued, being no longer thought necessary.”
Thus active persecution of the Baptists in those regions had ceased, it
seems, about the year 1800.
The German or Swiss colony in Lancaster County is said to have caused
some alarm, though we can hardly believe it a real fear. Nine years after
the death of William Penn, representation was made to Lieutenant-Governor
Gordon (1727) that “a large number of Germans, peculiar in their dress,
religion, and notions of political government, had settled on Pequea, and
were determined not to obey the lawful authority of government; that they
had resolved to speak their own language, and to acknowledge no sovereign
but the great Creator of the universe.”
Rupp, from whom I quote the above passage, adds: “There was perhaps
never a people who felt less disposed to disobey the lawful authority of
government than the Mennonites against whom these charges were made.”
The charges were doubtless dropped, or answered in a satisfactory manner;
for two years subsequently, or in 1729, a naturalization act was passed
concerning certain Germans who had emigrated into the province between
the years 1700 and 1718. Over one hundred persons are naturalized by this
act (Martin Meylin, Hans Graaf, etc.); and a great part of the people of
the county can find their surnames mentioned therein.[31] All the names,
however, are not necessarily those of Baptist families.
Nearly to the same date as this naturalization act belongs a letter
written from Philadelphia, in 1730, by the Rev. Jedediah Andrews.
Mr. Andrews says, in substance, “There are in this province a vast number
of Palatines; those that have come of late years are mostly Reformed. The
first-comers, though called Palatines, are mostly Switzers, many of whom
are wealthy, having got the best land in the province. They live sixty or
seventy miles off, but come frequently to town with their wagons laden
with skins belonging to the Indian traders, with butter, flour, etc.”[32]
Mr. Andrews, in his letter, while speaking of the Switzers, continues:
“There are many Lutherans and some Reformed mixed among them.... Though
there be so many sorts of religion going on, we don’t quarrel about it.
We not only live peaceably, but seem to love one another.”
This harmony among the multitudinous sects in Pennsylvania must have
been the more remarkable to Mr. Andrews from his having been born and
educated in Massachusetts, where a very different state of affairs
had prevailed; and on this subject Rupp says, “The descendants of the
Puritans boast that their ancestors fled from persecution, willing to
encounter perils in the wilderness, and perils by the heathen, rather
than be deprived of the free exercise of their religion. The descendants
of the Swiss Mennonites in Lancaster County claim that while their
ancestors sought for the same liberty, they did not persecute others who
differed from them in religious opinion.”[33]
The letter of Mr. Andrews, above quoted, bears date 1730. Twelve years
after, or in 1742, a respectable number of the Amish (pronounced Ommish)
of Lancaster County petitioned the General Assembly that a special law of
naturalization might be passed for their benefit. They stated that they
had emigrated from Europe by an invitation from the proprietaries; that
they had been brought up in and were attached to the Amish doctrine, and
were conscientiously scrupulous against taking oaths; “they therefore
cannot be naturalized agreeably to the existing law.” An act was passed
in conformity to their request. (I give this statement as I find it,
although somewhat surprised if the laws of Pennsylvania did not always
allow those to affirm who were conscientiously opposed to oaths.)
The history of our Swiss Exiles is nearly finished. It is chiefly when
a nation is in adversity that its history is interesting to us. What is
there to tell of a well-to-do farming population, who do not participate
in battles, and who live almost entirely secluded from public affairs?[34]
Under the date 1754 it is noted that Governor Pownall, travelling in
Lancaster County, says, “I saw the finest farm one can possibly conceive,
in the highest culture; it belongs to a Switzer.” Thus Gray’s lines
(slightly altered) may be said to comprise most of the external history
of this people for a century and a half:
“Oft did the harvest to their sickle yield,
Their furrow oft the stubborn glebe hath broke;
How early did they drive their team a-field,
How bowed the woods beneath their sturdy stroke!”
Some difficulty had arisen, however, between the Germans of our county
and the “Scotch-Irish.” Thus, Day, in his Historical Collections, says,
“The Presbyterians from the north of Ireland came in at about the same
time with the Germans, and occupied the townships of Donegal and Paxton.”
(Paxton, now Dauphin County.) “Collisions afterwards occurring between
them and the Germans concerning elections, bearing of arms, the treatment
of the Indians, etc., the proprietaries instructed their agents in 1755
that the Germans should be encouraged, and in a manner directed to settle
along the southern boundary of the province, in Lancaster and York
Counties, while the Irish were to be located nearer to the Kittatinny
Mountain, in the region now forming Dauphin and Cumberland Counties.”[35]
In the Revolutionary war, the German Mennonites did not early espouse the
cause of independence. Some of them doubtless felt bound by their promise
of loyalty to the established government, while others were perhaps
influenced by the motive lately attributed to them in the correspondence
of one of our county papers (_Examiner and Herald_, Lancaster, October
27, 1869). The writer tells us that Lancaster County was settled
principally by Mennonites, etc., who are strict non-resistants. They were
peculiarly solicitous to manifest their loyalty to the powers that be,
because they had been accused by their enemies of having been implicated
in rebellion during the unhappy events at Münster, Germany, in 1535.
“When our Revolutionary struggle began, these people were cautious in
resisting the established government.”
During the late rebellion, although very few of our Mennonites bore arms,
yet some were active in raising funds to pay bounties to persons who did
enlist.
* * * * *
It appears to the writer that there can scarcely be a people in our
country among whom the ancient practices are more faithfully maintained
than among the Amish of Lancaster County.[36]
Notwithstanding the great falling off from ancient principles and
practices which we read of among Holland Mennonites (see Herzog’s
Cyclopædia and the Encyclopædia Americana), it seems that there are yet
left in Europe others of the stricter rule. In Friesland, Holland, where
the Mennonites are divided, as here, into three classes, there are found,
by comparison, most traces of the old Mennonism.[37]
And we have lately heard of Amish in France. A letter from that country,
published in the _Herald of Truth_ (Elkhart, Indiana, July, 1871),
alludes to the late European war. The writer says, “The loss we here
sustained is indescribable. Many houses have been entirely shattered
to pieces by the cannon-balls, and others totally destroyed by fire.”
He adds, “As you desire to know what kind of Mennonites there are
residing here in France, I will briefly state that most of them are Amish
Mennonites.” He signs himself Isaac Rich, Etupes, par Audincourt, Doubs,
France.
This department, Doubs, adjoins Switzerland.
The church history of our Mennonites has not been entirely uneventful.
Rupp tells us that they were very numerous about the year 1792, and that
Martin Boehm and others made inroads upon them. A considerable number
seceded and joined the United Brethren, or _Vereinigte Brüder_.
A society of Dunkers was formed near the Susquehanna, many years ago, by
Jacob Engle, who had been a Mennonite. This society is called “The River
Brethren,” and from it has been formed the society of “Brinser Brethren,”
popularly so called.
The Rev. John Herr is generally considered the founder of a sect
popularly called “New Mennists.” They call themselves, however, “Reformed
Mennonites,” and claim that they have only returned to the ancient purity
of doctrine.
In Montgomery County, in 1873, I find the term New Mennonites applied
to another sect, while those of whom I have just spoken are called
“_Herrelite_,”[38] or followers of Herr. The former are followers or
friends of a preacher named Overholtzer,—a man who refused to put on a
coat of a peculiar cut when he became a preacher.
In, or near, the same part of our State certain Mennonites have left
the society, desiring to “defend their country,” and to join oath-bound
societies. They call themselves Trinity Christians.
How far the “Albrechtsleut,” or “Dutch Methodists,”—the Evangelical
Association, as they call themselves,—have made converts among the
Mennonites, I cannot tell.
Mr. Rupp, whose history of Lancaster County is as yet the standard,
speaks of the Mennonites as the prevailing religious denomination in
1843, having about forty-five ministers preaching in German, and over
thirty-five meeting-houses.
The Amish meet in private houses. (In this year 1882, when preparing my
third edition, I hear, however, of their having so far broken through
their old custom as to have built at least one meeting-house in this
State.)
Although I have never heard that our Mennonites as a religious body
passed any rules forbidding slaveholding, as did the Quakers, yet they
are in sentiment strongly anti-slavery, having great faith in those who
are willing to labor with their own hands. Of this strong anti-slavery
sentiment I offer convincing proof in the votes by which they supported
in Congress our late highly distinguished representative, Thaddeus
Stevens.[39]
In the _Columbian Magazine_ for January, 1789, appears an “Account of
the Manners of the German Inhabitants of Pennsylvania.” The writer, Dr.
Rush, would properly have included Friends in the following passage:
“Perhaps those German sects of Christians among us, who refuse to bear
arms for the purpose of shedding human blood, may be preserved by Divine
Providence, as the centre of a circle which shall gradually embrace all
the nations of the earth in a perpetual treaty of friendship and peace.”
* * * * *
Since the first edition of this book was prepared, the public attention
has been much attracted to a great body of Russian Mennonites who have
come to this country, rather than perform military duty in Russia; some
of these are of Swiss origin.[40]
One of my neighbors had before spoken to me in very favorable terms of
Russian Mennonites, but it did not seem probable that such a body of
people were to be found in that empire, and I paid but little attention
to the subject.
The account which seems to me most valuable, among newspaper items
concerning them, was contained in a St. Petersburg letter in the _New
York Tribune_ of May 11, 1872.
The writer tells us that about the time of Menno’s death there was a
large emigration of his flock to East Prussia, where their Dutch neatness
and industry soon made those desolate and swampy regions to flourish
like a garden. In 1730 and 1732 they were threatened with expatriation
for refusing to serve in the army; but the storm passed by, and other
colonists came in. Arbitrary measures, however, were still taken from
time to time, and in 1789 they were forbidden to purchase landed property.
Catherine II. of Russia, while inviting German colonists, also invited
these, and before the year 1800 about three hundred and fifty families
of Mennonites had entered Russia, and settled on the lower Dnieper. They
came on condition of receiving freedom of worship, “the administration
of oaths in their own way” (the writer does not appear to understand
their objection to swearing at all), “and exemption forever from military
service.” They were also to receive one hundred and ninety acres of land
for each family, money for their journey, etc.
The privileges were confirmed by the Emperor Paul, and extended to all
coming after; and although the laws of Prussia had been altered, there
was a continued migration of Mennonites to Russia until 1817. These
settled near their brethren, and not far from the town of Berdiansk.
The Mennonites have prospered until they number about forty thousand.
They settled on a waste steppe, where the land was rich enough, but
suffered much from want of water. They irrigated, and raised agriculture
to a higher point than anywhere else in Russia. They had no wood, and
they planted trees. The introduction of tree culture on the steppes is
entirely owing to them. They have not only large orchards, but productive
forest-trees, and plantations of mulberry-trees, by means of which they
produce silk. They are also large raisers of stock.
Although originally agriculturists, they have endeavored to supply their
own wants in manufactured articles, and in 1854 they had in activity
three hundred and fifty mills and factories, including cloth-mills,
water- and grist-mills, dyeing and printing works, breweries,
distilleries, silk-spinneries, brick and tile works, potteries, etc., and
in their villages there were men exercising nearly every known trade.
There is no drunkenness or gambling among them. Crime is exceedingly
rare. Besides all this, they are educated. Every child knows how to read
and write; and in every village there is a school.
Up to this time they have been loyal subjects to Russia. During the
Crimean war they sent large gifts of grain and provender to the besieged
army. It is only because the privileges granted to them are infringed,
and they will be compelled to enter the army against their conscience,
that they now wish to emigrate.
Their success in tree culture on an arid steppe points naturally to
the Western prairies as their future home. In their petitions to the
American and British governments they asked whether they could obtain
land free, or at low prices, for their whole colony; whether they could
have exemption for themselves and their descendants from military service
of every kind; and whether the government would advance them any money to
defray their travelling expenses. Though the colony is prosperous, and
some of the members rich, yet there are some who either have no land,
or have so little property that a forced sale would leave them almost
destitute.
In addition to the above from the _New York Tribune_, I have found an
extract concerning the Mennonites of South Russia, from _The Friend_
(London), in which it is stated that a deputation was sent to St.
Petersburg in hopes of changing the purpose of the government, but only
obtained a delay of ten years, which expired in 1881, and also the option
of hospital and other non-fighting military service in place of actual
soldiership. Many deputations have since followed. The last attempt was
by a company of “eldest persons” to the emperor, while he was staying at
his country palace in the Crimea. We learn “the emperor did not accept an
audience, but kind words by others were spoken plenty.” Extracts follow
from an original letter, preserving the quaint English: “We greatly see
the need of leaving Russia, not only because of military service, but
also of the curtailing of religious and other liberties, which clearly
shows an intention on the part of the government to take this and our
language from us. Formerly, the administration of all laws connected with
the colonies was in the hands of the colonists themselves; now they are
mixed up with the Russian peasants. The Russ language, hitherto not, or
little, wanted, is introduced into the schools, and Russian teachers are
given to those schools. Prisons, like as in the Russian villages, are by
law commanded to build; before, not at all wanted.”
But while the Russian Mennonites are thus preparing to emigrate, it is
stated that in Prussia there are only a few churches that are not willing
to submit to the new military law.
The editor of the _Herald of Truth_, a Mennonite paper (Elkhart,
Indiana), speaks to the Russians nearly as follows: “I believe I
understand the sad dilemma in which you are placed. You have homes, the
result of honest toil; you love and cherish them; there is a long journey
to make into a strange land; it will cost you a great many anxieties and
trials; all these things seem almost impossible for you to accomplish,
and yet you cherish the principles of your church, you want to abide in
the faith of your fathers.
“In the country where you now are you are called to do that which we
believe Jesus, the Prince of Peace, forbids. Now here is a dilemma. It
will be for you to choose. Shall we stay,—and yield the principles of our
religion? or shall we do as the Saviour said, ‘If they persecute you in
one city, flee into another’?”
* * * * *
In 1881 I visited a few Mennonite communities in Germany; the first
being in the city of Crefeld, in Rhenish Prussia. I sought this town
especially from what I had learned of it in my own country. Crefeld
seems to have been a place of refuge in former times for persecuted
religionists. Here, in the seventeenth century, Huguenot refugees
introduced the manufacture of silk, for which the town is still
distinguished. Here William Penn and others gained adherents to the
Quaker doctrine.[41] And when the Dunkers were persecuted, some of them
took refuge in Crefeld, in the duchy of Cleves.
Although Crefeld was so liberal, and although it now belongs to Prussia,
it is greatly Catholic. The population is thus estimated: Catholics,
56,000; Evangelicals or United Lutherans and Reformed, 18,000; Jews,
1500; Mennonites, 1000. But the attendance at the Mennonite church which
I visited did not indicate so great a number. I cannot express more fully
to our own people of Lancaster County how much this church differs from
their own simple meetings at home than to tell them that the preacher is
paid, that he spoke from a pulpit, wore a black robe, and read a prayer
from a book. Yet it is simple compared with the display of Catholic
churches.
But what my neighbors will probably consider as a more vital difference
between them and the Mennonites of Crefeld is that the latter bear arms.
Since 1868 they have not been exempted from military service. They can,
however, if they desire, take peaceful positions, such as nurses in
military hospitals, or clerks; but while some of their fellow-believers
in Prussia avail themselves of this permission, those in Crefeld do not.
One not a Mennonite said to me that the positions in the army are more
honorable.
Why, then, do they not join the Evangelicals? Two of the chief
differences between them are that Mennonites only baptize those of mature
years and refuse to swear in a court of justice, making instead nearly
the following declaration, “My yes is yes, my no is no, and in testimony
thereto I offer my right hand,”—the _handschlag_.
* * * * *
The next Mennonite settlement which I visited was that at Kuhbörnchenhof,
not far from Kaiserslautern, in the Rhenish Palatinate. Going among
these people with no letters of introduction, I was received with much
hospitality in the small rural settlement. Their ancestors came from
Switzerland in 1715. The first who came to this place seems to have built
himself a log house; the country being nearly covered with wood, with
wild animals therein. Others joined him, until the little settlement
numbered eight families. Counting all in the country round belonging
to this church (or congregation), it is said to number ninety-four
baptized persons. They baptize at the age of thirteen. Until lately this
settlement had an unpaid ministry; but a few years ago they concluded
to employ a minister. However, he is not heavily paid. He preaches by
turns in three different settlements, and receives a salary of about one
hundred and eighty dollars (having a wife and infant). There are larger
communities, which pay as much as two hundred and fifty to four hundred
and fifty dollars.
The Rhenish Palatinate belongs to Bavaria. The Mennonites here are no
longer allowed to purchase exemption from military service; all who are
drawn must serve.
One more effort I made in Germany to visit the Mennonites. I heard
in the city of Speyer that some were living near Zweibrücken, and by
perseverance I found an Amish family not far from the town. It proved
to be that of a wealthy farmer, living in some respects more plainly
than our people here. This farmer, Mr. Stalter, told me that all the
Mennonites in the Palatinate came from Switzerland. When they came many
of them were weavers, but now they have earned money, and all, or almost
all, are farmers. The manner in which the sons of this family avoid
protracted military service seems to be by obtaining a higher degree of
education. I was told that since 1871 every young man in Germany must
perform military service at the age of twenty. If he prefer, he may begin
at sixteen. They usually go into barracks for three years. But the three
years’ service can be shortened to one year, and otherwise lightened,
thus: First, the young man must be three years in a common public
school,—_Volks-schule_. Then he must go six years to a school of higher
grade, a _Real-schule_, where he studies a foreign language (either
French or English), chemistry, physics, mathematics, history, and natural
history. (At the end of six years, if he cannot pass his examination, he
may go back and study another year.) After this he is ready to enter upon
the mitigated military service for one year only. If he does not wish to
live in garrison, he can take a room elsewhere and board himself, but go
through all the military exercises with the other soldiers. In this case
he must furnish himself his uniform and other trappings. Of this manner
of escaping the three years’ service I think that two sons of the Stalter
family had already availed themselves.
Close by Mr. Stalter lived another family named Oesch. They had been
Amish until 1871, and have now joined the Tunkers (Dunkers), or those
who immerse. The Tunkers do not go to war. If they are forced to do so,
they go to America. They do go into garrison, but they will not bear
arms. They are then taken before a military judge, and sometimes he sends
them to prison. When allowed to come out they can work in barracks in
bread-baking, the care of horses, etc., but will not take arms, even
possibly if they should be threatened with death.
But they are not always sent to prison. When the matter is understood by
the authorities other labor than military service is often assigned to
them. It was in this family of Oesch that I saw the two volumes which I
had before seen in Lancaster County. One was the Martyr-book, which was
published in Dutch, turned into German by the brotherhood at Ephrata,
and by them printed in 1748;[42] printed anew by the united brotherhood
in Europe. The date, I think, was 1780. The other volume was the old
Hymn-Book, still in use among the Amish in my own country. This copy was
published at Basle in 1809.
I have before spoken of the congregation that I visited not far from
Kaiserslautern, and of its preacher, who received a salary of about
one hundred and eighty dollars. I met the preacher there and at his own
dwelling, and he gave me a list, published in 1881, of the Mennonite
congregations in Germany, Galicia, Poland, and Russia. Why those in
Holland are not included I do not understand. Others are omitted, for the
preface says, “We are sorry that we have not received any information
concerning the small congregations found in Switzerland, as well as those
in Alsace and Lorraine.” As far as my own observation goes, the number
of Mennonites in Germany is not large. In Holland the number given in
Appleton’s Cyclopædia is over forty-four thousand in the year 1869. Of
those in Russia, the number mentioned in the list which was presented to
me (published in 1881) is about forty thousand. But a private letter from
a Mennonite editor estimates that fifteen thousand Russian Mennonites
have come to this country, and that, as there were about forty thousand
in Russia in 1870, only about twenty-five thousand are left there. The
editor mentions that they have settled here in Kansas, Nebraska, Dakota,
Minnesota, and Manitoba.
THE DUNKER LOVE-FEAST.
On the morning of the 25th of September, 1871, I took the cars of the
Pennsylvania Central Railroad for the borough of Mount Joy, in the
northwest part of this county of Lancaster. Finding no public conveyance
thence to the village of C., I obtained from my landlord a horse and
buggy and an obliging driver, who took me four or five miles, for two
dollars. We took a drive round by the new Dunker meeting-house, which is
a neat frame building,—brown, picked out with white window-frames. Behind
it is a wood, upon which the church-doors open, instead of upon the
highway.
We heard here that the meeting would not begin till one o’clock on the
next day. Some of the brethren were at the church, however, with their
teams, having brought provisions, straw, and bedding. We went into the
neat meeting-room, and above into the garret, where straw was being
laid down. A partition ran down the middle, and upon the women’s side a
small room had also been divided from the rest, wherein were one or two
bedsteads and the inevitable cradle. The basement had a hard earthen
floor, and was divided into dining-room, kitchen, and cellar. Upon
spacious shelves in the cellar a brother and sister were placing food.
Many large loaves of bread were there. The sister was taking pies from a
great basket, and bright coffee-pots stood upon the kitchen-table.
All here seemed to speak “Dutch,” but several talked English with me.
They seemed surprised that I had come so far as twenty-three miles in
order to attend the meeting. One remarked that it was no member that had
put the notice of the meeting which I had seen into the paper. Others,
however, seemed interested, although by my dress it was very plain that I
was not of the brotherhood.
I found C. a neat place of about a dozen houses, and we drove to the only
tavern. The landlady was young and pleasant, but she could speak little
English. She was quite sociable, however, and thought that she could
teach me “Dutch” and I her English. By means of some German on my part,
we got along tolerably together. She took me to a good chamber, and began
removing from it some of their best clothing. Showing me two sun-bonnets,
one of them made of black silk, she said, “It is the fashion.” “The
fashion?” said I. “Yes; the fashion for married women.” This was,
doubtless, the Dunker influence even among those not members.
Being at leisure in the afternoon, I walked to an ancient Moravian church
in the neighborhood, with the landlady’s little daughter,—a pretty child.
Her mother said, “Geh mit der aunty:” so she went with her adopted
relative.
“Do you speak English?” I said to the little one.
“Na!” she answered.
“Hast du ein Brüder?” (Have you a brother?) I continued.
“Na!” she replied, in the dialect.
“Wie alt bist du?” (How old are you?) I said afterward.[43]
“Vaze es net.” (I don’t know.)
Conversation flagged.
I found the church a small log building that had been covered with
boards. Many of the tombstones were in the Moravian fashion, such as I
had seen at Litiz,—small square slabs, lying flat in the grass; and some
were numbered at the top of the inscription. One of these is said to be
one hundred and twenty years old. But the Herrnhüter (as my landlady
said) are all gone, and another society now holds meetings in the lowly
church.
Although my little guide of six years could not speak English, she was
not wanting in good sense. As I was trying to secure the graveyard gate,
holding it with one hand, and stooping to roll up the stone that served
to keep it fast, the little one, too, put out her hand, unbidden, to hold
the gate. I thought that there were some English children that would not
have been so helpful, and reflected, as I walked along, upon _unspoken
language_, if I may use the expression.
The landlady had a plentiful supper after we returned. I was the only
guest, and, as is usual here, the maid sat down with us. We had fried
beef, sweet potatoes, pie, very nice apple-butter, canned peaches,
barley-coffee, brown sugar, etc. The charge for board was at the rate of
one dollar per day.
In the evening I heard my hostess up-stairs preparing my bed, as I
supposed. My surprise was therefore considerable, on turning down the
woollen coverlet, to find no sheets upon the feather bed. On lifting this
light and downy bed, which was neatly covered with white, I found one
sheet, a straw bed, and then a bed-cord in the place of a sacking-bottom.
I at once perceived that the feather bed was a feather cover, of which I
had often heard, but had never met with one before during my sojourn in
Pennsylvania “Dutchland.” I should think that this downy covering might
be pleasant in cold weather, but now I rolled it off upon the floor, and,
with the help of a spare comfortable, was soon at rest. The pillow-cases,
which were trimmed with edging, were marked with black silk, in a large
running-hand, in this manner: “Henry G. Kreider, 1864.”
As I sat the next morning a while with the landlady in her basement
kitchen, she remarked, “Here is it as Dutch as Dutchlant.” But she said
that my Dutch was not like theirs. The neighborhood, however, is not
nearly so German as Germany. I was told by an intelligent young man
that half the grown men did not speak English; I understand by this,
not that they do not speak our language at all, but not habitually and
with fluency. Many speak English very well, but the “Dutch” accent is
universal. For several years the school-books in the township have all
been English. I laughed with the landlady, who herself seemed somewhat
amused, at the children having English books and speaking Dutch, or, as
she would say, “Die Kinner lerne Englisch und schwetze Deitsch.” However,
at the Dunker church a pretty girl told me afterward that she had had
no difficulty at school the preceding winter, although “we always talk
German at home.”
At breakfast this morning, among other dishes, we had raisin-pie. Not a
great while after this meal was over, the morning having proved wet, a
neighbor took me over to the church in his buggy for twenty-five cents.
Although the hour was so early, and meeting was fixed to begin at one, I
found a considerable number here, which did not surprise me, as I knew
the early habits of our “Dutch” people. Taking a seat, I began to read a
number of the _Living Age_, when a black-eyed maid before me, in Dunker
dress, handed me her neatly-bound hymn-book in English and German. I told
her that I could read German, and when I read a verse in that language
she said, “But you don’t know what it means.” Reading German is with us a
much rarer accomplishment than speaking the dialect.
Ere long, a stranger came and sat down behind me, and entered into
conversation. He was a preacher from a distance, named L., and spoke very
good English. We soon found that we had mutual acquaintances in another
county, and when dinner was ready he invited me down to partake.
Here the men sat upon one side, and the women on the other, of one of
the long tables, upon which was laid a strip of white muslin. We had
bowls without spoons, into which was poured by attending brethren very
hot coffee, containing milk or cream, but no sugar. We had the fine
Lancaster County bread, good and abundant butter, apple-butter, pickles,
and pies. The provisions for these meals are contributed by the members
at a previous meeting, where each tells what he intends to furnish, how
many loaves of bread, etc., while some prefer to give money. To furnish
provisions, however, is natural to a people of whom about seventy-five in
a hundred are farmers, as is the case with the Dunkers. Whatever food is
left over after the four meals are finished is given to the poor, without
distinction of sect; “whoever needs it most,” as a sister said.
At this dinner, before eating, my new acquaintance, L., gave out, by two
lines at a time, the verse,—
“Eternal are thy mercies, Lord.”
But few joined in the singing. They would doubtless have preferred
German. In that language thanks were returned after eating.
When we went up into the meeting-room again, a young man of an
interesting countenance, a preacher, named Z., asked me if I was not
the one who had written an article which had lately appeared in one of
our county papers. It was very gratifying to be thus recognized among
strangers.
An elderly sister, who sat down by me and began to talk, was named
Murphy. The name surprised me much, but it was not the only Irish one
here. It is probable that some such persons were taken into Dunker
families, when young, to be brought up, and thus had been led to join the
society.
Having observed that there was a good deal of labor to be performed here
in waiting upon so many people, I asked Mrs. Murphy whether there were
women hired. She told me, “There’s a couple of women that’s hired; but
the members does a heap, too.”
On another occasion, I made a remark to a friendly sister about the
brethren’s waiting upon the table, as they did. She answered that it was
according to the Testament to help each other; the women cooked, and the
men waited upon the table. She did not seem able to give the text. It may
be, “Bear ye one another’s burdens.” I was amused that it should be so
kindly applied to the brethren’s helping the sisters.
Before meeting began in the afternoon, a lovely aged brother, with
silvery hair and beard, and wearing a woollen coat nearly white, showed
me how the seats were made, so that, by turning down the backs of some,
tables could be formed for the Love-Feast. He told me that the Dunkers
number about one hundred thousand,—that they have increased much in the
West, but not in the Eastern States. To which I rejoined, smiling, “You
Dutch folks do not like poor land, like much of that at the East.”
“This is not good land,” he said, “we have improved it;” for I had left
the rich limestone soil and had come to the gravelly land in the northern
part of the county.
When meeting began, as brethren came in, I saw some of these bearded men
kissing each other. These holy kisses, as will be seen hereafter, are
frequent among the Dunkers, and, as the men shave only the upper lip, it
seems strange to us who are unaccustomed to the sight and the sound. The
oft-repeated kissing was to me, perhaps, the least agreeable part of the
ceremonial.
The afternoon meeting became very crowded, and, as is usual among our
“Dutch” people, a number of babies were in attendance. During the
sessions their voices sometimes rose high, but the noise did not seem to
affect those who were preaching or praying. They felt it perhaps like
the wailing and sighing of the wind, which they regard not, and would
rather bear the inconvenience of the children than to have the mothers
stay away from meeting. This afternoon, during prayer, a little fellow
behind me kept saying, “Want to go to pappy;” but if his father was among
the brethren, he was on the other side of the house.
My new acquaintance, L., was the only preacher here who spoke in English.
All the other exercises, except a little singing, were in German or in
our Pennsylvania dialect. This afternoon L. said, among many remarks
more sectarian, or less broad, “Faith is swallowed up in sight; hope, in
possession; but charity, or love, is eternal. It came from God, for God
is love.” The allusion here is to Paul’s celebrated panegyric on charity;
but how much more charming it is in the German version, “Faith, hope,
love; but the greatest of these is love. Love suffereth long and is kind,
is not puffed up,” etc.
About the middle of the afternoon I perceived a speaker giving some
directions, and I asked the women near me what he had said. One answered
and said something about “_Wahl halten für prediger_,” by which I
perceived that the election for a preacher was now to take place. Both
brethren and sisters were to vote; not to select from a certain set of
candidates, however; but at random, among the congregation,—or _family_,
as it is sometimes called, “for all ye are brethren.”
In the room above-stairs were the bishop or elder and an assistant, to
receive the votes. This bishop we might call the father of this family,
which has four preachers and as many meeting-houses. The bishop is always
that preacher who is oldest in the ministry. Meeting is held by turns
in the different houses, occurring only once in six weeks in the large
new house which we then occupied. These particulars, which I gathered in
conversation, are, I believe, substantially correct.
During the interval of the election I sat and read, or looked out from
my window at the young people, the gayly-dressed girls mostly grouped
together. Some of these were, probably, relatives of the members,
while others may have come for the ride and the fun, to see and to be
seen,—meetings of this kind being great occasions in the country-side.
The young men stood around on the outside of these groups of girls, some
holding their whips and twirling them, with the butts resting upon the
ground. Of course the young girls were not conscious of the presence of
the beaux.
On the back of the house, or rather the front,—for, as I have said, the
main doors open upon the wood instead of upon the roadside,—were more
young girls, and plain sisters and brethren.
I asked a nice-looking woman about the election, but she could not tell
me, although she wore the plain cap. “Most of the women do around here,”
she said, and added that Dunker women in meeting had offered to kiss her.
“You know they greet each other with a kiss.”
After the brethren, the sisters were called up to vote. I laughed,
in talking with some of the members, at the women’s being allowed to
vote, in contrast to the usual custom. Mrs. Murphy reckoned it would
be different if the women should undertake to vote for Governor or
President.
I said to some of the sisters, “Who do you think will be chosen?” But
they pleasantly informed me that to talk upon this point was against
their rules,—it was a matter for internal reflection.
After meeting was over next day, as the bishop was talking with a
sister, I ventured to ask him whether a majority was necessary to elect
a preacher, or only a plurality. He seemed quite willing to talk,
displaying no clerical pride, and answered, “A majority,” adding, “Do
you speak German?” I feared that I could not readily understand him on
such a subject, and put the case to him thus in English: “Suppose one
man has twenty votes, another fifteen, and another ten?” Then the bishop
said that the one having twenty would be elected; whence it seems that
a plurality only is required. On this occasion the vote was doubtless
much divided, for I afterward heard that the bishop had said to the
congregation that it seemed there were a good many there that were
thought fit for preachers.
As sunset approached, some of the members began to form tables from the
benches for the Love-Feast, which made me wonder when supper was to be
ready. I soon found, however, that my ignorance of the language had
prevented my observing that while the “family” voted the rest of the
congregation were to sup. I was told, however, that if I would go down
I could still get something to eat. These meals were free to every one
that came. All were received, in the hope that they would obtain some
spiritual good.
In the basement I found a number of men sitting at the end of one of the
tables, waiting for food, and I also sat down near them. I was invited,
however, by a sister to step into the kitchen, where I stood and partook
of hot coffee, bread and butter, etc. As we went along through the
dining-room, I thought that the sister cast a reproachful glance at a
disorderly man seated at the table with his whip, and who was perhaps
intoxicated. I wondered that she should have taken me from the table to
stand in the kitchen, till I remembered that that was _a men’s table_.
In the kitchen, brethren were busily occupied cutting large loaves of
bread into quarters for the coming Love-Feast; and when I returned to
the room above, active preparations were still going on, which consumed
much time. The improvised tables were neatly covered with white cloths,
and hanging lamps shed down light upon the scene. Piles of tin pans
were placed upon the table, knives, forks, and spoons, and sometimes
a bowl. The tables, with their seats, occupied nearly the whole floor
of the church, leaving but little room for spectators. I was myself
crowded into a corner, where the stairs came up from the basement and
went up to the loft; but, though at times I was much pressed for room,
I had an excellent place to observe, for I stood at the end of the main
table. Here stood, too, a bright and social sister from a neighboring
congregation, who did not partake of the feast, and was able and willing
to explain the ceremonial to me, in English,—Mrs. R., as I will call her.
Near by at the table, among the older sisters, sat a pair who attracted a
great deal of my attention—a young mother and her babe—herself so quiet,
and such a quiet babe! They might have been photographed. Once or twice
the little six-weeks’ child gave a feeble young wail, and I saw the
youthful mother modestly give it that nourishment which nature provides.
The brethren came up carrying tubs of meat, which smelt savory, for I had
fasted from flesh since the morning. Then came great vessels of soup,—one
of them a very large tin wash-boiler. The soup was taken out into the tin
pans before mentioned, and the plates of meat were set upon the top, as
if to keep both hot. And, now that “at long last” the Love-Feast tables
were spread, the fasting family was ready to begin, not the supper, but
the feet-washing! This was the more remarkable, because the Testament,
their rule of action, relates that “supper being ended,” Jesus washed the
disciples’ feet.
The bishop arose in his place at the table, and, lamp in one hand and
book in the other, read in German the account of the feet-washing in
John’s gospel.
Four men who stood in front of him, watching his words, started when
he said “legte seine Kleider ab” (“laid aside his garments”), and, in
imitation of Jesus, took off their coats; and, as the Scripture says, “He
took a towel and girded himself,” they, or two of them, put on long white
aprons tied around the waist. Two washed feet and two wiped, and then he
who was thus ministered unto was kissed by one or both of the ministering
brethren. I was a little surprised that two should perform that office,
which Jesus is said to have performed alone: but Mrs. R. told me that, as
the church was one body, it was considered that it made no difference to
have two persons.
The four who had ministered took their seats, and were served in their
turn, four others taking their places, and so on. Upon the sisters’ side
of the house, on a front bench, the sisters were, in a similar manner,
performing the same ordinance.
While the religious services of the evening were going on within, from
without there came the sound of voices and laughter,—from where the
young people _of the world_ were enjoying themselves in the clear, cool
moonlight. I doubt not that, by this time, the girls had recognized the
presence of the young men.
Once there was a shriek or a yell, and Mrs. R. said, “Oh, the drunken
rowdies! there’s always some of them here!”
Having heard of the non-resistant or _wehrlos_ tenets of the Dunkers, I
wondered what they would do should the disturbance without become very
great and unpleasant. Mrs. Murphy thought that the other people would
interfere in such a case,—that is, that those not members would interest
themselves to maintain order. But on this point I afterward received
information from a brother, as I shall mention. The services were so
long that I told Mrs. R. I thought that the soup would be cold. “Oh,
no!” she said, “that won’t get cold so soon.” So I ventured to put my
finger against a pan near me, and it was yet warm. She asked me, during
feet-washing, whether I did not think that I should feel happy to be
there, partaking of that exercise.
I answered, in a non-committal manner, that if I had been brought up to
such things, as she had been, I might feel so, but that all my friends
and acquaintances were of a different mind. She rejoined, “But we must
follow Christ, and serve God, in spite of the world.” Even after the feet
were all washed, the fasting family could not yet eat, on account of the
protracted exhortations.
At length they broke their fast. From two to four persons, each with a
spoon, ate together from one pan of soup, very quietly, fifty feeding
like one, so to speak; the absence of sound proceeding in part perhaps
from the absence of earthen plates. Then they cut from the meat and from
the quarter-loaves, and partook of the butter, this being all the food.
There was no salt nor any other condiment. The occasional bowl was for
water. I suppose that most persons would think that there had been enough
kissing of the kind; but about this time a young bishop, an assistant,
stood up at the centre of the main table, and after some remarks shook
hands with the sister upon his left and kissed the brother upon his
right, and from brother to brother, and from sister to sister, the kiss
went around the congregation.
The bishop, and this assistant, went around upon ours, the women’s side,
superintending this ceremony, as if to see that none failed in this
expression of unity, and that it was conducted in an orderly manner. The
last sister, who has no one to kiss, goes forward and kisses the first
one, with whom the bishop had shaken hands, thus completing the chain
of unity. This was doubtless done before the Communion, and showed that
brotherly love existed among these brethren, fitting them to partake of
the sacrament. I was also told that the latter half of the afternoon
meeting had been for self-examination on the same subject.
About this time of the evening Mrs. R. told me that if I would go down
I could get some of the soup, as there was plenty left. I was willing
to partake, not having had a regular supper, and I got a bowl of good
mutton-broth, containing rice or barley, etc.
After the Love-Feast, these “Old Brethren,” as they are sometimes called,
held the Communion. The bread and wine were placed upon the general or
main table—being set before the bishops—and were covered with a white
cloth.
Before the celebration of the ordinance there was read in German the
passage of Scripture upon which it is founded; and also, as it seemed
to me, the narrative of the crucifixion. The hymn now sung was an
English one, and the only one in our language that was sung by the whole
congregation during the two days’ meeting. It was,
“Alas! and did my Saviour bleed?”
Meantime, the assistant bishop divided the bread, or cakes, which were
unleavened and sweetened. He directed the members, while eating the
bread, to reflect upon the sufferings of the Saviour. His manner was
devout and impressive. As he and Bishop D⸺ passed around among the
women, distributing the bread, the former repeated several times, in a
sonorous voice, these or similar words: “Das Brod das wir brechen ist
die Gemeinschaft des Leibes Christi.” (“The bread that we break is the
communion of the body of Christ.”)
The wine, which smelt strong, was the juice of the grape, and was made
in the neighborhood. An aged bishop from another congregation made some
observations, and while speaking marked the length of something upon his
finger. Mrs. R. said that he was showing the size of the thorns in the
crown. She added, “They are there yet.” I looked at her in much surprise,
wondering whether she believed in the preservation of the actual
thorns; whereupon she added, “They grow there still. Did you never read
it in Bausman’s book on the Holy Land?—Bausman, the Reformed preacher.”
The simplicity of the surroundings upon this occasion were, it seemed
to me, in keeping with those of the original supper, at which sat the
“carpenter’s son” and the fishermen.
When meeting was over, as I did not see my escort to the public-house,
and as I had been told that I could stay here, I followed those who went
above-stairs, and received a bolster made of a grain-bag filled with hay
or straw. I shared it with Mrs. Murphy. Our bed was composed of straw
laid upon the floor, and covered, or nearly so, with pieces of domestic
carpet. We had a coverlet to lay over us. I talked with some of the other
women who lay beside us, and could not get to sleep immediately; but at
last I slept so sweetly that it was not agreeable to be disturbed at four
o’clock, when, by my reckoning, the sisters began to rise. When some
of these had gone down, I should perhaps have slept again, had it not
been for a continued talking upon the men’s side of the partition, quite
audible, as the partition only ran up to a distance of some feet, not
nearly so high as the lofty ridge of the building. The voices appeared to
be those of a young man and one or two boys, talking in the dialect. A
woman near me laughed.
“What is it?” said I.
“It’s too mean to tell,” she answered.
I surmise that the Dunker brethren had gone down and left these youths.
Although a baby was crying, I lay still until two girls in Dunker
caps—one ten years old, the other twelve—came with a candle, looking at
us, smiling, and making remarks, perhaps thinking that it was time for
us to be up.
I asked the eldest what o’clock it was.
She did not know.
“What made you get up, then?”
“I got up when the others did.”
Then some one explained that there were a good many dishes left unwashed
the evening before.
I was surprised to see such young persons members of the meeting, for I
supposed that the Dunkers, like the Mennonites, are opposed to infant
baptism. The former explained to me, however, that they thought such
persons as these old enough to distinguish right from wrong. I was told,
too, of one girl, still younger, who had insisted on _wearing the cap_.
The Mennonites baptize persons as young as fifteen. Both sects seem to
hold peculiar views upon original sin.
A Dunker preacher once said to me,—
“We believe that, after Adam, all were born in sin; but, after Christ,
all were born without sin.”
And a Mennist neighbor says,—
“Children have no sin; the kingdom of heaven is of little children.”
I continued to lie still, looking at the rafters and roof, and
speculating as to their being so clean, and clear of cobwebs, and whether
they had been laboriously swept; and then, gathering my wardrobe together
with some little trouble, I was at last ready to go down. As I went to a
window, I saw Orion and Sirius, and the coming day.
Going down to wash at the pump, in the morning gloaming, while the
landscape still lay in shade, I found two or three lads at the pump, and
one of them pumped for me. I was so ignorant of pump-washing as to wonder
why he pumped so small a stream, and to suspect that he was _making fun_;
but thus it seems it is proper to do, to avoid wetting the sleeves.
Here I met a pretty young sister, from Cumberland County,—fat and
fair,—whose acquaintance I had made the day before. Her cap was of lace,
and not so plain as the rest. There was with her at the pump one of the
world’s people, a young girl in a blue dress.
“Is that your sister?” I asked.
“It’s the daughter of the woman I live with,” she replied. “I have no
sister. I am hired with her mother.”
To my inexperienced eye it was not easy to tell the rich Dunkers from the
poor, when all wore so plain a dress. I was afterward much surprised on
discovering that this pretty sister did not understand German. Another
from Cumberland County told me that I ought to come to their meeting,
which was nearly all English.
After washing, I went up into the meeting-house, where the lamps were
still burning. A few sisters were sitting here, and two little maidens
were making a baby laugh and scream by walking her back and forth along
the empty benches. About sunrise the bishop had arrived, and a number of
brethren ranged themselves upon the benches and began to sing. Before
long, we, who had stayed overnight, had our breakfast, having cold meat
at this and the succeeding meal. I think it was at breakfast that my
pleasant friend with the silvery hair mentioned that there was still a
store of bread and pies.
The great event of the morning meeting was the “making the preacher.”
At my usual seat, at a distant window, I was so busily occupied with my
notes that I did not perceive what was going on at the preachers’ table,
until I saw a man and woman standing before the table with their backs
to the rest of the congregation. I made my way to my former corner of
observation, and found that there was another brother standing with them
(the sister in the middle), and these were receiving the greetings of
the family. The brethren came up, one by one, kissed one of the men,
shook hands with the sister, and kissed the other man. This last was the
newly-chosen preacher, the former brother, named Z., being a preacher
who, by the consent of the members (also given yesterday), was now
advanced one degree in the ministry, and was henceforth to have power to
marry and to baptize. The sister was his wife. She is expected to support
her husband in the ministry, and to be ready to receive those women who,
after baptism, come up from the water. This office and that of voting
seem to be the only important ones held by women in this society. Herein
they differ greatly from another plain sect,—Friends or Quakers, among
whom women minister, transact business, etc.[44]
After the brethren were done, the sisters came up, shook hands with Z.,
kissed his wife, and shook hands with the new preacher, whose wife, I
believe, was not present.
The bishop invited the sisters to come forward: “Koomet alle! alle die
will. Koomet alle!”
While this salutation was in progress, L., who spoke in English, made
some explanatory remarks. He told us that he had read or heard of two
men travelling together, of whom one was a doctor of divinity. The
latter asked the younger man what he was now doing. He replied that he
was studying divinity. He had formerly been studying law, but on looking
around he saw no opening in the law, so he was now studying divinity,
which course or which change met the approval of the reverend doctor.
“Now,” said L., “_we_ do not approve of men-made preachers;” a striking
remark in a congregation where a preacher had just been elected by a
plurality. But he went on to explain that he trusted that there was no
brother or sister who had voted for him who had just been chosen for this
arm of the church who had not prayed God earnestly that they might make
such a choice as would be profitable in the church. He went on to explain
that the newly-chosen preacher was now receiving from the congregation an
expression of unity.
There were various other exercises this morning,—preaching, praying,
and singing,—before the final adjournment. At the close we had dinner.
I made an estimate of the number who partook of this meal as about five
hundred and fifty. One of the men guessed a thousand; but we are prone to
exaggerate numbers where our feelings are interested.
Before we parted, I had some conversation with certain brethren,
principally upon the non-resistant doctrines of the society. In my own
neighborhood, not a great while before, a Dunker had been robbed under
peculiar circumstances. Several men had entered his house at night, and,
binding him and other members of the family, had forced him to tell
where his United States and other bonds were placed, and had carried off
property worth four thousand dollars. The brother had gone in pursuit
of them, visiting the mayor of our town, and the police in neighboring
cities (without recovering his property). I asked these brethren at
different times whether his course was in agreement with their rules.
They answered that it was not.
On the present occasion I repeated the question as to what they would
have done on the previous evening if the disturbance had risen to a
great height. One of the brethren, in reply, quoted from the Acts of the
Apostles, where it is narrated that forty Jews entered into a conspiracy
to kill Paul. But Paul sent his nephew to the chief captain to inform
him of the conspiracy. The captain then put Paul under the charge of
soldiers, to be brought safe unto Felix the governor.
From this passage the Dunkers feel at liberty to appeal to the police for
their protection; but only once: if protection be not then afforded them,
they must do without it.
I further mentioned to these brethren a case which had been told to me
some time before by a Dunker preacher, of a certain brother who had
been sued in the settlement of an estate, and had received a writ from
the sheriff. This writ was considered by the Dunkers as a call from the
powers that be, to whom they are ordered to be subservient, and the
brother therefore went with some brethren to the office of a lawyer, who
furnished him with subpœnas to summon witnesses in his defence. But the
Dunkers argued among themselves that for him to take these legal papers
from his pocket would be to draw the sword. He therefore sent word to
his friends, informally, to come to the office of a magistrate; and, the
evidence being in his favor, he was released. “This,” said my informant,
“is the only lawsuit that I have known in our society since I joined the
meeting,” which was, I believe, a period of about seven years.
In repeating this narrative to the brethren at the Love-Feast, I
learned that they are now at liberty to engage in defensive lawsuits.
They have, as I understood one to say, no creed and no discipline,
although I believe that a certain confession of faith is required.
The New Testament, or, as they say, the Testament, they claim to be
their creed and their discipline. There is also much independence in
the congregations. But in some cases they have resort to a general
council, and here it has been decided that a Dunker may defend himself
in a lawsuit, but only once. Should an appeal be taken to another court,
the Dunker can go no further. This reminds me of Paul’s question to the
Corinthians, “Why do you not rather suffer loss than go to law?”[45] Does
it not seem hard to practise such non-resistance, to remain upright and
open-minded, and at the same time to acquire much wealth?
The Dunkers do not like to be called by this name; their chosen title is
Brethren.
* * * * *
The Love-Feast, above described, was held by the “Old Brethren,” who
originated in Germany about the year 1708.
It has been said that they originated among the Pietists; but a very
great resemblance will be found among them to our German Baptists of the
Mennonite or Anabaptist stock.
I afterward visited other Dunkers, belonging to a division called the
“River Brethren.” They originated near the Susquehanna River, but they
have now spread as far as Ohio, if not farther.
That these are of the old Baptist stock there is no doubt, as Jacob
Engle, their founder, was of a Mennonite family,—a family which boasts
that one of their ancestors was a prisoner in Switzerland, on account of
her faith. (See note, in “Swiss Exiles,” page 101.)
In coming to this country, about one hundred years ago, tradition tells
us that the Engle family joined with thirty others, who were upon the
same vessel, to remain bound together in life and in death. The young
infants of these families all died upon the voyage, except Jacob Engle,
whereupon an old nurse said, “God has preserved him for an especial
purpose.” He became a preacher, and this his friends regarded as a
fulfilment of the prophecy.
Jacob Engle, or “Yokely Engle,” as he was sometimes called, considered
that there was not sufficient warmth and zeal among the Mennonites at
that time. He became very zealous; experiencing, as he believed, a change
of heart.
Before he became a preacher, some joined him in holding prayer-meetings.
It was found that some wished to be baptized by immersion, and the rite
was thus performed (whereas the Mennonites baptize by pouring).
A common observer would see very little difference between these Brethren
and the Old Dunkers. The River Brethren allow all present to partake
of the love-feast, or paschal supper. Some of them have said that the
paschal supper is an expression of the love of God to all mankind, and
love toward all men constrains them to invite all to partake thereof. But
from the Lord’s Supper they exclude all strangers.
Their meetings are usually held in private houses, or in summer in barns.
Some of their preachers have been heard, upon rising to speak, to declare
that they intend to say only what the Spirit teaches them.
One of their most striking peculiarities is their opposition to the
use of lightning-rods. A preacher said to me, when talking upon this
subject, “If God wishes to preserve the building, he can preserve
it without the lightning-rod. If he does not wish to preserve it,
I am willing to submit to the result.” It has been thought that an
acquaintance with the laws of electricity would remove the objection
which they feel.
The Brinser Brethren were formed from the River Brethren some years ago.
They are popularly thus called, from an able preacher named Matthias
Brinser. They erect meeting-houses, in preference, as I understand,
to meeting in private houses. Their church has not opposed electrical
conductors, though some members feel conscientious in the matter.
The question of erecting meeting-houses seems to have caused considerable
trouble among the River Brethren. A gentleman of our county remarked to
me that the custom of meeting in private houses is traditional among our
people, and dates from times of persecution.
* * * * *
Since the foregoing was published, there has appeared in the _Century_
magazine, December, 1881, an article by Dr. Seidensticker on the Ephrata
Baptists. In this article the author states that the Dunkers number in
the United States (for they have also missions in Europe) about two
hundred thousand souls, with nearly two thousand ministers, none of
whom receives a salary. They have three collegiate institutions,—one in
Pennsylvania, one in Ohio, and one in Illinois.
He states that those who fail in business among the Dunkers are aided to
make a new effort, and such assistance may be lent three times [twice?].
After the third failure, they take it to be the will of God that the
unfortunate brother shall not succeed. Dr. Seidensticker says, too,
that in the holy kiss of the Dunkers, the first kiss among the women is
applied by the minister to the first sister’s hand, which differs from
the statement that I have made of the Love-Feast.
EPHRATA.
This quiet village in Lancaster County has been for over a century
distinguished as the seat of a Protestant monastic institution,
established by the Seventh-Day German Baptists about the year 1738.
Conrad Beissel, the founder of the cloister, was born in Germany, at
Oberbach, in the Palatinate, in the year 1691. He was by trade a baker,
but, after coming to this country, he worked at weaving with Peter
Becker, the Dunker preacher, at Germantown. He is said to have been a
Presbyterian, which I interpret to mean a member of the German Reformed
Church. According to the inscription upon his tombstone, his “spiritual
life” began in 1716, or eight years before he was baptized among the
Dunkers.
This may be explained by an article written by the Rev. Christian
Endress, who seems to have studied the Ephrata community, in connection
with their published writings, more than some others who have endeavored
to describe this peculiar people.[46]
Mr. Endress says, “The Tunkers trace their origin from the Pietists near
Schwarzenau, in Germany.”[47]
While they yet belonged among the Pietists, there was a society formed
at Schwarzenau composed of eight persons, whose spiritual leader was
Alexander Mack, a miller of Schriesheim.
The members of this little society are said to have been rebaptized (by
immersion), because they considered their infant baptism as unavailing,
and to have first assumed the name of _Taeuffer_, or Baptists.[48]
The Dunkers first appeared in America in 1719, when about twenty families
landed in Philadelphia, and dispersed to Germantown, Conestoga, and
elsewhere.
Beissel was baptized among them in 1724, in Pequea Creek, a tributary of
the Susquehanna. He lived for a while at Mühlbach, or Mill Greek, in
Lancaster County. Some time after this baptism, or in 1728, he published
a tract upon the Seventh Day as the true Sabbath. This tract caused a
disturbance among the brethren at Mill Creek, and Beissel and some with
him withdrew from the other Dunkers, and Beissel rebaptized those of his
own society.[49]
Not long after, says Endress, Beissel, who had appointed several elders
over his people, withdrew from them, and retired to live a solitary life
in a cottage that had been built for a similar purpose, and occupied by
a brother called Elimelech. This cottage stood near the place where the
convent was afterward built. Here we infer that he lived for several
years.
To live the life of cenobites or hermits, says Rupp, was in some
measure peculiar to many of the Pietists who had fled from Germany to
seek an asylum in Pennsylvania. “On the banks of the Wissahickon, near
Philadelphia, several hermits had their cells, some of them men of fine
talents and profound erudition.”
Of some of these hermits, and of the monastic community afterward settled
at Ephrata, it is probable that a ruling idea was the speedy coming of
Christ to judge the world. It is stated that after the formation of
Beissel’s “camp” midnight meetings were held, for some time, to await the
coming of judgment. Those who remember the Millerite, or Second Advent,
excitement of the year 1843, can appreciate the effect that this idea
would have upon the minds of the Dunkers, and how it could stimulate them
to suffer many inconveniences for the brief season that they expected to
tarry in the world.[50]
While Beissel was dwelling in his solitary cot, about the year 1730, two
married women joined the society, of whom the Ephrata Chronicle tells us
that they left their husbands and placed themselves under the lead of the
director (or _vorsteher_, the title applied to Beissel in the Chronicle).
He received them, although it was against the canon of the new society.
One of these was Maria Christiana, wife of Christopher Sower, him
who afterward established the celebrated German printing-office at
Germantown. She escaped in the year 1730, and was baptized the same
fall. In the beginning she dwelt alone in the desert, “and showed by her
example that a manly spirit can dwell in a female creature.”[51]
While Beissel was still in his hermitage, discord and strife arose among
the brethren of his society, news of which reached him by some means, for
in the year 1733 he cited them to appear at his cottage.
They met, and some of the single brethren agreed to build a second
cottage near that occupied by their leader. Besides this, a house was
also built for females, and in May, 1733, two single women retired into
it.[52]
In 1734, a third house for male brethren was built and occupied by the
brothers Onesimus and Jotham, whose family name was Eckerlin.[53]
Soon after, says Endress, they all united in the building of a bake-house
and a storehouse for the poor. And now the whole was called the camp
(_das Lager_).
The early history of the society is quaintly narrated by Morgan Edwards,
the Baptist historian. They had, he says, their existence as a society
in 1724, when Conrad Beissel and six others were baptized in Pequea
River by Rev. Peter Baker. The same day these seven incorporated into a
church, and chose Conrad Beissel to be their minister. After this they
continued some time at Mill Creek, and then, removing about three miles
northward, pitched on the land of Rudolph Neagley, in Earl Township. Here
they continued about seven years; and hither resorted many to see them,
some of whom joined the society. Here they began their economy, the men
living by themselves on the fore-mentioned lands, and the women also by
themselves on the adjoining lands of John Moyly.
Here Conrad Beissel appointed two elders and a matron to preside over his
church in the wilderness, binding them by a solemn promise (and at the
same time giving to each a Testament) to govern according to the rules
of that book. Then he withdrew, and made as though they should see him
no more. This was done in the year 1732 or 1733. He travelled northward,
till he came to the spot where Ephrata or Tunkerstown now stands, and
with his hoe planted Indian corn and roots for his subsistence. But he
had not been long in the place before the society found him out, and
repaired to his little cot, the brethren settling with him on the west
bank of Cocalico, and the sisters on the east, all in sight of one
another, with the river running between them. The next year they set
about building their village, beginning with a place of worship.
Endress tells us that about the time of the formation of the camp there
was a revival in Falconer Swamp, in consequence of which many families
took up land round about the camp, and moved upon it. Another revival on
the banks of the Schuylkill drove many more into the neighborhood; by it
the sister establishment gained accessions; but only two, Drusilla and
Basilla, remained steadfast. “A further revival in Tolpehoccon,” 1735,
brought many to the society. Hereupon they built a meeting-house, with
rooms attached to it for the purpose of holding [preparing?] love-feasts,
and called it Kedar. About the same time, a revival in Germantown sent
additional brothers and sisters to the camp.[54]
It was in 1735, during the revival at Tulpehocken, that Peter Miller was
baptized[55] or rebaptized. Miller, in one of his letters (see Hazard’s
Register, vol. xvi.), speaks of several persons who, as it appears, were
baptized with him; namely, the schoolmaster, three _elderlings_ (one of
them Conrad Weyser), five families, and some single persons. This, he
says, raised such a fermentation in that church (by which I suppose he
means the Reformed Church, which they left), that a persecution might
have followed had the magistrates consented with the generality.
Peter Miller, whom we are now quoting, was one of the most remarkable men
that joined the Ephrata Baptists. He was born in the Palatinate, and is
said to have been educated at Heidelberg. He came to this country when
about twenty years old. He is mentioned, it seems, in an interesting
letter of the Rev. Jedediah Andrews, under date of Philadelphia, 1730,
which letter may be found in Hazard’s Register. He says that there are
“in this province a vast number of Palatines. Those that have come
of late years are mostly Presbyterian, or, as they call themselves,
Reformed, the Palatines being about three-fifths of that sort of people.”
Mr. Andrews says, in substance, “There is lately come over a Palatine
candidate for the ministry, who applied to us at the Synod for
ordination. He is an extraordinary person for sense and learning. His
name is John Peter Miller,[56] and he speaks Latin as readily as we do
our vernacular tongue.”[57]
Peter Miller, in one of his letters, speaks of his baptism (or
rebaptism) in the year 1735. He says at that time the solitary brethren
and sisters lived dispersed “in the wilderness of Canestogues, each
for himself, as hermits, and I following that same way did set up my
hermitage in Dulpehakin [Tulpehocken], at the foot of a mountain, on a
limpid spring; the house is still extant [1790], with an old orchard.
There did I lay the foundation of solitary life.[58]
“However,” he continues, “I had not lived there half a year, when a great
change happened; for a camp was laid out for all solitary persons, at
the very spot where now Ephrata stands, and where at that same time the
president [Beissel] lived with some hermits. And now, when all hermits
were called in, I also quitted my solitude, and changed the same for a
monastic life; which was judged to be more inservient to sanctification
than the life of a hermit, where many under a pretence of holiness did
nothing but nourish their own selfishness.... We were now, by necessity,
compelled to learn obedience.... At that time, works of charity hath been
our chief occupation.[59]
“Canestogues was then a great wilderness, and began to be settled by poor
Germans, which desired our assistance in building houses for them; which
not only kept us employed several summers in hard carpenter’s work, but
also increased our poverty so much that we wanted even things necessary
for life.”
He also says, “When we settled here, our number was forty brethren, and
about so many sisters, all in the vigor and prime of their ages, never
before wearied of social life, but were compelled, ... with reluctance of
our nature, to select this life.”[60]
It was, it seems, about the same time that Miller was baptized that the
midnight meetings were held at the camp, “for the purpose of awaiting the
coming of judgment.”
Not long after the building of the meeting-house called Kedar (says
Endress), a widower, Sigmund Lambert, having joined the camp, built out
of his own means an addition to the meeting-house and a dwelling for
Beissel. Another gave all his property to the society, and now Kedar was
transformed into a sister-convent, and a new meeting-house was erected.
Soon after 1738 a large house for the brethren was built, called Zion,
and the whole camp was named Ephrata.[61] The solitary life was changed
into the conventual one; Zion was called a kloster, or convent, and put
under monastic rules. Onesimus (Eckerlin) was appointed prior, and Conrad
Beissel named father. (His general title appears to be _vorsteher_,
superintendent or principal.)
It was probably about this time, or earlier, that the constable entered
the camp, according to Miller, and demanded the single man’s tax. Some
paid, but some refused. Miller says that some claimed personal immunity
on the ground that they were not inferior to the monks and hermits in
the Eastern country, who supplied the prisons in Alexandria with bread,
and who were declared free of taxes by Theodosius the Great and other
emperors. But these Ephrata brethren were not to be thus exempted. Six
lay in prison at Lancaster ten days, when they were released on bail of a
“venerable old justice of peace.” When the brethren appeared before the
board of assessment, the gentlemen who were their judges saw six men who
in the prime of their ages had been reduced to skeletons by penitential
works. The gentlemen granted them their freedom on condition that they
should be taxed as one family for their real estate, “which is still
in force (1790), although these things happened fifty years ago.” (See
Miller’s letters in Hazard’s Register.)
A monastic dress was adopted by the brethren and sisters, resembling that
of the Capuchins.[62]
The Chronicle, published in 1786, speaks of the sisters as having
carefully maintained the dress of the order for nearly fifty years. About
the same date we read of Miller in his cowl.
It appears from the Chronicle that the other members of the society
at one time adopted a similar dress, but that the celibates (_die
Einsamen_) appeared at worship in white dresses, and the other members
(_die Hausstände_) in gray ones. The secular members, however, “saddled
themselves again” and conformed to the world in clothing and in other
things.
In an article upon Ephrata in Hazard’s Register, vol. v., 1830, will be
found the statement that, thirty or forty years before, the Dunkers were
occasionally noticed in Philadelphia (when they came down with produce),
with long beards and Capuchin habiliments; but this statement does not
seem to agree in date with that of the Chronicle, if these were secular
brethren.
Among the austerities practised at Ephrata formerly, was sleeping upon a
bench with a block of wood for a pillow.[63]
The late Dr. William Fahnestock tells us that these and other austerities
were not intended for penance, but were undertaken from economy. Their
circumstances were very restricted, and their undertaking was great. They
studied the strictest simplicity and economy. For the Communion they used
wooden flagons, goblets, and trays. The plates from which they ate were
thin octagonal pieces of poplar board, their forks and candlesticks were
of wood, and every article that could be made of that substance was used
by the whole community.
Rupp says that the chimneys, which remain in use to this day (1844), are
of wood; and the attention of the present writer was called in 1872 to
wooden door-hinges.
Rupp says also that they all observed great abstemiousness in their diet;
they were vegetarians, and submitted to many privations and to a rigid
discipline exerted over them by a somewhat austere spiritual father.
Peter Miller himself says that he stood under Beissel’s direction for
thirty years, and that it was as severe as any related in the Romish
Church (but this sounds exaggerated).
In the brother- and sister-houses, it has been stated that six
dormitories surrounded a common room in which the members of each
subdivision pursued their respective employments. “Each dormitory was
hardly large enough to contain a cot, a closet, and an hour-glass.”[64]
Of the industries established at Ephrata, one of Peter Miller’s letters
gives us a good idea. He complains, as before mentioned, of Eckerlin’s
obliging them to interfere so far in worldly things, and that money was
put out at interest. He adds that they erected a grist-mill, with three
pairs of stones; a saw-mill, paper-mill, oil-mill, and fulling-mill; had
besides three wagons with proper teams, a printing-office, and sundry
other trades.
He adds, “Our president [by whom he means Beissel] never meddled with
temporal things.”
Mr. Rupp (who cites the Life of Rittenhouse) says that the women were
employed in spinning, knitting, sewing, making paper lanterns and
other toys. A room was set apart for ornamental writing, called “Das
Schreibzimmer,” and “several sisters,” it has been said, devoted their
whole attention to this labor, as well as to transcribing the writings
of the founder of the society; thus multiplying copies before they had a
press. But the press appears to have been early established, and it was
the second German one in our State. It has been stated that Miller was at
one time the printer.[65]
Among the books published at Ephrata were some of Beissel’s, who had
adopted the name of Peaceful (_Friedsam_). One of their publications was
a collection of hymns, and was entitled “The Song of the Solitary and
Abandoned Turtle Dove, namely, the Christian Church, ... by a Peaceful
Pilgrim travelling towards Quiet Eternity.” Ephrata, from the press of
the Fraternity, 1747. 500 pages, quarto.[66]
Beissel also wrote a dissertation on man’s fall, of which Miller says
(1790), “When, in the late war, a marquis from Milan, in Italy, lodged
a night in our convent, I presented to him the said dissertation, and
desired him to publish it at home, and dedicate it to his Holiness.”
In 1748, a stupendous book was published by the society at Ephrata. It
is the Martyr’s Mirror, in folio, of which copies may be seen at the
libraries of the Pennsylvania Historical Society, and of the German
Society, in Philadelphia.
The Chronicon Ephratense, or Ephrata Chronicle, so often alluded to in
this article, was also from their press, but was published thirty-eight
years later. It contains the life of Beissel, under the title of the
venerable “Father in Christ, Peaceful Godright (_Friedsam Gottrecht_),
late founder and _vorsteher_ of the Spiritual Order of the Solitary
(_Einsamen_) in Ephrata, collected by Brothers Lamech and Agrippa.” I
have heard of several copies being still extant,—one in Lancaster County,
one in Montgomery, and one in the library of the Historical Society at
Philadelphia. The last I have been allowed to consult.
In speaking of the occupations practised at Ephrata, it may be permitted
to include music. Beissel is said to have been an excellent musician
and composer. “There was another transcribing-room,” says Fahnestock,
“appropriated to copying music. Hundreds of volumes, each containing
five or six hundred pieces, were transferred from book to book, with as
much accuracy, and almost as much neatness, as if done with the graver.”
In composing music, Beissel is said to have taken his style from nature.
“The singing is the Æolian harp harmonized.... Their music is set in
four, six, and eight parts.”
Morgan Edwards[67] (as cited in Day’s Historical Collections) says,
“Their singing is charming,—partly owing to the pleasantness of their
voices, the variety of parts they carry on together, and the devout
manner of performance.” This style of singing is said by Rupp (1844) to
be entirely lost at Ephrata, but to be preserved in a measure at Snow
Hill, in Franklin County. Fahnestock, who was himself a Seventh-Day
Baptist (or _Siebtaeger_), gives a very enthusiastic account of the
singing at Snow Hill. It may be found in Day’s Historical Collections,
article “Franklin County.”[68]
In addition to the various industries which claimed the attention of the
community, there must not be forgotten the care of their landed estate.
It has been said that they bought about two hundred and fifty acres of
land.[69]
A very large tract was once offered to them by one of the Penns, but they
refused it. I was told at Ephrata that they were “afraid they would get
too vain.”
Count Zinzendorf, the celebrated Moravian bishop, came to Pennsylvania
in 1741. At one time he visited Ephrata, and was entertained in the
convent, where his friendly behavior was very agreeable to the brothers.
(We may suppose that Miller, and Eckerlin, who was not yet deposed, were
men fit to entertain him.) He also expressed a wish to see Beissel. This
was made known to the latter, who answered, after a little reflection,
that Zinzendorf was no wonder to him, but if he himself were a wonder to
Zinzendorf, he must come to him (or as it seems, to Beissel’s own house).
Zinzendorf was now in doubt what to do, but he turned away and left
without seeing the father (_vorsteher_). The Chronicle adds that thus did
two great lights of the church meet as on the threshold, and yet neither
ever saw the other in his life.
The Moravians also erected brother- and sister-houses, but they were not
monastic institutions.[70]
Dissension arose at one time between some of the brethren of the Ephrata
Society and Count Zinzendorf, at a conference held by the latter at Oley,
now in Berks County. Zinzendorf seems to have desired to unite some of
the sects with which Pennsylvania was so abundantly supplied. But the
solitary brethren (of Ephrata) were so suspicious of the thing that they
would no longer unite with it. They had prepared a writing upon marriage,
how far it is from God, and that it was only a praiseworthy ordinance of
nature. This they presented, whereupon there arose a violent conflict in
words.
The ordinarius (Zinzendorf) said that he was by no means pleased with
this paper; his marriage had not such a beginning; his marriage stood
higher than the solitary life in Ephrata. The Ephrata delegates strove to
make all right again, and spoke of families in their society who had many
children.[71]
But Zinzendorf left his seat as chairman, ... and at last the conference
came to an end, all present being displeased.[72]
About this date (or about 1740) took place the formation of the
Sabbath-school, by Ludwig Hoecker, called Brother Obed.[73] He was a
teacher in the secular school at Ephrata,—a school which seems to have
enjoyed considerable reputation. The Sabbath-school (held on Saturday
afternoon) is said to have been kept up over thirty years. This was begun
long before the present Sunday-school system was introduced by Robert
Raikes. (American Cyclopædia, article _Dunkers_.)
Not long after the visit of Zinzendorf, or about 1745, occurred the
deposition of Eckerlin, the prior Onesimus. In one of his letters, Miller
says (1790), “Remember, we have lost our first prior and the sisters
their first mother ... because they stood in self-elevation, and did
govern despotically;” and adds, “the desire to govern is the last thing
which dies within a man.” (It seems probable that Eckerlin has not
received sufficient credit, however, for the pecuniary success of the
infant community.)
Some ten years after his deposition (or in 1755), began the old French
and Indian war. Fahnestock tells us that the doors of the cloister,
including the chapels, etc., were opened as a refuge for the inhabitants
of Tulpehocken and Paxton[74] settlements, which were then the frontiers,
to protect the people from the incursions of the hostile Indians. He adds
that all these refugees were received and kept by the society during the
period of alarm and danger. Upon hearing of which, a company of infantry
was despatched by the royal government from Philadelphia to protect
Ephrata.[75]
But why, we might ask, did these people seek refuge in a communion of
non-combatants? The question bears on the controversy, as to whether the
men of peace or the men of war were nearer right in their dealings with
the savages.[76]
Beissel died in the year 1768, or about thirty years after the
establishment of the cloister. Upon his tombstone was placed, in German,
this inscription:
“Here rests a Birth of the love of God, Peaceful, a Solitary, but who
afterward became a Superintendent of the Solitary Community of Christ in
and around Ephrata: born in Oberbach in the Palatinate, and named Conrad
Beissel.”
“He fell asleep the 6th of July, A.D. 1768: of his spiritual life 52, but
of his natural one, 77 years and 4 months.”
Endress says, “He appears to me to have been a man possessed of a
considerable degree of the spirit of rule; his mind bent from the
beginning upon the acquirement of authority, power, and ascendency.” For
ourselves, we have just seen how he received Count Zinzendorf, who had
crossed the ocean, and come, as it were, to his threshold.
Mr. Endress further says, “Beissel, good or bad, lived and died the
master-spirit of the brotherhood. With him it sank into decay.”
The British officer who wrote in 1786 (?), eighteen years after Beissel’s
death, gives the number of the celibates as seven men and five women.
I do not consider him good authority; but if the numbers were so much
reduced from those of 1740, it seems probable that they had begun to
decline before the decease of Beissel.[77]
Eighteen years after Beissel’s death, was published at Ephrata the
Chronicle of which I have so often spoken, giving an account of his life.
He was succeeded by Peter Miller. Miller was sixty-five years old when
our Revolutionary war broke out, and had been the leader at Ephrata seven
years.
Fahnestock says that after the battle of Brandywine “the whole
establishment was opened to receive the wounded Americans, great numbers
of whom (Rupp says four or five hundred) were brought here in wagons a
distance of more than forty miles, and one hundred and fifty of whom died
and are buried on Mount Zion.”[78]
It is also narrated that before the battle of Germantown a quantity of
unbound books were seized at Ephrata by some of our soldiers, in order to
make cartridges. “An embargo,” says Miller, “was laid on all our printed
paper, so that for a time we could not sell any printed book.”
A story has appeared in print, and not always in the same manner, about
Miller’s going to General Washington and receiving from him a pardon for
his old enemy Widman, who was condemned to die.
This story Mr. Rupp thinks is based upon tradition; one version has been
told in a glowing manner, and is attributed to Dr. Fahnestock. It runs
thus: On the breaking out of the Revolution, committees of safety were
formed in different districts to support our cause. At the head of the
Lancaster County Committee was Michael Widman, who kept a public house,
and who had been a vestryman in the Reformed Church. This church Miller
had left when he joined the Baptists. He persecuted Miller to a shameful
extent, even spitting in his face when he met him.
Widman was at first bold and active in the cause of independence,
but he became discouraged, and resolved to go to Philadelphia and
conciliate General Howe, the British commander, who then held that
city. Howe, however, declined his services,[79] but gave orders to see
him safely beyond the British outposts. His treasonable intentions
having become known to the Americans, he was arrested and taken to the
nearest block-house, at the Turk’s Head, now West Chester; was tried by
court-martial, and sentenced to be hung. Peter Miller, hearing of his
arrest, went to General Washington and pleaded for mercy towards him.
The general answered that the state of public affairs was such as to
make it necessary that renegades should suffer, “otherwise I should most
cheerfully release your friend.”
“Friend!” exclaimed Miller: “he is my worst enemy,—my incessant
reviler.”[80]
Said the general, “My dear friend, I thank you for this example of
Christian charity!” and he granted Miller’s petition.
It is not necessary for me to go further, and describe the scene of
Miller’s arriving upon the ground with the pardon just as Widman was
to be hung, nor the subsequent proceedings there, for I am quite sure
that they did not take place. Evidence to this effect is found in the
Pennsylvania Archives, vol. ix., where Peter Miller writes to Secretary
Matlack, interceding (apparently) for a man named Rein. Miller says, “I
have thought his case was similar to Michael Wittman’s, who received
pardon without a previous trial.”
The secretary replies (1781), “Witman did not receive a pardon previous
to a surrender.”
Thus it seems that the story of Widman’s trial by court-martial is
also wrong. That his property was confiscated, as I was lately told
at Ephrata, I have no reason to doubt, as the Colonial Records, vol.
xii., show that in council, in 1779, it was resolved that the agents
for forfeited estates should sell that of Michael Wittman, subject to a
certain claim.[81]
At Ephrata, during the past winter, I stood in the loft of the
brother-house beside a great chimney of wood and clay, and was told that
here Widman had been hidden. Whether he actually concealed himself in the
brother-house, as has been narrated, I do not find that history declares.
At a subsequent date, 1783, we find in the Pennsylvania Archives, vol.
ix., that Miller intercedes for certain Mennonites who had been fined for
not apprehending British deserters; the Mennonites not being permitted
by their principles to do so. Does this mean deserters from ourselves to
the British,—who were, as deserters, liable to the punishment of death? a
punishment which the Mennonites, as non-resistants, could not inflict.
Certain letters of Peter Miller, published in Hazard’s Register, and
of which I have made considerable use, were written at an advanced
age,—eighty or thereabout. He says in one of them (December, 1790), “Age,
infirmity, and defect in sight are causes that the letter wants more
perspicuity, for which I beg pardon.”
He died about six years after, having lived some sixty years a member of
the community at Ephrata. Upon his tombstone was placed this inscription
in German:
“Here lies buried Peter Miller, born in Oberampt Lautern, in the
Palatinate (Chur-Pfalz); came as a Reformed preacher to America in the
year 1730; was baptized by the Community at Ephrata in the year 1735,
and named Brother Jaebez; also he was afterward a preacher (_Lehrer_)
until his end. He fell asleep the 25th of September, 1796, at the age of
eighty-six years and nine months.”
In the plain upon the banks of the Cocalico still stand the brother- and
sister-houses (although not the buildings first erected). But the society
is feeble in numbers, and the buildings are going to decay. They are
still, however, occupied, or partly so. I found several women living here
in 1872. Some of these were never married, but the majority are widows;
and not all of them members of the Baptist congregation. Nor are the
voices of children wanting.
The last celibate brother died some forty years ago. One, indeed, has
been here since, but, as I was told, “he did not like it,” and went to
the more flourishing community of Snow Hill, in Franklin County.
The little Ephrata association (which still owns a farm), instead of
supporting its unmarried members, now furnishes to them only house-rent,
fuel, and flour. The printing-press long since ceased from its labors,
and many of the other industrial pursuits have declined.
No longer do the unmarried or celibate members own all the property, but
it is now vested in all who belong to the meeting, single and married,
and is in the hands of trustees. The income is, I presume, but small.
The unmarried members wear our usual dress, and none are strictly recluse.
Formerly a large room or chapel was connected with the brother-house. It
was furnished with galleries, where sat the sisters, while the brethren
occupied the floor below. (This building, I am told, is not standing.)
In the smaller room or chapel (_saal_) connected with the sister-house,
about twenty people now meet on the Seventh day for public worship.
But among all these changes the German language still remains! All the
services that I heard, while attending here in February of 1872, were in
that tongue, except two hymns at the close. We must not suppose that this
language is employed because the members are natives of Germany. One or
two may be, but the preacher’s father or grandfather came to this country
when a boy.
Around the meeting-room are hung charts or sheets of grayish paper,
containing German verses in ornamental writing, the ancient labors of the
celibates, or perhaps of the sisters alone. One small chart here is said
to represent the three heavens, and to contain three hundred figures in
Capuchin dress, with harps in their hands, and two hundred archangels.
Perhaps this and their celibate doctrine are drawn, at least in part,
from the opening of chapter xiv. of the book called the Revelation of
John.
But for these old labors in pen and ink, the chapel is as plain as a
Quaker meeting-house. It is kept beautifully clean.[82] Opening out of it
is a kitchen, furnished with the apparatus for cooking and serving the
simple repasts of the love-feasts. Among these Baptists, love-feasts are
held not only, as I understand, in a similar manner to the other Dunkers,
but upon funeral occasions,—a short period after the interment of a
brother or sister. Rupp speaks of their eating lamb and mutton at their
paschal feasts. In the old monastic time, it was only at love-feasts that
the celibate brothers and sisters met.
Here I was shown a wooden goblet made by the brethren for the Communion.
It has been said that they preferred to use such, even after more costly
ones had been given to them.
After attending the religions services in the chapel, three or four of
us—strangers—were supplied with dinner in the brother-house, at a neat
and well-filled table.[83]
I afterward sat for an hour in the neat and comfortable apartment of
Sister Sarah in the sister-house. Here she has lived twenty-two years,
and, though now much advanced in life, has not that appearance. She
seemed lovely, and, I was told, had not been unsought. One of her
brothers has been thirty-three years at the Snow Hill community.
Sister Sarah produced for me a white cotton over-dress, such as was
formerly worn by the sisters. It was a cap or cowl, with long pieces
hanging down in front and behind nearly to the feet; and, if I remember
it right, not of the pattern described in the Chronicle. But fashions
change in fifty to a hundred years.
She also showed me some verses recently written by one of the brethren at
Snow Hill. They were in German, of which I offer an unrhymed version:
“Oh divine life, ornament of virginity!
How art thou despised by all men here below!
And yet art a branch from the heavenly throne,
And borne by the virgin Son of God.”
I was surprised to find such prominence given to the idea of the merits
of celibacy, for I had not then seen the _Chronicon Ephratense_.
One object which especially attracted my attention was an upright clock,
which stood in the room of Sister Sarah, and which was kept in very good
order. It was somewhat smaller than the high clocks that were common
forty or fifty years ago.
All that I heard of its history was that it had come from Germany. It had
four weights suspended on chains. Above the dial-plate hovered two little
angels, apparently made of lead, one on either side of a small disk,
which bore the inscription “Hoeckers a Creveld,”—as I interpret, made by
the Hoeckers at Crefeld. Crefeld,—historic town! Here then was a relic of
it, and standing quite disregarded,—it was only an old German clock!
When the Dunkers were persecuted in Europe, soon after their
establishment, some of them took refuge in Crefeld, in the duchy of
Cleves; and I have lately read that in Crefeld, Mühlheim, etc., William
Penn and others gained adherents to the doctrine of the Quakers.[84]
We also find in the American Cyclopædia that at Crefeld (Ger. _Krefeld_),
a colony of Huguenot refugees in the seventeenth century introduced the
manufacture of silk—Dunkers and Quakers; perhaps also Huguenots fleeing
from France when Louis XIV. revoked that edict of Nantes which had so
long protected them. (Crefeld is now in Rhenish Prussia.)
Who were the Hoeckers, or who was the Hoecker that made this old
clock?[85] Who bought it in historic Crefeld? Who brought it from Europe,
got it up into Lancaster County, and lodged it in the monastery or
nunnery at Ephrata? What, if anything, had Ludwig Hoecker or Brother Obed
to do with it—he who taught the early Sabbath-school? What tales could it
not tell! But it is well cared for in the comfortable apartment of the
kindly sister.
The Snow Hill settlement, I presume, is named from the family of
Snowberger,[86] one of whom endowed the society. It is situated on the
Antietam, in Franklin County, Pennsylvania; where a large farm belongs
to “the nunnery” (an expression that I heard at Ephrata). There were,
until lately, five sisters and four brothers at Antietam, but one of the
brethren has died.
The brethren have sufficient occupation in taking care of their property;
the sisters keep house, eating in the same apartment at the same time
with the brothers. Under these circumstances I could imagine the comfort
and order of the establishment, and think of the brothers and sisters
meeting in a cool and shaded dining-room. What question then should I be
likely to ask? This one: “Do they never marry?”
I was told that marriages of the brothers and sisters (celibates) are
not unknown; but I also understood that such a thing is considered
backsliding. Persons thus married remain members of the church, but must
leave the community, and find support elsewhere.[87]
In an article by Redmond Conyngham (Hazard’s Register, vol. v.) will
be found the statement that the “President of the Dunkers” says, “We
deny eternal punishment; those souls who become sensible of God’s great
goodness and clemency, and acknowledge his lawful authority, ... and that
Christ is the only true Son of God, are received into happiness; but
those who continue obstinate are kept in darkness until the great day,
when light will make all happy.” According to Dr. Fahnestock, however,
the idea of a universal restoration, which existed in the early days, is
not now publicly taught.
The observance of the Seventh day as a sabbath must always be onerous, in
a community like ours. Hired people are not required by the Siebentaeger
(or Seventh-Day men) to work on Saturday; and, unless of their own
persuasion, will not work on Sunday.
It has been said that the customs at Ephrata resembled the Judaic ones;
and Endress says that they consider baptism similar to purification in
the Mosaic law,—as a rite which may be repeated from time to time when
the believer has become defiled by the world, and would again renew his
union with Christ. But Miller says (1790), “Our standard is the New
Testament.”[88]
Fahnestock says that they do not approve of paying their ministers; and
it seems that the women, or at least the single sisters, are at liberty
to speak in religious meetings.
In the correspondence of one of our Lancaster papers of 1871, there
was given the following account: “Ephrata, May 21.—The Society of the
Seventh-Day Baptists held their semi-annual love-feast yesterday, when
one new member was added to the society by immersion. In the evening the
solemn feast of the Lord’s Supper was celebrated, the occasion attracting
a large concourse of people,—only about half of whom could obtain seats.
The conduct of a number of persons on the outside was a disgrace to an
intelligent community.”
The article also mentions preachers as present from Bedford, Franklin,
and Somerset Counties. However, the whole number of the Seventh-Day
German Baptists, in our State, is very small.
* * * * *
The foregoing article is published nearly as it appeared in the second
edition of this volume. In the present year, 1882, Mr. Adam Konigmacher
Fahnestock, of Harrisburg, Pennsylvania, has lent me a little memorial
which he had prepared of his own family. A passage in it seems to
elucidate the history of the clock at Ephrata, which bears on its face
“Hoeckers a Creveld.” On St. John’s day, November 13, 1753, Diedrich
Fanestuck writes to his brother in Prussia. (The letter is said to have
been written near Ephrata.) He writes that his son, who is going to
Europe, will stop at Crefeld, “where he is to have some clocks made for
us.” He adds, “I pray you to write again. You may send the letters to
Crefeld, there are three brothers living there, Wilhelmus, Christophorus,
and Lucas Heckers, to them you might send them.”
In a foot-note A. K. Fahnestock says, 1878, October 17: “I had the
pleasure this day of seeing one of those clocks (seven feet high), still
showing the time of day. It is in the ‘sister-house’ at Ephrata.” (The
preposition a on the clock, Hoeckers a Creveld, would seem to indicate
that this Hoeckers were French refugees. Perhaps with a translated name.)
* * * * *
In this year, 1882, the writer of this volume again visited Ephrata. One
of her acquaintance spoke to her of the community at Snow Hill, on the
Antietam. She said, “It’s a large nunnery, and the rooms are all empty;
there’s hardly any one there.” She added, however, that there are a good
many married Seventh-Day Baptists at Snow Hill.
The old buildings at Ephrata, the brother- and sister-house, are still
kept in sufficient repair to make inmates comfortable, and are occupied
by unmarried women, widows, and families; not all Seventh-Day Baptists.
The farm belonging to the Baptists contains about eighty acres.
As I drew near one of these buildings on Sunday, I saw washed clothes
hanging out. Saturday is the Sabbath of these Baptists, and like the rest
of the world it appears that such begin their week with washing.
The little community at the time of my visit was grievously exercised
over a lawsuit among the members. The matter had been referred to a
master in chancery, who thus speaks of them in his report: “At the
time of the commencement of the differences from which has sprung the
present controversy, and for some years previously, the members of the
society in regular attendance at its meetings, and habitually observant
of its religious ordinances, were in number about thirty, of whom not
less than three-fourths appear to have been women. They seem to be an
uneducated or but slightly educated people, in narrow circumstances as
to property, the male members being in general mechanics and laboring
men, resident in and about the village of Ephrata, in this county, and a
considerable proportion of all the members, male as well as female, being
dependent for subsistence either wholly or partially upon the funds of
the society. They do not appear to have formulated specifically articles
of faith or rules of discipline, but profess to take for their guidance
simply the Bible and New Testament, and the distinctive features of their
practice are, their observance of the seventh day of the week instead of
the first as the Sabbath; the administration of the rite of baptism by
trine immersion, with forward action, in a stream of flowing water; and
by the love-feasts held annually at their communion, and lasting from
Friday evening until Sunday morning, at which food is provided for all
members, as well as all strangers who may choose to attend the meeting;
and by the washing of each other’s feet by the members, previously to the
breaking of bread at the communion.... The church at Ephrata, it should
be mentioned, is one of four branches, as they are called, of the society
of [German?] Seventh-Day Baptists. The other three being established,
respectively, at Snow Hill, Bedford, and Alleghany, in this State.”
BETHLEHEM AND THE MORAVIANS.
On August 22, 1873, as I stood upon the tower of Packer Hall, Lehigh
University, I saw spread out before me the whole of Bethlehem, with
furnaces, railroads, bridges, churches, schools; and the rolling country
and cultivated fields of Northampton and Lehigh Counties. Pointing to a
wooded hill, my little guide said, “That is Iron Hill, where iron ore
comes from.”[89]
In the first house built at Bethlehem, on the 24th of December, 1741,
Zinzendorf and his companions celebrated their first Christmas Eve in
America. I saw in the town a picture, by Grünewald, of the house in
which they met,—a long, one-story log house, with overhanging eaves,
the unbroken forest behind admirably expressing the loneliness of the
situation. In the beginning, one end of this building was for cattle, as
in Switzerland and other parts of South Germany.
When this first house was newly erected, Zinzendorf visited it, and on
Christmas Eve he went with others into the stable and sang,—
“Nicht aus Jerusalem, sondern Bethlehem
Aus dem kommt, was mir frommt.”
or, in prose,
“That which is profitable to me comes not from Jerusalem, but
from Bethlehem,”—
and thus the new-born _town_ was named Bethlehem.
“The material treasures of the Lehigh valley,” says a Moravian bishop,
“the national rage of hastening to be rich, will, I fear, too much
overgrow the spiritual interests of the people.”
Since Zinzendorf entered the log cabin of Bethlehem one hundred and
thirty years have passed by, and four or five generations of mortal men.
Other changes too have befallen the Moravians. For twenty years they
lived in an _economie_, or associated like one family. That strict rule,
which afterwards kept the unmarried in brother- and sister-houses, has
since been annulled, and no vestige of it remains here but in the custom
of sitting in church, the brethren on one side, and the sisters on the
other. And this is not universal: families sit together.
In like manner has disappeared here the custom of appealing to the lot,
which formerly prevailed even in matters so solemn as marriage.[90]
The plainness of apparel which distinguished the Moravians has
disappeared also. Once even the young ladies who studied at the
boarding-school were obliged to wear the peculiar Moravian dress.
In the Historical Collection at Nazareth are preserved thick muslin caps,
such as the women once wore, with peculiar pieces, like a scallop shell,
to cover the ears. Those tasteful little caps now worn by the young women
in the choir, and the neat ones worn by the sisters who serve at the
love-feasts, can scarcely keep up the memory of those of olden time.
Once the Moravians did not take oaths, but obeyed literally the command,
“Swear not at all;” but now judicial oaths are permitted.
Formerly, the bulk of the real estate belonged to the church, and
none could buy who were not members; but this rule has been broken,
and _foreigners_ have been allowed to buy land in Bethlehem and other
Moravian towns.[91]
One trait, which has hitherto remarkably distinguished them, still
exists, namely, a great missionary zeal. In 1873 a gentleman gave
the numbers of the Moravians at seventy thousand baptized missionary
converts, to twenty-three thousand home members in Europe and America. On
this estimate the missionary converts are more than three to each of the
members in the other lands.[92]
At Bethlehem a considerable landed estate belongs to the Church,
whence is drawn an income of about eighteen thousand dollars. All
the institutions of learning here, including the Young Ladies’
Boarding-School, belong to the Church, and the teachers are its salaried
officers.
The different provinces of the Church, the American, English, and German,
are like separate States of our Union, their general head meeting or
residing in Saxony. This general synod still, in some respects, gives
rules to our Pennsylvania Moravians; and one of the bishops says that the
Moravian is the only Protestant Church which is a unity throughout the
world.
FESTIVALS.
My first visit to Bethlehem occurred at Whitsuntide,—Whitsunday or
Pentecost falling upon June 1. As early as half-past seven there was
music from the steeple of the large Moravian church, from a choir of
trombone players. This instrument, which is of the trumpet kind, is much
in use among the Moravians for church music,[93] the choir generally
consisting of four pieces.
In the morning I went to the large church, in which English services are
held. In this church there were no pews, or rather, there were “open
pews” without doors. Soon after the opening of the services, passages
of Scripture were read alternately, a verse by the preacher, and one
by the congregation. Afterwards the Apostles’ Creed was repeated in
concert. Also a litany was read; for the Moravians, if in some things
they resembled Quakers, were very far from them in discarding outward
forms.[94]
There was in the morning no public extemporaneous prayer, nor any prayer
in the printed service, except the litanies.
Notice was given that the anniversary of the Female Missionary Society
would be celebrated in the afternoon by a love-feast, and that the
Communion would be held in the afternoon in the German language, and in
the evening in the English.
The love-feasts of the church, which are numerous,—fifteen in the course
of the year,—are religious meetings accompanied by a simple refection of
coffee, and rusks or buns. They are founded, it seems, upon a passage
in Jude, and are intended to set forth by a simple meal, of which all
partake in common, that there is no respect of persons before the Lord.
The religious services upon the present occasion consisted of singing and
prayer, and some remarks were made by a gentleman who had formerly been
a missionary in Jamaica. In a calm manner, mothers were urged to devote
their children to the missionary service, rather than to active business
(worldly) employments.
The love-feast coffee is celebrated. As it was brought in, diffusing its
odor through the church, there was singing in the German language. It was
handed in white mugs by one of the brethren, and the rusks, which were
light and good, were presented in a basket by a sister.
After the address was over, neatly dressed sisters, as well as brethren,
passed among the congregation and collected the coffee mugs upon wooden
trays.[95]
* * * * *
In a manner similar to this just described, the Moravians celebrate upon
the 25th of June the anniversary of the founding of Bethlehem.
* * * * *
The services on Easter morning are described in a familiar manner by Mr.
Grider, in his “Historical Notes on Music in Bethlehem.”[96]
About three in the morning the band of trombone players begins to pass
through the streets, to awaken the members of the congregation. The
spacious church is usually filled at an early hour, and the Easter
morning litany, which embraces the creed of the Church, is repeated. At
the passage, “Glory unto him, who is the resurrection and the life,” the
minister announces that the rest of the litany will be repeated on the
burial-ground. A procession is formed, and it is so timed that as it
enters the grounds it is met by the glorious beams of the rising sun, an
emblem of resurrection.
The services are continued in the open air, the singing being led by
the instrumental performers. It is said that on a fair morning “about
two thousand persons usually attend this really grand and impressive
service;” the grounds, which are always kept neat, being especially
attended to before Easter.[97] Their first service on Easter Sunday took
place at Herrnhut, Saxony, in the year 1732. The “Young Men’s Class”
repaired before dawn to the graveyard, and spent an hour and a half in
singing and prayer.[98]
The same manner of observing Easter seems to be world-wide. From
the Mission Report, we learn that Brother A. Gericke, writing from
Fredericksthal, Greenland, says, “At Easter it was so beautifully mild
that we could read the Church litany, according to the custom at home, in
the burial-ground.”
* * * * *
The celebration of Christmas Eve is spoken of by Mr. Grider, who says,
“The services last about two hours, during which the Rev. J. F. F.
Hagen’s ‘Morning Star, the darkness break!’ is sung alternately by the
choir in the gallery and the children in the body of the church. This
anthem,” he says, “although simple, and intended for children only, has
taken deep root in the hearts of the congregation, who seem never to tire
of its performance.”
Other musical compositions are performed, such as,—
“For unto us a child is born” (_Handel_).
“Sey willkommen” (Welcome) (_Haydn_).
“Lift up your heads, O ye gates!” (_Handel_).
“Gloria,” 12th Mass (_Mozart_).
Mr. G. tells us that at this time the church choir numbers sixteen female
and eight male singers. The accompaniment consists of the organ, two
first and two second violins, viola, violoncello, double bass, two French
horns, two trumpets, trombone, and flute. This is certainly a remarkable
variety of instruments in a church choir.
* * * * *
A lady of Nazareth tells me that Christmas Eve is celebrated among the
Moravians by a love-feast in the church. After the cakes and coffee,
little wax-candles, lighted, are brought in upon trays, and distributed
to the children, while verses are sung. “This,” says she, “is to give
them an impression of the Sun of Righteousness.” The following lines were
sung for several years (and may still be in use):
“Geh’ auf mit hellem Schein,
Und leucht ins Herz hinein,
Leucht über Gross und Klein!
Du Sonne der Gerechtigkeit!
Verbreite Wonn’ und Seligkeit,
Und flamme jedermann
Yetzt und fortan
Zu brünst’ger Liebe an.”
Of which I offer the following version:
“Rise with clear lustre,
And shine within the heart,
Shine over great and small,
Thou Sun of Righteousness!
Spread joy and blessedness!
And kindle every one,
Henceforth as well as now,
To warmest love.”
A lady of Bethlehem says that the Moravians there follow the German
fashion, not of having a Christmas-tree merely, but a _Putz_, or
decoration; in which they usually represent a manger with cattle, the
infant Jesus and his mother, and the three wise men. At the young ladies’
seminary she says that the _Putzes_ are often very fine. The people go
around to see the decorations. Christmas is a great festival.
* * * * *
The New Year is thus celebrated. At half-past eleven, on New Year’s
Eve, the congregation assemble for “watch meeting.” I condense Mr.
Grider’s description: “After the officiating minister enters, the choir
sing Bishop Gregor’s solemn composition, ‘Lord, Lord God,’ and then the
congregation sing; after which the text for that day is read from the
Text-Book, and is the subject of the discourse which follows. Meanwhile
the musicians in the choir watch the progress of the night, and assemble
before the organ; and the organist sits with his feet poised, ready to
begin. When the year expires, the new one is welcomed by a loud crash
of melody from the organ, and a double choir of trombone players. The
congregation rise and join in singing, followed by prayer, etc.” These
services are always largely attended.
I have just spoken of the text for the day. A friend says, “These texts
for the day are published in a little annual volume, ‘Doctrinal Texts
of the Unitas Fratrum,’ prepared in Saxony and sent to the Moravians
the world over,—in Africa, Asia, Australia, and America. The first text
is selected by lot, the remainder by a committee at Herrnhut. This is a
relic of the old times, when the Moravians used the lot in many religious
ceremonies,—even in marriage.”
Another says, “The Text-Book consists of a selection of verses from
the Bible, for each day, with appropriate collects taken from the
Hymn-Book. It has been issued since 1731. The first verse, or ‘daily
word,’ contains a short sentence of prayer, exhortation, or promise. The
second, or ‘doctrinal text,’ is intended to enforce some doctrinal truth
or practical duty. The Text-Book is printed in English, German, French,
Dutch, Swedish, Danish, Esquimaux, and in the Negro-English of Surinam,
S. A.”
Birthdays were formerly celebrated among the Moravians, and still
are in some families, as a citizen of Bethlehem tells me, by little
home parties, called _vespers_, where the friends of the family are
bidden between two and three P.M., and where they partake of coffee
and sugar-cake; a cake used not only among the Moravians here, but by
the people of Northern Germany. Birthdays were formerly celebrated
by serenades. Record was also kept of the birthdays of friends, of
distinguished members of the church, etc.
The Birthday-Book and Text-Book, says Mr. Grider, were placed on the
breakfast-table each morning. After the text was read, and while the
family were being served, the record was generally consulted to see whose
birthday it was. This custom served as a bond which held the inhabitants
in social union.[99]
When a death occurs in the Moravian congregation at Bethlehem, the choir
of trombonists plays several tunes from the steeple of the large church.
Any Moravian can tell from the tunes played to which choir or band the
deceased belonged, whether to the married men’s or married women’s, to
the young men’s or young women’s, to the children’s, or to any other of
the bands into which the congregation is divided,—divisions which were
formerly of more importance than now.
At funerals the same choir of trombones heads the procession.
THE GRAVEYARD.
Walking in the street at Bethlehem, I saw a large, shaded, and grassy
enclosure with seats in it, and a number of girls and children,
children’s carriages, etc. I said to a working man, “What do you call
this,—a square?”
It was the graveyard or old burial-place, but there were no monuments
visible, from the Moravian custom of laying stones, called breast-stones,
flat upon spots of interment.
If you enter this yard from the northwest corner, from Market Street,
you come immediately upon the graves of three bishops, in no way more
conspicuous than the others which bear breast-stones. One says, “Johannes
Etwein, Episcopus Fratrum (or Bishop of the Brethren); born June 29th,
1721, at Freudenstadt in Germany, departed Jan. 2d, 1802.
“Here he rests in peace.”
The graves of the Indians and negroes, who were buried here, are not in
an especial corner or division, but are indiscriminately mingled with
those of the other Moravians. But on the outer edge are buried some
persons of disreputable life.
One stone bears the following inscription:
“In memory of Tschoop, a Mohican Indian, who in holy baptism, Ap. 16,
1742, received the name of John: one of the first fruits of the mission
at Shekomeko, N.Y., and a remarkable instance of the power of Divine
Grace, whereby he became a distinguished teacher among his nation. He
departed this life in full assurance of faith at Bethlehem, Aug. 27, 1746.
“There shall be one fold, and one Shepherd.—John x. 6.”
About sixty-two Indians are buried here. A daughter of Heckewelder (the
distinguished missionary) furnished new gravestones for some of these
Indian remains.
The largest stone in the enclosure rests upon the grave of one of mixed
blood, not a Moravian, and I may be allowed to give a portion of the
inscription as it is:
“In Memory to my dearest Son, James McDonald Ross, eldest son of John
Ross, principal Chief of the Cherokee Nation ... died in St. Louis, Nov.
9th, 1864. His Corps transported by Adams Express to Bethlehem, and
interred at this sacred spot Nov. 22d, 1864, aged 50 years 29 days.”
One of the stones bears the name Traugott Leinbach, which may be
translated Trust-God Flaxbrook, but which does not seem peculiar to those
familiar with it.
At some of the graves there were bright, freshly-cut flowers.
At Nazareth I visited an enclosure which had once been a graveyard, but
which had been neglected, and the stones in it had been moved by one who
had become owner. This neglect has lately been atoned for by erecting
a monument inscribed with the names of those buried here. The list was
obtained by consulting the full and accurate accounts, which it is the
duty of all Moravian ministers to keep. In looking at the names on the
monument, I observed one Beata, an Indian, who died in 1746, and two
others, Beatus Schultz and Beata Böhmer. These were names assigned to
infants dead before christening; Beatus, Beata, meaning Blessed.
OLD RECOLLECTIONS.
I met, at Bethlehem, a member of the Moravian Historical Society, who was
born in that town in 1796, and was educated there. He was taught German,
and could scarcely speak English at all at eighteen.
He learned his trade as clock- and watch-maker in the brethren’s house.
He was also employed until lately as teacher of vocal music in the
parochial school.
When he was in the brethren’s house—he began to learn his trade in
1810—there were about twenty brethren domiciled there,—though some of
these had their shops elsewhere. They were all mechanics; there being a
baker, shoemaker, tinsmith, etc. The cook was also an unmarried brother,
all these household services being performed by the brethren themselves.
My informant (he was the youngest boy) had to prepare breakfast for his
employer.
When the morning bell sounded aloud (_Morgen Glocke zum Aufstehen_) the
boys sprang up, and when one story down, went into the prayer-hall, where
the _vorsteher_ or superintendent directed the services; first they “sang
a verse,” and then the _vorsteher_ read the text for the day. When the
boys got down to the lower floor (the four boys who then lodged in the
building), they swept out the rooms that were used for shops, ground
their coffee, ran down to the cook in the cellar-kitchen and set their
pots upon the coals, preparing a simple breakfast of bread, butter,
and coffee, of which each boy partook with his employer in the shop.
Then they made their cot-beds or threw the blankets back upon them; the
brethren made their own.
Mr. W.’s mother did not admire her son’s manner of performing these
domestic services. When she came down to bring fresh bedclothes and to
look after matters, she said, “If I had wax, I’d take a mould of your
body here from your bed.” “Why, what a crust you have inside of your
coffee-pot!”
Breakfast, in Mr. W.’s time, was thus eaten separately, but before that,
when all the property was in common, “_eine economische Haushaltung_,”
or economical household,—“every one was poor in that early day,”—all the
meals were eaten at a common table.
* * * * *
After breakfast, the boys washed the dishes and went to their work.
At a quarter before twelve the chapel bell rang for dinner, a custom
which continued until about 1870. “I missed it,” said Mr. W., “when it
stopped, for I had heard it all my life.”[100]
I inquired of Mr. W. whether they kept their time a half-hour or more
ahead, like other Pennsylvania Germans. He replied that one of the
brethren kept his clock by the sun-dial.
Mr. W. did not dine or sup at the brother-house, but went home for these
meals. At the age of twelve, according to the usual custom, he left the
children’s choir, and became a member of the great boys’ choir. The
little boys and girls held their festivals together.
At eighteen he joined the young men’s choir. About this time the
brethren’s house was given up to the female seminary or boarding-school,
and the few remaining brethren scattered through the town.[101]
There had been little or no intercourse between these unmarried brethren
and the sisters, but some staid, elderly sister was appointed to visit
the brother-house and see whether all the surroundings were clean.
* * * * *
“I remember,” Mr. ⸺ said, “when marriages were made by lot, but that
drove off a great many of the young people. The marriage by lot was more
suited to missionaries who had not time for a two years’ courtship.
Dr. Franklin, when in Bethlehem, asked Bishop Spangenberg whether this
practice did not make unhappy marriages, but the bishop replied, ‘Are
all marriages happy that are made after long courtship?’ We did not have
divorces, anyhow,” said Mr. W.[102]
This was the manner of the marriage by lot.
If a young missionary came home, and met his friends, they would say,
“Well, you’ve come home to get married?”
He would answer, “Yes; do you know of any one suitable?”
“Yes; there’s Sister Gretchen” (or Peggy).
Another might say, “There’s Sister Liddy;” and thus a half-dozen names
would perhaps be gathered. He had the privilege of arranging the order of
this list himself. Then, after prayer, the elders drew lots, taking the
first name; one ballot being _Ja_ and the other _Nein_ (Yes and No).
The idea was of an especial Providence, by which he should find out
whether it was the Lord’s will that he should have the first. If the
first lot should prove _Ja_, the result was communicated to the sister,
and time was allowed her to reflect whether to accept or refuse.
In the course of our conversation, Mr. W. rose and went into the next
room; and, returning, brought two vest-buttons of crystal, set in silver,
of which he gave the following account:
“My grandfather was a clothmaker, at Basle, in Switzerland. Zinzendorf
being there[103] called upon the young man, who was about leaving for
America, to join the Bethlehem and Nazareth settlements.
“Zinzendorf said to him, ‘Matthias, we won’t meet any more in this world,
but hope to meet in a better.’ He put his hand into his vest-pocket, and
said, ‘I’m sorry I have nothing to leave you to remember me by.’
“Young Matthias answered, striking his breast, ‘As long as this heart
shall beat, I’ll not forget you.’
“With a glance, Zinzendorf seized the shears from the clothmaker’s table,
and quickly cut off two of his vest-buttons. ‘Take these,’ he said,
‘they’re nearest the heart.’”
It was the grandson of the clothmaker, himself a great-grandfather, who
narrated the story, which he had received traditionally.
“I think,” said he, “that this exhibits the quickness of thought of Count
Zinzendorf. He was a great recruiting sergeant. On meeting a young man
whom he took a fancy to, he would say, ‘I have a place for you; I want
you to go to Greenland, or (perhaps) to the Cape of Good Hope.’ The
young man, astonished, would wonder what this conspicuous nobleman meant
by this. He generally succeeded, however, in charming the young man, and
the matter ended by his going upon the mission.”
* * * * *
A few recollections of old times were also given to me by a citizen of
Nazareth, aged eighty-two, whom I call Mr. P. He himself was born in
Bethlehem, but his father in Connecticut; his grandfather having migrated
and bought a farm at Gnadenhütten, a Moravian settlement, near Mauch
Chunk.
Mr. P.’s mother was a Miksch. She was placed at the age of four years
at the building at Nazareth, called Ephrata, to enable her mother to
work.[104] She did not like the treatment that she received here. “Her
mother worked in the house (her house), and in the field, I think,” said
Mr. P. “The women now do not work much in the fields,” he added. “They’re
afraid they might spoil their fingers. They’re brought up altogether too
proud. I don’t know what will become of the next generation.
“My father moved to Bethlehem, and worked at his carpenter’s trade. When
he was married he went to the ferry (at Bethlehem), and kept it for ten
years. There were no bridges then. He saw hard times in cold weather and
high water. After that he moved to the saw-mill and distillery, which
belonged to the Moravian Society. I think he got all he made in the
distillery, but worked for wages in the saw-mill.”
“The Moravians distilled liquor, then?” said I.
“Yes; they commonly drinked a little too, about nine o’clock.
“When I was between thirteen and fourteen, I went to my trade. I was put
into the brothers’ house to sleep. My trade was a blacksmith’s, and a
pretty hard one too. I served my trade seven years and seven months. When
I was in the brother-house, I spent my evenings and Sundays there. I had
liberty to go home to my parents, but not to be running, like they do
nowadays, and do mischief.
“My wife was not a member of the church,—we were married fifty-five years
ago. Brother Seidel, the Moravian preacher, married us. They were not so
strict then as they had been, in turning all those out of meeting that
married out.”
Mr. P. has a strong German accent. He said, “I never talked much English,
only when I lived nine years and a half at Quakertown. I now speak German
altogether in my family. The young people here now all try to speak
English. They’re throwing the German away too much.”
* * * * *
At Nazareth, in 1874, I met Mr. M., eighty-six years old, who said that
he was married in 1812. “I thought,” said he, “that my wife and I were
the last couple married by lot; but I have heard that there was one
since.”
Mr. M. said that the young men and women had some opportunity to see each
other, for although the young men were not allowed to visit the young
women at their own houses, yet they would sometimes meet in visiting;
but they were not allowed to speak to each other more than “a couple of
times.”
Mr. M. and I did not agree in sentiment with a Moravian woman who had
told me that young men and young women were not allowed to keep company,
and _they did not think about it_.
Sometimes there would be young persons attached to each other for a
couple of years, and the lot being unfavorable, they would go away and
leave the congregation. “Well, it was a pretty hard thing,” said the old
man, “for a pair of young people who loved each other dearly to have
the lot go against them.” He continued nearly thus: “There was one of
the boys who was with me in the brother-house who, I think, left the
congregation to be married to a member. It was generally the case, then,
that after a couple of years they would ask pardon, and be taken back.
We used to say, ‘You’ll have to take your hat under your arm and ask
pardon.’”
Mr. M. told me, concerning the Moravians formerly, that the _verlobung_,
or betrothal, lasted sometimes only about a week. “When I was married
we had a kind of love-feast after the marriage. Some were picked out to
stay, and we had wine or coffee and cake in the church. That was the old
custom.”
I suggested to Mr. M. that as there were meetings held every evening the
young people could see each other there. “There were meetings nearly
every evening,” he answered. “I remember when I worked at my trade
breaking off work and going to church. We went in our every-day clothes,
just putting on our coats. Most every evening it was, when I was young.
My trade was a blacksmith, and I was seven years an apprentice with my
father. He was a pretty strict master, and I had to get up, winter or
summer, at five o’clock, and now I wake at that hour although eighty-six.”
* * * * *
Recollections of a people would be imperfect without those of the women.
I saw at Nazareth Mrs. B., who was born at the Moravian town of Litiz, in
Lancaster County, and who was in her eightieth year.
“When I was a child,” said she, “we had Christmas dialogues, about the
birth of Christ, his sufferings and death, which were repeated by the
children. The dialogues were in the school on Christmas-day, but were
repeated several times, so that all might hear, and we never got tired of
it.[105] Christmas-trees were put up then, as they are now. The Christmas
_Putzes_ or decorations were left standing until after New Year.
“On Easter morning we meet in the church at five in the morning, and the
first tune they sing is:
“‘Der Herr ist aufershtanden,
Er ist wahrhaftig aufershtanden,’[106]
“‘The Lord has arisen,
He has indeed arisen.’
“At a certain place where the litany speaks of those who are buried
in the churchyard, and of their rising again, we walk out into the
churchyard, and the trombone players accompany the hymns that are
sung. If the weather is stormy that we cannot go out, this is always a
disappointment.
“When I was young, if a child was born in the morning, it was taken to
church in the evening to be christened. Religious meetings were held
every evening; sometimes a prayer-meeting, sometimes a _sing-meeting_.
“I recollect marriages by lot very well, because they continued until
about 1818. All marriages were by lot. Young men and young women were not
allowed to keep company, and they did not think about it.”
“They hardly dared to look at each other,” said another person present.
Mrs. B. continued: “If a young man wanted to marry,—of course he had
his eye on some one he would like,—he told it to the _Brüder-Pfleger_
(Caretaker of the Brothers), who told it to the minister, and the
minister to the _Schwester-Pfleger_ (Caretaker of the Sisters). The
name that the young man chose was taken into the lot, and if the
lot was favorable he might proceed, but if not he must look out for
another. If the lot was favorable it was told to the young woman by the
_Schwester-Pfleger_, and if the young woman was willing this sister told
the minister. There was a _Brüder-Pfleger_ in each brother-house, and a
_Schwester-Pfleger_ in each sister-house.
“Betrothals took place after the young woman had given her consent, in
the presence of the conference, composed of the ministers and their
wives, and the marriage would generally take place within a week, in the
church. The wedding was public, but those who were invited stayed to the
_Schmaus_ (feast),[107] which was cake and wine in the church. Thus the
ceremony was completed.
“Moravians then dressed with great plainness, much like the Quakers.”
As the Moravians were so very strict about the intercourse of the sexes,
they could not have allowed two young men and two young women to sit up
together with the unburied dead, as has been the custom among some of our
Pennsylvania people.
I spoke upon this point to Mrs. B., who said, “Women always sat up with
women, and men with men. However, in old times, as soon as there was a
death, the trombones sounded, as they do now, and the body was taken when
dressed, immediately to a small stone building called the corpse-house,
and here remained until the funeral.”[108]
Mrs. ⸺ said that she lost her parents before she was three years old, and
was taken into the sister-house, and her brothers into the brother-house.
Even those who had parents living sometimes preferred to live in these
buildings.
* * * * *
Some simple details of home-life were given to me by Mrs. C., of
Bethlehem.
In their own family, in her youth, they rose about five, and breakfasted
at six, usually on bread, butter, and coffee, perhaps with the addition
of molasses. At nine they had a lunch of cold meat, pie, and bread
and butter; and at a quarter before twelve came the dinner of meat
and vegetables. Often they had soup. There was soup every day at the
sister-house, and I was told that in cases of sickness it could be bought
there.
“We always had pie for dinner. At two we had coffee and bread and butter.
This was called vesper. At six was our supper of cold meat, bread and
butter, and pickles. We always had pickles, and every day in the year we
had apple-butter.”
Mrs. C.’s father was a miller, and perhaps lived more “full and plenty”
than some of his neighbors.
She continued: “Every Saturday, we baked bread, pies, and sugar-cake.
We made a great many doughnuts, or _Fast-nacht gucke_.” (Shrove-Tuesday
pancakes, as we may say.) “We made crullers, and called them
_Schtrumpf-bänder_” (“garters,” doubtless from their form). “Nearly all
our cakes were made from raised dough. One we called _Bäbe_. ‘Snow-balls’
were made with plenty of eggs, milk, flour, and a little sugar, and were
fried in fat.
“At Christmas we always had turkeys; and then we baked a great supply
of cakes, from four quarts of molasses and four pounds of sugar, and
these lasted all winter. Then every evening before we went to bed we had
Christmas cakes, sweet cider, and apples.
“The two o’clock vesper has generally fallen out of use, but if any one
comes to town now that I want to invite, and it is not convenient to have
them to dinner or supper, I say, ‘Come to vesper.’ Then we have coffee,
and always sugar-cake.”
“It would not be a vesper without the sugar-cake,” said Mrs. C.’s
daughter.
For a vesper-party for guests, Mrs. C. sets a table, and adds smoked
beef, preserves, or anything that she chooses.
She further told me that her parents were married by lot, and lived very
happily, and she added that as far as we hear, and have seen, most of the
pairs thus married lived happily. But the young people were dissatisfied
with these marriages. Although the young man had the privilege of putting
in the names of several whom he would like, yet if none of these were
drawn he became discontented.
“Should a name be chosen that did not please the young man, I believe he
had liberty to withdraw.[109]
“In those times of strict rule, there was no opportunity for the young
people of both sexes to become acquainted. This rule originated at
Herrnhut. It was on account of it that an unmarried brother who worked in
our mill was not allowed to sleep in our house, but must go every night
to the brother-house to lodge until the rule was given up, about sixty
years ago, and the brother was then allowed to sleep in the mill.”
While Mrs. C. was talking, her husband remarked that if he could find
a town such as Bethlehem was in 1822 (when, if I remember aright, he
had come to the place a stranger), he would go thousands of miles to
get his family there to live. The whole town, he said, was composed of
Moravians, and was like one family, living well, all in comfort, plain in
their dress, happy and contented with their lot.
OLD BUILDINGS.
The sister-house, the _Gemein-haus_, and the widow-house are still
standing at Bethlehem, solid stone buildings with great roofs and
dormer-windows. One of them has immense stone buttresses, and all are
fitted to withstand the effects of time. Their appearance, indeed,
is becoming peculiar. The brother-house is still standing, but has
disappeared from view as a separate structure, having been incorporated,
as I have mentioned, in the young ladies’ seminary.
The sister-house is owned by the Board of Elders of the Northern Diocese
of the Church of the United Brethren (Unitas Fratrum) in the United
States, and apartments are furnished to the widows and daughters of
servants of the church, rent free. Any unmarried Moravian woman (or
widow) may also have rooms here, but not free of charge.
The corner-stone of the widow-house was laid in 1767. This conspicuous
building has recently been purchased by a friend of the church. The
apartments will be appropriated free of rent to the widows and unmarried
daughters of missionaries, ministers, and other servants of the church,
including teachers in the seminaries.[110]
The _Gemein-haus_ (congregation-house) was used for the ministers’
families, sometimes three or four, who resided in Bethlehem. It is no
longer occupied by these, but by other members of the society. It adjoins
the old chapel, where the preaching is in German. These old buildings,
especially the widow-house, are in good repair.
One of the most striking circumstances connected with some of the old
buildings at Nazareth is the account of the numbers of persons whom
they are said to have once sheltered. The sister-house is a large
structure, but the brother-house is so inconspicuous upon the street of
the quiet little town, being, indeed, occupied as a store and dwelling,
and probably sheltering not more than two families, that it is quite
wonderful to hear tell of fifty persons having once had their homes in
it.[111]
Of one of the most noteworthy buildings at Nazareth I have already
made mention. It was called Ephrata.[112] The foundations were laid by
Whitefield, the celebrated preacher, who bought five thousand acres in
the forks of the Delaware, or where the Lehigh empties into that stream.
This tract was afterwards bought by the Moravians. In 1744, thirty-three
married couples from Bethlehem moved into this house.[113] In 1749,
the “nursery,” of which I have before spoken, was removed here from
Bethlehem. Recently this old building has been completely renovated,
and the upper floor contains the collection and library of the Moravian
Historical Society. The building is called the Whitefield-house, but it
might still be called Ephrata, or a place of rest, for the lower part is
a dwelling for retired missionary families. Only one family was there at
the time of my visit, a widow with children. Little people were running
about and laughing below, quite at home.
The “sustentation fund” of the Moravian Church supports the “resting
ministers” (such as the Methodists call superannuated ministers) the
widows and children of missionaries, etc.
MISCELLANEOUS REMARKS.
An acquaintance said to me in Lancaster, “The people of Bethlehem are
not Pennsylvania Dutch. They speak the high German.” I think, however,
that the younger people have acquired the Pennsylvania dialect. An
elderly gentleman of Bethlehem, to whom mention was made of a work upon
the “Pennsylvania Dutch,” etc., replied in this manner (with a German
accent): “We don’t want to know anything about the Pennsylvania Dutch. We
know enough about them already. We see enough of them on our farms.”
It may be inferred from what has been said that the Moravians are
persons of very considerable culture. I may go further, and speak of the
thoughtful, spiritual expression of many faces.
As agriculture may be called the vocation of the Pennsylvania Germans in
general, so education may be called the vocation of the Moravians. To the
support of the parochial school at Bethlehem I heard that about nine
thousand dollars are annually appropriated from the income of the church
property there. This enables those who have charge to put the terms of
instruction very low. These are four dollars, or four to six, annually,
for Moravian children.
The daughters of Moravian preachers are entitled to four years’ tuition
in one of the young ladies’ schools, either at the celebrated one at
Bethlehem, that at Litiz, Pennsylvania, at Salem, North Carolina, or at
Hope, Indiana.[114] Besides these institutions, there is a flourishing
boys’ school at Nazareth, and a college and divinity school at Bethlehem.
* * * * *
Very few of the Moravians here are engaged in agriculture. They have
remained in towns, as it seems, and rarely or never become large and
wealthy farmers; a circumstance that I do not comprehend. That religious
scruples against the acquisition of wealth, or of individual property,
have influenced their actions, I have not been able to discover.
* * * * *
I have not in my reports of aged citizens repeated some of the “orthodox”
expressions which they used.
“The distinguishing feature of Moravian theology,” says Appleton’s
Cyclopædia, “is the prominence given to the person and atonement of
Christ.”
I noticed at Bethlehem a sweet simplicity in speaking to or of the
preachers.
A young man told me that Brother W. had sent him, and one of the sisters
unaffectedly addressed a venerable bishop as Brother S. One of these
gentlemen said to a person, not a member of his church, “Call me brother.”
* * * * *
I have never heard Moravians call themselves Herrnhutters. The favorite
name of their churchmen for their organization is Unitas Fratrum, or
Unity of Brethren. A venerable preacher tells me that they have been
called the _Johannische Gemein_, or community like St. John; or their
view the _Johannische Auffassung_, or John-like expression, of the spirit
of the gospel, especially as we read in the seventeenth chapter of John
the prayer of Christ, “That they, Father, may be one, as we are one.”[115]
* * * * *
I conclude this sketch with an abridged passage from the Mission Report
of 1872, an extract which may be interesting to thoughtful minds:
“The celebration of the centenary of the Labrador mission took place
at all the six stations on the 5th and 6th of January, 1871. Some of
the people assisted in decorating the chapels by fetching fir-tree
branches and making festoons. A number of welcome jubilee presents from
the Ladies’ Association in London, and other sisters, were distributed,
and the services closed with the celebration of the Lord’s Supper; a
love-feast, at which printed odes were used; and a thanksgiving service.
The brethren of Okak remark, ‘Stillness, not unusually a feature of
festive seasons in Labrador, prevailed in a striking degree, and was to
our minds more valuable as a proof of spiritual blessings enjoyed than
the finest words could have been, especially as the Esquimaux have great
readiness in using religious phrases.’”
NOTE.—Christianity was introduced into Bohemia and Moravia
in the ninth century. It is claimed that the people of these
countries, for several centuries, manifested in matters of
faith the spirit of what was afterwards Protestantism. The most
celebrated of their reformers was John Huss, who was burned,
by order of the Council of Constance, in 1415. The Hussites
separated into two parties, of whom the Taborites were defeated
by the Calixtines in 1434, and the latter became the national
church of Bohemia. A party among the remnant of the Taborites,
dissatisfied with what they thought corrupt practices in this
church, removed more and more from the Calixtine communion, and
at length were permitted to settle on the barony of Lititz. It
is claimed that some, if not all, of these were men of God, who
had not taken up arms during the war. They afterwards adopted
the name _Unitas Fratrum_, or _Unity of the Brethren_. Their
pastors were Calixtine priests who had joined the society.
Such was the beginning of the Moravian Church. They obtained
the episcopal succession from a colony of Waldenses, on the
confines of Bohemia and Austria. Toward the year 1500 they had
more than two hundred churches in Moravia and Bohemia, and had
published a Bohemian Bible and several confessions of faith.
Their numbers and influence increased very much, and gradually
the _Unitas Fratrum_ was composed of three provinces, the
Bohemian, Moravian, and Polish. But, in 1621, Ferdinand
II. began a series of persecutions of all the Protestant
denominations in Bohemia and Moravia, known as the
anti-reformation. Protestantism was totally overthrown here,
more than fifty thousand of the inhabitants having emigrated.
In Poland, the Brethren’s Church became united with the
Reformed, and the _Unitas Fratrum_ disappeared from the eyes
of men, and remained as a “hidden seed” for ninety-four years.
In Moravia many families remained, who secretly entertained
the views of their fathers, and among these an awakening took
place in the early part of the eighteenth century, through the
instrumentality of a Moravian exile named Christian David. The
desire to live in a Protestant country was felt more and more,
and two families escaped in the night, and after eleven days
safely reached Berthelsdorf, an estate in Saxony belonging to
Count Zinzendorf, a pious young nobleman, who had offered them
a refuge. Other Moravians joined them, and in a few years a
colony of three hundred persons lived on Count Zinzendorf’s
estate. He himself soon relinquished all worldly honors, became
a bishop of the brethren, and devoted himself entirely to their
service.
* * * * *
Nicolaus Ludwig, Count of Zinzendorf and Pottendorf, descended
from a noble Austrian family, was born in Dresden in 1700. His
father dying soon after his birth, his education was confided
to his grandmother, the Baroness de Gersdorf, who had adopted
the idea of Spener, the founder of the Pietists, of _little
churches within the church_, having for their aim the promotion
of piety and the purifying and sanctifying of the whole church.
The mind of Zinzendorf, when he was a mere child, took an
enthusiastic direction, and he used to write letters to the
Saviour and throw them out of the window, hoping that the
Saviour might find them. At the university of Wittenberg, he
applied himself, without direction or aid, to the study of
theology, fully resolved to become a minister of the gospel.
In 1722 he married, and about the same time gave some emigrant
Moravian brethren permission to settle upon his estate of
Berthelsdorf. In connection with some others, he labored to
instruct them and their children. But it would seem, from
subsequent circumstances, that he himself became, in some
degree, their pupil.
They were not all agreed in religious opinions, and, with a
view to unity, he formed statutes for their government. He was
also appointed a warden of the congregation. In 1734 he went,
under an assumed name, to Stralsund, and passed an examination
as a theological candidate. The same year he received holy
orders at Tübingen. On returning from Switzerland, in
1736, he met an edict forbidding his return to his native
country, and repaired to Berlin, where, under sanction of the
King of Prussia, he was consecrated bishop of the Moravian
congregation, and from that time was always called the Ordinary
of the Brethren. The order of banishment was repealed after
eleven years.
Within this period he visited the islands of St. Thomas and St.
Croix, where the Brethren had already established missions. He
also came to Pennsylvania in 1741. He remained in this country
two years, during which he was very diligently and successfully
occupied. He also made several visits to Holland and England.
He spent his latter years at Herrnhut, where he died. His
remains were borne to the grave by thirty-two preachers and
missionaries whom he had reared, from Holland, England,
Ireland, and North America, including Greenland. He wrote more
than one hundred books. His son, who was an elder of the single
brethren, died before his father. His son-in-law, the Baron de
Watteville, was a bishop of the Moravian Church.
On the continent of Europe the Moravian system of the time of
Zinzendorf is kept up in every respect. The governing board
for the whole “Unity,” or whole Moravian Church, meets at
Berthelsdorf, in Saxony, in the castle once inhabited by Count
Zinzendorf, who devoted his entire property to the good of the
church.
A community of goods never existed at any time in a Moravian
institution. The _Economie_, or _Economische Haushaltung_
(Economical Household, or Common Housekeeping), seems to have
existed for about twenty years, during the Indian wars, when
the settlements of the Brethren at Bethlehem, etc., were feeble
and exposed to attack.
The numerical force of the Moravians is not great. The number
of communicants—home-communicants, if I may call them so—is
12,947 (estimate of 1859?), and over 53,000 mission converts,
including baptized children. There are also, as I understand,
80,000 “Diaspora members” on the continent of Europe; for which
remarkable movement see the article _Moravians_, in Appleton’s
Cyclopædia. See, also, the _Moravian Manual_. This historical
sketch is drawn principally from these sources, and from
the articles _Zinzendorf_ and _German Theology_ of the same
Cyclopædia.
SCHWENKFELDERS.
I had before seen the Schwenkfelders mentioned as a people who, like
the Mennonites, Quakers, etc., are opposed to war, but I never became
personally acquainted with them until the spring of 1873. At that time,
a gentleman of West Chester advised me to inform myself concerning them,
speaking of them as a delightful people. On arriving at Norristown, I
therefore made inquiry about them from citizens of that borough, and was
kindly furnished with several letters of introduction to members of the
Schwenkfelder community living about seven miles north of the town.[116]
It was about noon when the stage left me at the house of one who had
formerly been a preacher in the society. Here I dined, conversed with
my host about his people, and looked at various large old volumes which
he showed to me. Then, having been supplied with an escort, I went to a
house in the same neighborhood, the dwelling of an elderly brother, who
had learned my errand, and had expressed a wish to meet me.
Under his hospitable care, I remained until Sunday evening; he taking
me to the meeting-house and other places. Through him I also received a
present of several books, giving the history and doctrines of the society.
On Sunday evening he took me to the house of another member, whose kindly
care did not cease until he had conveyed me—on Monday morning—again to
the borough of Norristown.
MEETING-HOUSE AND GRAVEYARD.
The church which I visited is in Towamensing Township, Montgomery
County, and is one of six in Eastern Pennsylvania which hold all the
Schwenkfelders now living. I was surprised to find the church in neat
order and in good preservation, thus indicating no lack of vitality in
this small religious body, which, like a transplanted tree, has thrown
out so few roots into adjoining soil. The plain meeting-house stood upon
the edge of a wood; the graveyard was neat, and was enlivened by the
blossoms of the mountain pink,[117] and the bright sunshine and tender
green of May animated the scene.
Among the monumental stones was a rough one bearing this inscription
only: “A. R. W. 1745.” And this was, I believe, the oldest here. Of nine
years’ later date was a gravestone, still unhewn and irregular in shape,
but with a longer inscription: “Psal. 90 v. 7. Baltzer Anders, Gestorben
1754, 56.” The passage cited from the Psalms is the text of the funeral
sermon. The rest we may translate: “Balthazar Anders. Died 1754, at the
age of 56.”
At the date 1762 we find a carved marble head-stone, but no showy
monuments have been erected here. One of the more modern stones says,
“Rosina Kribelin, geb. Hübnerin, alt 27 Yahr 5 monat,”—or “Rosina Kribel,
born Hübner, aged twenty-seven years and five months;” the feminine
termination in being added to both the names.[118]
Inscriptions older than these may be found at the meeting-house in Lower
Salford Township, and one of them goes to a somewhat greater length in
honor of him for whom it was erected. Translated it reads thus: “In
memory of George Weiss, was born in Silesia, and first teacher of the
Schwenkfelder community in Pennsylvania; died the 11th of March 1740, 53
years old.”
(The word teacher means preacher.)
* * * * *
Within the meeting-house there were enclosed benches or open pews; the
pulpit and the ends of these benches upon the aisle being painted white.
The men sat upon one side of the house, the women upon the other; the
women removing their bonnets and wearing caps. These caps were not
severely plain, like those of the Mennonites, etc., but were trimmed with
white satin ribbon.[119]
The Schwenkfelder women bent the knee at the name of Jesus, but this
observance has fallen into disuse among the men.
Before the morning service there is school, in which the children are
taught from the Catechism and Testament; the Catechism containing the
Apostles’ Creed. On Sunday afternoon, a school is held in which the
children are taught to read the German language, in which tongue the
church exercises are conducted.[120] The Schwenkfelders claim to have
been among the earliest to establish Sabbath-schools, but their school is
of later date than that of Ludwig Hoecker.[121]
During service, the pulpit or desk was occupied by three preachers. The
oldest had a fine countenance, forehead, and coronal region of the head.
The youngest, a very solid-looking, fair-haired man, read a portion of
Scripture, and _read_ a prayer.[122] Singing accompanied these exercises,
and then a few extemporaneous remarks were made by the youngest preacher;
the open Bible lying before him, upon which his eyes were cast. The
oldest preacher spoke at length, and was followed by the third, who wore
a heavy black beard.
The ministers of the Schwenkfelders, like those of our similar sects, are
unsalaried and without special theological training.
BOOKS.
I have mentioned that he whom I first visited brought out a number of
large books for me to examine. They were all in the German language.
The first bore title, “The first part of the Christian, orthodox book, of
the man noble, dear, and highly favored by God, Caspar Schwenckfeldt.”
The volume was a folio; the place of printing not given; the date 1564.
It is embellished by a large plate, which apparently represents Christ
with Death and Satan under his feet. Below, upon the left, is a man in a
furred robe kneeling, with the motto, “Caspar Schwenckfeldt von Ossing.
Nil Christo triste recepto” (or, “If I have Christ, nothing makes me
sad”). On the right is a troop of similar appearance, with the motto,
“And the fellow-believers of the glories and truth of Jesus Christ.”[123]
Another ancient folio, bound in parchment, with brazen clasps, tips, and
bosses, was said to be a volume of Schwenkfeld’s letters. There is no
place of printing; the date is 1570. The same plate as the preceding.
These epistles, says my host, are upon the popish doctrine and faith.
The third folio was of the same date, 1570, and was in a splendid state
of preservation. This contains letters upon the Lutheran doctrine, with
which Schwenkfeld did not agree.
Two of the folios brought out by my host were manuscripts, bound in
leather, with brazen clasps. One of them had the great number of
thirteen hundred and three pages, very neatly written in the German hand.
It contained the sermons, “_Postilla_,” of Michael Hiller, preacher
at Zobten, in Silesia, who “disappeared in God” in 1554; written and
collected by Nicholas Detschke, 1564, and now written anew, 1747. I did
not find the name of the copyist.
Although my host told me he that he had never been in Quaker meeting in
his life, yet I found among his books a history of the rise, etc., of the
Christian people called Quakers, originally written in Dutch by William
Sewel, and by himself translated into English, from English translated
into German (_Hochdeutsch_), 1742. This is Sewel’s History, one of the
most celebrated of the Quaker books.
At the second house which I visited there lay in the window-seat several
books in German. One was a large copy of the Scriptures, a clasped
volume, with many plates. Lying loose in it were two plates of Caspar
Schwenkfeld, in his furred robe, with beard descending upon his breast,
and his motto (already given) in German: “_Wenn ich Christum habe, so
bin ich nicht traurig_”; or, “If I have Christ, I am not sorrowful.” In
selecting this motto, he may have had reference to his exiled condition.
(There seems to be among the Schwenkfelders much more regard than among
most of our plain Pennsylvania Germans for the pictures, the “counterfeit
presentments,” of men.[124])
The volumes given to myself, while among these people, are:
1. Schwenkfeld’s _Erläuterung_, or Explanation, concerning many points
in history and theology. Not written by their leader himself, but
composed by several of the “godly exiles from Silesia to Pennsylvania.”
An appendix contains, among other matter, a sketch of the life of
Schwenkfeld, and an account of the journey of the Silesian emigrants from
Altenau to this State. Of this volume I have made much use.[125]
2. Questions on the Christian Doctrine of Faith, for Instructing Youth in
the First Principles of Religion. By the Rev. Christopher Schultz, Sen.
My copy is a translation.
3. Constitution of the Schwenkfelder Society, subscribed in 1782, etc.
HISTORY.
In the year 1490, seven years after the birth of Luther, two years before
the discovery of America by Columbus, and one hundred and thirty-four
before the birth of George Fox, was born in Silesia,[126] in the German
or Austrian empire, Caspar Schwenkfeld von Ossing, of a very old and
noble extraction. His brother-in-law is mentioned as Conrad Thumb von
Neuburg, hereditary marshal of the principality of Würtemberg. Caspar
Schwenkfeld was a person of very handsome mien, dignified behavior,
remarkable modesty, courtesy, and gentleness, accompanied by godliness,
and fervency in prayer, and was of a Christian, pure, and temperate life.
It is added that thus much even his bitter enemies must acknowledge, “as
the clergy know.”[127] In his youth he studied two years at Cologne, and
lived several years at other universities. He at length became well read
in the writings of the Greek and Latin fathers. He was also many years in
the confidential service of his liege lord, the Prince of Liegnitz (the
Duke of Liegnitz?). Afterwards “God touched his heart,” and he turned
away from his life at court, and became a teacher at St. John’s Church,
in Liegnitz. He diligently read the writings of Luther and of others who
were leaving the papacy, and he afterwards remarked that he had been as
good a Lutheran as any. With the fiery reformer he, however, differed
greatly afterwards; the first cause of difference being, as it appears,
Luther’s views upon the Supper. Schwenkfeld says that the Lord Jesus had
shown to him that he was not a bodily bread, but a spiritual and heavenly
one.
Schwenkfeld also wrote a little work upon the misuse of the sacraments,
which, without his knowledge, was printed in Switzerland. Hereupon Dr.
Faber, bishop at Vienna, represented to the emperor, Ferdinand, that
Schwenkfeld held false doctrines concerning the sacrament of the Supper,
etc.; and Ferdinand was himself angry because his enemies had published
the book. The emperor (or, as he is called, the king) wrote to the duke
at Liegnitz to punish Schwenkfeld, but as his innocence was known to the
duke, this prince thought it well that Schwenkfeld should ride away for a
while.[128]
He did ride away in 1529, but, although he lived for thirty-three years
after, he never rode back again.
He travelled to many places in Germany, and was prized and heard at many
noble courts. Many times he stopped in cities of the empire, and suffered
much opposition from the preachers.
A letter of pardon was sent to him by the emperor, Ferdinand, saying that
if he would recall his opinion, and act differently, he should receive
his knightly possessions; but, as already stated, he never returned to
Silesia.
During his life he published ninety-two treatises, and after his death
many of his books were published by his fellow-believers. All his
writings were forbidden to be printed by the Papists and Lutherans, and
in different places his writings were burnt, “nevertheless God has given
means for several of these books to be published four or five times.”[129]
Many years after the publication of his little work, before spoken of,
upon the misuse of the sacraments, Schwenkfeld sent to Luther a number
of his own works, and called Luther’s attention to one of his favorite
doctrines, “the glory of the manhood of Jesus Christ.” To the noble
messenger who bore the letter, etc., Luther returned an answer, speaking
in severe and ignominious terms of the author, reproaching him with
having kindled a fire in Silesia against the holy sacrament, and with his
Eutychianism, as Luther calls Schwenkfeld’s doctrine that the manhood of
Jesus Christ is no creature.[130]
It was not the desire of Schwenkfeld to build up a sect of his own, nor
did he judge any congregation already collected, but he exhorted all to
pray in spirit and in truth in all places. He is said to have directed
men only to Christ and his power, and to have filled, until his death,
the office of a true evangelical preacher.
Before he departed, we read that he heard a voice, “Up, up into heaven!”
which voice he had heard also before he rode out of his fatherland,
saying, “Up, up out of the fire!” (His hearing had failed nearly forty
years before his death.)
Not long before dying he said, “Now home; home into the true fatherland.”
“He died in God, and went home to his rest,” in the city of Ulm, in
1562.[131]
He was buried in a cellar. (It may be remembered that Menno was buried in
a garden.)
Nearly three hundred years after the birth of Caspar Schwenkfeld von
Ossing, the first Schwenkfeld congregation was organized; he was born in
1490, it was formed in 1782. It was upon the new continent discovered by
Columbus, in the English colony of Pennsylvania, that a little band of
exiled Schwenkfelders formed this society after they had sojourned here
nearly fifty years. How were they able to continue Schwenkfelders, during
the period of more than two hundred years between the death of their
founder and their organization here?[132]
In Silesia the ruling church was Roman Catholic, but the Lutherans were
generally tolerated. The Lutheran preachers, coming into contact with the
Schwenkfelders, were often hostile and unfriendly to them; but the final
self-banishment of the Pennsylvania colony was owing to the rigorous
measures taken by the Jesuits for their conversion.[133]
In one of the persecutions of earlier times, we read of a certain Anthony
Oelssner, who was called to strengthen the scattered faithful, about
the year 1580; in which call he showed great diligence in prayer and
preaching, until he was seized and lay imprisoned a while at Liegnitz.
Afterward he was imprisoned at Löwenberg, in the tower, where he suffered
almost the same strong temptations of Satan as we read in the lives of
the fathers that old Anthony did, from which he was happily set free, as
he writes in a long letter. One of his letters is from the lowest dungeon
at Vienna, where he lay among thieves and malefactors.
He was also dragged about in the trenches and galleys,[134] all which
he bore without a murmur, and met his persecutors with cheerfulness,
encouraging the faithful by letters when he did not lie in dungeons too
dark, or when ink, paper, etc., were not denied him. Of these writings a
great part is still extant.
Certain of the Schwenkfelder prisoners, it seems, were sent upon the
galleys to the Turkish war. “In taking the castle Gran, in 1593, they
were obliged to go before the soldiers, through a narrow street; but they
never killed a Turk, nor stained their hands with the blood of men (as is
proper for the soldiers of Christ).”[135]
Another sufferer, old Martin John, tells how, when he lived at Kaufig, he
beheld the lives of the priests, how they loaded themselves with eating
and drinking, avarice and gaming, dancing and debauchery, and produced
uproar in the beer-houses, and made a nine-pin alley, and played together
in the parsonage yard. “And I thought that I could not any longer approve
their godlessness. I was thus induced to stay at home, and read to my
wife and children, and call them to repentance. Then the priest ran to my
landlord,[136] and complained of me, but he would not listen, and I was
left in peace for a year. Then my old master died, and his son, to please
the godless preacher, drove me from my paternal inheritance.” The priest
was named George M., and this was in 1584.
Martin John also says that the priest made jest of the Holy Ghost,
saying, “Thou wilt have to wait long before the Holy Ghost will come and
teach thee.”
Martin tells further, that he found a property cheap at Armenruh; but
there he saw the same manner of life. “I did not have to go far, but
heard in my own yard how the priest fiddled, and the rest danced and
cried out, and found it much worse than in my own (former) home. So I
stayed at home, and read, prayed, and sang, and other people came to
hear. Then the priests ran to our landlords, and we were put into prison,
where I was kept over four years, and the others over a year, and to
these nothing was given to eat nor to drink.”
These cases of persecution all took place within fifty years after the
death of Schwenkfeld, and seem to have befallen those who lived around
the Spitzberg, in Lower Silesia; but in Upper Silesia, and in the
district of Glatz, there was repose; and toward the end of the sixteenth
century persecution appears to have declined, for _we do not find that
any one writes letters from prison_.
During the Thirty Years’ War the Schwenkfelders, like others who opposed
the Romish Church, did not remain undisturbed. Once during this period
complaint was made of them to the prince at Liegnitz, but they sent to
him one of Caspar Schwenkfeld’s books, which he graciously received, and
permitted them to hold meetings in their houses. Meetings in the open air
were forbidden by the emperor.[137]
At the close of the war they were again persecuted, the preachers
complaining of them to the nobility. But the prince at Liegnitz set them
all free, and allowed them to worship again in their houses.
Simple religious services, formerly held among the Schwenkfelders, are
thus described.[138]
If any one had books and read on Sunday, the others went and listened.
But this was the order: in the morning, after each prayed when he rose,
they came together. (Elsewhere it is stated that they were generally
fasting.) They sang morning songs standing; afterward prayed out of a
prayer-book; then all, standing, sang prayer-songs, especially to the
Holy Spirit; they also sang sitting, and prayed, and then read several
sermons; then prayed again and sang a couple of songs; then ate dinner.
Afterward prayed again standing, and sang prayer-songs; afterward read
till toward evening; then standing prayed and sang. That was the order on
Sunday.
And if, in week-time, the people came together at a spinning (_beym
spinnen_), then there was almost always singing, and when they would go
home they knelt down together and prayed.
In coming down to the year 1730, we read that there being no longer any
great persecution, the zeal of most began to be extinguished; the young
people liked to go to church, especially at Harpersdorf, where there was
beautiful music. Some dreaded contempt; some, it is said, found freedom
to live in sin, for if they only went to the Supper they might live
as they pleased, and receive a beautiful funeral sermon; many left on
account of a marriage. Thus the Schwenkfelders greatly declined.[139]
It was somewhat before the date above given, or in the year 1719, that
the celebrated Jesuit mission came among the Schwenkfelders; that is,
by imperial decree, there arrived two missionary priests. In 1721, the
Schwenkfelders sent delegates to the emperor, craving further indulgence.
While the missionaries were trying to make them Catholic, the Lutherans
offered protection to those who should join them; but a few (“a little
heap”) remained true, without falling off on either side. Of the
delegates sent to the emperor, two remained in Vienna five years, and
found him not ungracious. He ordered that time should be taken for
further consideration.
During this time the mission was taking severe measures, with fine and
imprisonment. No Schwenkfelder was to be buried in the churchyard, but
upon the cattle-paths (highways?), and none should accompany them to
burial (but this they could not prevent).[140] None should be married
who did not promise their offspring to the Catholics, which none would
do; therefore many marriages were postponed for long years. On the
contrary, when the new Lutherans (converts) were buried there was a great
parade and procession, and a great throng at weddings. At length, in
1725, a severe edict was issued to oblige old and young to attend the
mission teachings, and the Schwenkfelders were threatened with being
fastened to wheelbarrows (_Schübkarren_), and with having their children
taken away.
Now when affairs had come to an extremity, they heard that they might
flee for a while to an honorable senator in Gorlitz, and also to his
excellency Louis, Count of Zinzendorf, and Lord of Berthelsdorf;[141]
and in 1726, and afterward, several families broke off by night, and in
great danger, leaving their estates and property behind. More followed,
and as they could better earn a living in the villages,[142] the greater
part went to Berthelsdorf, and enjoyed protection there for eight years.
But while living here in all stillness, in 1733, Zinzendorf informed them
unexpectedly that they were no longer to be tolerated in Saxony. In this
matter they suspected the influence of the Jesuits with the elector.
(Zinzendorf himself was banished from 1736 to 1747.[143])
One year was allowed them before removing, and, after looking elsewhere,
they concluded to come to Pennsylvania. In 1733 a couple of Schwenkfelder
families had come hither,—and, as they say, “Our faithful friends in
Holland advised us strongly to go.” About forty families, therefore,
began the journey in the latter part of April, 1734, and cast anchor
at Philadelphia on the 22d of September. “There, by the praiseworthy
constitution of the country, we were made citizens, and partakers of all
civil and religious freedom.”
After this flight the missionaries continued their efforts in Silesia,
and several more families fled and came to Pennsylvania. In 1740 an
imperial command was issued, that the Schwenkfelder heresy must out.
Now were they greatly urged to join the Lutherans for their protection;
and now, in houses, two were against three, and three against two, and
a man’s foes were those of his own household. At last, the greater part
went over to the Lutheran Church. However, in the following autumn,
the emperor died, and Silesia was soon after conquered for Prussia by
Frederick the Great.
All the Roman Catholic offices were then vacated, and Pater Regent, one
of the mission, “retreated after us into Saxony; and other instruments
sought shelter out of the country. The books of which we were robbed by
the doctors and their followers were, we heard, taken to Liegnitz; and
as for the homes and goods we had left behind, they had helped themselves
to them, which is all one to us. We hope their enjoyment of them will be
as profitable to them as the abandoning of them has been to us.”
In 1742, or eight years after the principal migration to Pennsylvania,
the King of Prussia published an edict in favor of freedom of conscience,
inviting the exiled Schwenkfelders to return to his duchy of Lower
Silesia, or to dwell in any other part of his possessions. No further
persecution afflicted these people, but they have become extinct in
Europe, the last having died in 1826.
THE JOURNEY TO AMERICA.
When these wandering people no longer found a place of refuge in Saxony,
in April of 1734 about forty families began that journey to Pennsylvania
already spoken of. This was completed in September, in a period of about
five months. An account of this long voyage is given at the close of the
book already often referred to, the _Erläuterung_, or Explanation.
In Altona (near Hamburg), during a stay of eleven days, they received
great hospitalities from the Herren v. Smissen, father and son.
On arriving at Haarlem (from some of whose citizens they had received
contributions while still in Saxony), they could not enough admire the
common joy and proofs of love with which they were received. The brothers
Abraham, Isaac, and Jann v. Byuschanse were especially kind, entertaining
them with flesh, fish, all kinds of vegetables, beer, coffee, and tea,
and besides the children were daily presented with all kinds of baked
gingerbread and such things.[144]
As regarded the journey of the exiles to America, the Herren v.
Byuschanse had made an agreement with the captain at their own expense.
Two days’ journey from Holland, Gregory Meschter was presented with a
healthy little son. Fifteen days they lay at Haarlem, and at Rotterdam,
on the 21st of June, they went on board the English ship “St. Andrew,”
Captain Stedman commander. While they lay still one week on board this
vessel, “God gave David Schubert a young son.”
On the 28th they left Rotterdam. On the 16th of July, six Palatinate
women and two men fought each other, and she who began it received her
deserts.[145]
At Plymouth, England, which they left on the 29th, a rich woman gave the
whole ship’s company one hundred and twenty-five shillings, and when it
was divided each person received four and a half stivers, English. (The
stiver is a Dutch coin of the value of one English penny, or two cents in
our money.)
On the 9th of August a Palatinate mother and daughter fought each
other. On the 10th a great fish was seen, which spurted water on high
powerfully, as if out of pipes. (Our inland Silesians were not familiar
with whales.)
A number of children and several grown persons died upon the sea. On
September 22d, “God be forever thanked,” the anchor was happily cast
before Philadelphia, and guns were fired. On the 23d, all males over
sixteen had to go to the court-house to take the oath of fidelity to the
King of Great Britain. “We Silesians, as on account of conscience we
could not swear, were readily excused, and were allowed to promise faith
by giving the hand” (_mit einem Handschlage_).
THE ANNIVERSARY OR YEARLY MEETING.
I asked a Schwenkfelder, “What are the exercises of your commemorative
festival?” He answered, “It is a day of thanksgiving to God, that we
live under a free government, where we can serve him according to our
conscience.”
An animated description of the day has been given by the Rev. C. Z.
Weiser, in the _Mercersburg Review_. This article, although apparently
not quite true to history, and though written in a peculiar style, has a
sprightliness which interests the reader.[146]
Mr. Weiser tells us, that whoever is not providentially prevented is
bound to attend their yearly reunion. Nor has it been found necessary
thus far to enter an urging statute to secure the presence of the
fraternity. The “seeding” is done, the corn stands in shocks, and the
farm-work of September is timely put aside, in order that all may
participate in the memorial ceremonies of the 24th with a light, gay,
and thankful heart.[147] It is on the day and day before that you may
feast your eyes on many a well-laden carriage, the horses all in good
condition, moving on toward one of the Schwenkfelder meeting-houses,
selected in rotation, and one whole year in advance. The aged and infirm
of both sexes stay not behind. The young men and women are largely and
promptly there. The fathers are similarly enough clad to be considered
uniformed. So too are the mothers arrayed in a manner very like to one
another, with snow-white caps and bonnets that never vary. The sons and
daughters do indeed not love the habits of their elders any the less, yet
only the wicked world’s a little more.[148]
The morning service opens at nine o’clock, and is filled out with
singing, praying, and recitals of portions of their ancestral history.
All is gone through with in the Pennsylvania German dialect, but withal
reverentially, solemnly, and earnestly, just as though it were newly and
for the first time done.[149]
At twelve o’clock, the noonday feast is set. This is the feature of the
day. It consists of light and newly-baked rye bread, sweet and handsomely
printed butter, and the choicest apple-butter.[150] Nothing beyond these
is set, but these are of the first water. The bare benches, but lately
occupied by devout worshippers, serve as tables, along which the guests
are lined out. Not in silence, nor in sullenness, do they eat their
simple meal, but spicing it with cheerful talk, they dine with hearts
full of joy. Still, you need fear no profane utterance or silly jest.
They are mindful of the spirit of the occasion, of the place in which
they congregate, and of the feast itself, which the singing of some
familiar hymn has consecrated. If any one thirst, let him drink cold
water.
And now think not that they feign simply to eat and drink,—that the meal
from first to last is but a poor pretence. A full and hearty dinner is
“made out” there. It is a bona fide eating and drinking that is done
in the meeting-house of the Schwenkfelders on their _Gedächtniss Tag_
(Remembrance Day). They are all hard-working men and women,—farmers and
farmers’ wives and farmers’ children. They are sunburnt, healthy, and
hungry besides. And why should they not relish the sweet bread, with
their sweet butter and apple-butter, then? Even strangers who attend and
are hospitably entertained by the society show that one can make a full
hand, even at such a table.
At two o’clock the tables become pews again, and the afternoon exercises
are conducted according to the programme of the morning. These concluded,
a general invitation is again extended to partake of the baskets of
fragments gathered up and stored away in the rear of the meeting-house.
A fraternal hand-shaking closes the anniversary for the year. The
reflection that many part now who may never meet again on earth causes
tears to trickle down some furrowed cheek, which generally prove more or
less contagious, as is always the case in a company of hearts, when those
tears flow in sincere channels. Hence, though all were happy all day
long, they now feel sad.
To appreciate the meaning and spirit of this apparently homely scene, it
is necessary to know that it is a memorial service all through. It was on
this very 24th of September, 1734, that some seventy [forty] families of
Schwenkfelders, who had landed on the 22d, and declared their allegiance
on the 23d, held their thanksgiving service, in gratitude to God for a
safe deliverance to the colony of Pennsylvania. They had arrived in the
ship “St. Andrew,” at Philadelphia, as fugitives from Silesia.
Poor, but feeling rich in view of their long-sought liberty, they blessed
God in an open assembly. We may judge their store and fare to have been
scant and lean indeed; and to perpetuate the original service of their
forefathers from generation to generation, they statedly celebrate their
_Gedächtniss Tag_.
The poor fare before them is finely designed to impress the sore fact
of their ancestors’ poverty indelibly upon their minds, memories, and
hearts. They eat and drink in remembrance of former days,—the days of
small things. They join thereto at the same time a gladsome worship, in
thankfulness for the asylum opened up for them from their former house
of bondage, and which proved so fair a heritage to their people ever
since.[151]
CUSTOMS.
A lawyer of Norristown tells me that he taught a subscription school
among the Schwenkfelders, some thirty years ago, and a day or two before
the school closed he sent out his bills by the scholars. Every cent of
the money due was paid in on the next morning,—and as he was then poor
this was a delightful and memorable circumstance.[152]
Further, I find it laid down as a rule of their community that members
must see to it that their debts are paid without legal proceedings.
Another instance of exactness in money matters is given in their history,
namely, that while they were sojourning with or near Zinzendorf, some of
their well-wishers in Holland sent to them a considerable contribution
in money, of which they knew nothing until the merchants of Gorlitz
announced and paid it to them. By their diligence in labor, and their
skilful use of this money, they were able to supply the pressing wants
of their poor, and to pay the expenses of the same to Altona. On their
arrival at Haarlem, a little that remained was laid at the feet of their
noble benefactors.[153]
I met with a young Dunker woman, in the neighborhood of the Schwenkfelder
community, who said, “The poor always find their way to the
Schwenkfelders;” and on my mentioning this subject at one of the houses
which I visited, my host told me of persons having come to his house
asking “how far they had to the Schwenkfelder _Thal_” (or valley).
The language spoken at two of the houses which I visited was almost
entirely the Pennsylvania German; but my ignorance of the dialect
forbids my knowing whether these Silesian emigrants speak it differently
from the South German Palatines.
My power of talking German was perhaps never more exercised in the same
length of time than during my visit here; the women and children in the
houses alluded to speaking no English. In the second, the mother, who was
in delicate health, had been reading German books, but was unable to read
English. A like circumstance is certainly very uncommon, if not unknown,
among the “Dutch” of my own county.
Neither does there appear to be the same objection to education there
that exists among some of our people here. One of the Schwenkfelders said
to me that he told his boys to learn as much as they can; “I’d not seen a
man yet that had been too wise; and the girls may do the same.” He also
told me that they do not neglect to teach the children in their family
to read and write German, a custom which tends to preserve the purity
of the language. But the Schwenkfelders find it difficult to preserve a
knowledge of German, since the language is no longer taught in the public
schools in their neighborhoods.
Like Quakers, Dunkers, etc., the Schwenkfelders have an unpaid ministry.
One whom I met, who had been a preacher, cultivated fourteen acres of
ground, and joined to this labor the mechanical occupations of making
brooms and cigar boxes. I said to one of the society, “You do not pay
your ministers?”
“No,” he answered, “but they are excused from all church expenses, such
as the treasury for the poor, and building and keeping in repair our
meeting-houses. Then, as one minister will be a farmer and another a
mechanic, and one is called upon to leave his shop and the other his farm
to attend funerals, we generally make such a one a present.
“It has been at times the case that presents have been offered to men in
good circumstances, who would answer, thanking the giver, but they had no
need of the gift; if at any other time it should be necessary they would
accept it.”
Candidates for the ministry are elected by ballot; the votes being
collected in a hat. Women do not vote, and of course they do not preach.
If the candidates when elected prove to be “men of able tongues,” they
are confirmed. Formerly the Schwenkfelders did not vote for preachers,
but it seemed to them that the right kind did not come forward, and those
who did come forward were not always desirable persons.
The sacraments of baptism and the supper have never been held among
them.[154] A modern custom, originating in this country, and established
in 1823, has thus been described: After the birth of a child, it is
brought by the parents into church, and a preacher prays for the
happiness and prosperity of the child, and admonishes the parents to
bring it up in the nurture and admonition of the Lord, according to the
will of God. Then there is prayer, and the singing of some appropriate
verses. If the child or mother is delicate, this service is sometimes
performed at their house.[155]
Not only are the Schwenkfelders forbidden to become soldiers, but also to
train in military exercises. Upon this point, however, the late rebellion
seems to have tried some of their members, as it did some Quakers.
“Do you bring lawsuits?” said I to a member.
“Not if we can help it. I never brought a lawsuit, nor had one brought
against me, and hope I never shall.”
DOCTRINES.
In plainness of speech, behavior, and apparel, in opposition to war, to
oaths, and to a paid ministry, in a belief in the teachings of the Divine
Spirit and in the inferiority of the written word to the indwelling
Spirit, in discarding religious forms, in opposition to priest-craft or
a hierarchy, and, although not practising silent worship, yet in their
desire to live “in the stillness,” the Schwenkfelders resemble Quakers.
We might almost say that they are Quakers of an older type (Quakers it
may be of whom George Fox had never heard). They differ from Quakers in
employing stated prayers, in electing preachers, in not acknowledging the
spiritual equality of women, and in their peculiar doctrine of the “glory
of the manhood of Jesus Christ,—how it is no creature.”[156]
We give from the _Erläuterung_, or Explanation, some striking extracts
upon some of these points. Upon the word of God, Schwenkfeld and
Illyricus had a violent contest. Schwenkfeld holds that the tables upon
which God writes, and the book or paper upon which man writes, are
entirely two kinds of thing: between all printed and written books in
the world and the true word of God a fundamental difference is to be
maintained. The word is a living, internal, spiritual word, and can only
be contained in the book of the believing heart.[157] Faith existed many
hundred years before the Scripture. It proceeded from the eternal Word or
Son of God, Jesus Christ, and from God, the All-powerful.[158]
Against what are called “the means of grace” Schwenkfeld preached.
(Spiritual things, it is said, come not through canals.) Schwenkfeld
maintained that Christ is only to be sought above with the Father, and
thence we must all draw that which will make us upright and blessed. This
was also recognized by the leaders who came out from the papacy; but
there came a time when they taught that Christ and salvation were to be
found below in external works and worship. But Schwenkfeld neither could
nor would admit that Christ and the Holy Spirit were in outward works
of preaching and hearing and in elements of this earthly existence, in
water, bread, and wine.[159]
On baptism we find the following: The first and most eminent work of the
sacrament of baptism is, the internal grace of inworking faith in the
love of God, which moves, glows, and lives through the outpouring of the
heavenly waters which flow from the Word of God, which is Christ. The
other point is the external word and water which is outwardly poured upon
and washes the body outwardly as the internal does the soul.
John the Baptist says, “I baptize with water to repentance, but he who
comes after me will baptize you with the Holy Ghost and with fire.” Here
he distinguishes the work of the minister from the office of the Lord,
and the visible water from the Holy Spirit.
Ambrose says, “Peter has not purified, nor Ambrose, nor Gregory, for ours
is the ministry, but thine, Lord, are the sacraments. It is not the work
of man to give divine things, thine is it, Lord, and the Father’s, who
says through the prophets [prophet,] I will pour out my Spirit upon all
flesh.”
That the subject of the Holy Supper is especially weighty may be judged
by the agitations on account of it, and by the fact that on this account
many thousands in many lands have been killed and burnt. And this was
the article upon which the Reformers, with their gloriously begun work,
fell to pieces. Upon this article Luther renounced his friendship to
Schwenkfeld, and they publicly differed.[160]
Schwenkfeld thought that when they came out from the papacy they should
preach the gospel in its purity, instruct old and young in the catechism,
and earnestly pray until they could come to the right use of the
sacrament.... Whereby whole parishes, towns, and countries should not at
once be taken up, as if fit for the table of the Lord. But it should be
held with those who received the word, and in whom there were tokens of
amendment, whether these were only Caleb and Joshua. Schwenkfeld declared
that he had no command to establish the sacraments, but his command had
been to spread the gospel and point every man to Jesus Christ. “But we
are comforted that we are instructed by God and from the Holy Scripture
that our soul’s salvation is necessarily placed on no outward thing, but
that one thing is needful.” (Luke x.) “But we pray the Lord Jesus Christ
that he will reveal a right use of the sacraments, and himself establish
them. We strive, moreover, to hold his supper daily with the Lord Christ,
in the spirit of faith.” (Rev. iii.[161]) But though Schwenkfeld did not
feel called upon to establish the sacraments, there is nothing in the
catechism of the society opposed to the external rites.
The twelfth chapter of the Explanation, containing nearly eighty pages,
is devoted to Schwenkfeld’s peculiar doctrine, of which I shall content
myself with the heading of the chapter, as follows: “Of the divine
Sonship and glory of the Manhood of Jesus Christ, that the same is no
creature, but extinguished in the Transfiguration, and changed into the
Godhead.”
To one passage in the Catechism I would like to call attention:
_Question._—How did God reveal himself in an external manner?
_Answer._—First, when God, by his almighty word, framed the universe, by
which he has shown how great, almighty, wise, and good he is.[162]
And now may we not also rest our souls upon these expressions from the
constitution of the Schwenkfelder society, translated almost literally?
In the nature of God, we first perceive love as that noble and outflowing
power which binds God and men together.... If the society build upon
this fundamental part of the divine nature, namely, love, then their only
immovable aim will be, first, the glory of God, and second, the promotion
of the common weal of every member.
* * * * *
The preceding article is published nearly as it appeared in the second
edition of this work, which was issued late in 1873, with the date 1874.
Almost as soon as the edition appeared, I learned that baptism had been
introduced among the Schwenkfelders at a meeting held a few months
before; and that perhaps in two cases it had also been administered at
the approach of death.
In the spring of the present year, 1882, I visited a Schwenkfelder
settlement in the upper part of Montgomery County, and was hospitably
entertained at the house of one of their preachers. German or the
Pennsylvania dialect was the language of the family. On Sunday I attended
church, where, as before in another locality, the services were in
German, as were nearly all the proceedings in the Sunday-school. Here I
learned that the rite of the Supper has also been introduced among the
Schwenkfelders, though not without opposition. I inquired on what grounds
the opposition was brought, but received no satisfactory reply.
* * * * *
At the house of my entertainer I was shown a volume, published in 1879,
containing a genealogical record of the descendants of the Schwenkfelders
in this country, to which is prefixed a historical sketch by C. Heydrick,
a lawyer of Franklin, Pennsylvania.
Herein it is stated that Schwenkfeld differed with Luther on several
points; chiefly on the eucharist, the efficacy of the divine word, the
human nature of Christ, and baptism.
Schwenkfeld held, says the writer, that the penitent believer partakes of
the bread and the body of the Lord, not only at the sacramental altar,
but elsewhere.
On the second point Schwenkfeld denied that the external word in the
Scriptures has the power of healing and renewing the mind, but ascribed
this power to the internal word, Christ himself. He regretted that
Luther, who at first agreed with him, saw fit afterward to ascribe to
the written or preached word the efficacy which is only in Christ, the
eternal word.
Further, Schwenkfeld rejected infant baptism, and held that baptism and
the Supper were not intended as means by which the unregenerate partaker
can obtain salvation.
* * * * *
Two other volumes on these subjects have very lately come within my
notice. One in German, by a pastor named Kadelbach, published about
1860, at Lauban, which is within forty miles of the city of Liegnitz,
where Schwenkfeld was canon in a church. As early as 1846, in composing
a history of the village of Probsthayn (where some of the Schwenkfelders
formerly lived), he added to it some material concerning these people.
As this subject attracted attention, he endeavored to obtain material
for a history of them, in which matter he met with much difficulty.
It came to pass, however, that the Schwenkfelders in America sent an
inquiry to the burgomaster of Probsthayn, asking whether there were
still Schwenkfelder communities (_Gemeinden_) there. This inquiry came,
in 1855, into the hands of Kadelbach, who was very glad to communicate
with the Schwenkfelders in America, as he had never before been able to
do. His volume is called “Complete History of Kaspar von Schwenkfeld and
of the Schwenkfelders in Silesia, Upper Lusatia, and America.”[163] A
copy has been placed in the archives of the German Society’s library in
Philadelphia.
We may inter that the attention of the author was attracted to his
subject by certain local objects or remains. He tells us that the
Catholic chapel at Harpersdorf, and the graves on the cow-path
(_viehweg_), are the last memorials that testify of the existence there,
and of the persecution of the Schwenkfelders. The Catholic chapel was
built for one of the missionaries who was striving to convert them. As to
the graves on the cow-paths, the statement has before been quoted (in a
note on page 222), that three hundred persons lay upon the cow-paths at
Harpersdorf and Langenneudorff (or Langendorff).
The other volume in which the Schwenkfelders are especially noticed is
Barclay’s Inner Life of the Religious Societies of the Commonwealth.
London, 1876. Barclay finds that on several points the teaching of
Schwenkfeld was identical with that of George Fox, the first Quaker.
Barclay gives a passage from Schwenkfeld, in which he says that the true
knowledge of Christ, that which is according to the Holy Ghost must be
expected, not alone out of the Scriptures, but much more from the gifts
of grace revealed by the Father, yet so that this revelation should
always be in unison with the witness of the Scriptures.[164]
Struck with the similarity between the Schwenkfelders and Quakers,
Barclay appears to have written to the former, and to have received an
answer, from which the following passages are taken:
To Robert Barclay, England:
... “Judging from the brief notices of the teachings of George
Fox in our possession, we have reason to believe that they did
not differ materially from those of Schwenkfeld, and among
the followers of both, here in America, there is a striking
similarity in the almost total absence of formalities and
ceremonies in their religious practices. Both are discarding
judicial oaths, carnal weapons, and are unostentatious in dress.
“Notwithstanding the fact that the Friends are of English
descent, having their books, worship, and conversation in the
English language, and the followers of Schwenkfeld here all
of it in German, yet there always existed a lively sympathy,
love, and esteem between the parties.... It is, however, proper
to mention the fact that neither in Europe nor here have the
followers of Schwenkfeld at any time administered baptism and
the Lord’s Supper.[165]
“Owing to the persecutions which prevailed from 1630 to 1640,
the religious practices of our ancestors in Germany about that
period were chiefly confined to meeting in private houses for
prayer and admonition, and in endeavors in the daily work of
life to imitate as much as possible the example of the heavenly
Master.
“In the love of Christ, sincerely your friends,
“GEORGE MESCHTER.
“WILLIAM SCHULTZ.
“JACOB MESCHTER.
“Per DAN. S. SHULTZ.
“December 17th, 1875. COLEBROOKDALE, PENNA.”
A FRIEND.
About twenty miles from the line that divides Maryland and Pennsylvania,
there stands, in the latter State, a retired farm-house, which was
erected more than fifty years ago by Samuel Wilson, a Quaker of Quakers.
His was a character so rare in its quaintness and its nobility, that it
might serve as a theme for a pen more practised and more skilful than the
one that now essays to portray it.
Samuel Wilson was by nature romantic. When comparatively young, he made
a pedestrian tour to the Falls of Niagara, stopping upon his return
journey, and hiring with a farmer to recruit his exhausted funds;
and when he had passed his grand climacteric, the enthusiasm of his
friendship for the young, fair, and virtuous, still showed the poetic
side of his character.
Veneration induced him to cherish the relics of his ancestry,—not
only the genealogical tree, which traced the Wilsons back to the time
of William Penn, and the marriage certificates of his father and
grandfather, according to the regular order of the Society of Friends;
but such more humble and familiar heirlooms as the tall eight-day clock,
and the high bookcase upon a desk and chest of drawers, that had been
his father’s, as well as the strong kitchen-chairs and extremely heavy
fire-irons of his grandfather.
To this day there stands beside the Wilson farm-house a stone taken
from one of the buildings erected by Samuel’s father, and preserved as
an heirloom. Upon it the great-grandchildren read nearly the following
inscription:
“James Wilson, ejus manus scripsit. [His hand wrote.] Deborah Wilson, 5
mo. 23d, 1757.”
Samuel Wilson, having been trained from his earliest years to that
plainness of speech in which the Discipline requires that Friends bring
up those under their care, not only discarded in speaking the simple
titles in use in common conversation, but did not himself desire to be
addressed as Mr. Wilson.
A colored woman, the wife of one of his tenants, said that he refused to
answer her when she thus spoke to him.
A pleasant euphemism was generally employed by these people in addressing
him. He and his wife were “Uncle Samuel” and “Aunt Anna” to their
numerous dependents.
The apparel of Samuel and Anna was of the strict pattern of their
own religious sect. To employ a figure of speech, it was the
“wedding-garment,” without which, at that time and place, they would not
have become elders in their society, and thus been entitled to sit with
ministers, etc., upon the rising seats that faced the rest of the meeting.
But the plainness of Uncle Samuel was not limited to the fashion of his
own garments. When Aunt Anna had made for her son a suit of domestic
cloth, dyed brown with the hulls of the black walnut, and had arrayed
him in his new clothes, of which the trousers were made roomy behind,—or,
as the humorist says, “baggy in the reverse,”—she looked upon him with
maternal pride and fondness, and exclaimed, “There’s my son!”
For this ejaculation she was not only reproved at the time by her
husband, but in after-years, whenever he heard her, as he thought, thus
fostering in the mind of their dear and only child pride in external
appearance, he repeated the expression, “There’s my son!” which saying
conveyed a volume of reproof.
From this and other circumstances of the kind, it may be supposed that
Friend Wilson was a cold or bitter ascetic. But he possessed a vein of
humor, and could be gently and pleasantly rallied when he seemed to run
into extremes. But, though his intellect was good, the moral sentiments
predominated in his character. His head was lofty and arched. His wants
were very few; he possessed an ample competence, and he had no ambition
to enter upon the fatiguing chase after riches. He disliked acquisitive
men as much as the latter despised him. “I want so little for myself,” he
said, “I think that I might be allowed to give something away.”
Sometimes—but rarely—a little abruptness was seen in his behavior. He had
the manners of a gentleman by birth,—tender and true, open to melting
charity, thinking humbly of himself, and respecting others.
The vein of humor to which I have alluded prompted the reply which he
made on a certain occasion to a mechanic or laboring man employed in his
own family. In this section of Lancaster County the farming population is
composed principally of a laborious and in some respects a humble-minded
people, who sit at table and eat with their hired people of both sexes.
The same custom was pursued by Samuel and Anna; but, as their hired
people were mostly colored, they sometimes offended the prejudices or
tastes of many who were not accustomed to this equality of treatment,
which was maintained by several families of Friends. The white hired
man to whom I have alluded, when he perceived who were seated at the
table, hesitated or refused to sit down among them. As soon as Samuel
was conscious of the difficulty, for which indeed his mind was not
unprepared, he thus spoke aloud to his wife: “Anna, will thee set a plate
at that other table for this stranger? He does not want to sit down with
us.” And his request was quietly obeyed. The man who was thus set apart
probably became tired of this peculiar seclusion, for he did not stay
long at the Quaker homestead.
I think that Samuel was also in a humorous mood when he called that
unpretending instrument, the accordion,—from which his daughter-in-law
was striving one evening to draw forth musical sounds,—“Mary’s fiddle.”
But, indeed, he left the house and went to call upon a neighbor, so
greatly did he partake of that prejudice which was felt by most Friends
against music.
The Discipline asks whether Friends are punctual to their promises; and
(to quote a very different work) Fielding tells us that Squire Allworthy
was not only careful to keep his greater engagements, but remembered also
his promises to visit his friends.
Anna Wilson on one occasion having thoughtlessly made such a promise,—as,
indeed, those in society frequently do when their friends say, “Come and
see us,”—was often reminded of it in after-years by her husband. When
he heard her lightly accepting such invitations, he would reprove her
by saying in private, “When is thee going to see Benjamin Smith?”—the
neighbor to whom the ancient promise was still unfulfilled.
The hospitality which the Scriptures enjoin was practised to a remarkable
degree by Samuel and Anna. It has always been customary in their
religious society to entertain Friends who come from a distance to
attend meetings, and those travelling as preachers, etc. But the Wilson
homestead was a place of rest and entertainment for many more than these.
It stood not far from the great highway laid out by William Penn from
Philadelphia westward, and here called the “Old Road.” Friends travelling
westward in their own conveyance would stop and refresh themselves and
their horses at the hospitable mansion, and would further say to their
own friends, “Thee’d better stop at Samuel Wilson’s. Tell him I told thee
to stop.” A further and greater extent of hospitality I shall mention
hereafter.
The Discipline asks whether Friends are careful to keep those under
their charge from pernicious books and from the corrupt conversation of
the world; and I have heard that Samuel Wilson was grieved when his son
began to go to the post-office and take out newspapers. Hitherto the
principal periodical that came to the house was _The Genius of Universal
Emancipation_, a little paper issued by that pioneer, Benjamin Lundy,
who was born and reared in the Society of Friends. It does not appear,
however, that the class of publications brought from the little village
post-office to the retired farm-house were of the class usually called
pernicious. They were _The Liberator_, _The Emancipator_, and others of
the same order.
Samuel himself became interested in them, but never to the exclusion of
the “Friends’ Miscellany,” a little set of volumes containing religious
anecdotes of Friends. These volumes were by him highly prized and
frequently read.
It has been said that he was a humorist; and perhaps he was partly
jesting when he suggested that his infant granddaughter should be named
Tabitha. The mother of the little one, on her part, suggested Helen.
“He-len!” the grandfather broke out in reply; “does thee know who _she_
was?” thus expressing his antipathy to the character of the notorious
beauty of Greece. He did not insist, however, on endowing the precious
newly-born infant with that peculiar name which is by interpretation
Dorcas, the name of her who, in apostolic times, was full of good works
and alms-deeds.
Friend Wilson shared the Quaker disregard for the great holidays of the
church. To the colored people around him, who had been brought up at the
South, where Christmas is so great a festival,—where it was so great a
holiday for them especially,—it must have been a sombre change to live in
a family where the day passed nearly like other working-days. One of the
colored men, however, who had started at the time of the great festival
to _take Christmas_, was seen, before long, coming back; “for,” said he,
“Massa Wilson don’t ’prove on’t nohow.”
Among the lesser peculiarities of Samuel Wilson was his objection to
having his picture taken,—an objection, however, which is felt to this
day by some strict people belonging to other religious societies, but
probably on somewhat different grounds.
One who warmly loved and greatly respected Friend Wilson took him once to
the rooms of an eminent daguerreotypist, hoping that while he engaged the
venerable man in looking at the objects around the room, the artist might
be able to catch a likeness. But Samuel suspected some artifice, and no
picture was taken. Some time after, however, the perseverance of his
friend was rewarded by obtaining an excellent oil-painting of the aged
man, from whom a reluctant consent to sit for his likeness had at length
been obtained. It was remarked, however, that the expression of the face
in the painting was sorrowful, as if the honorable man was grieved at
complying with a custom which he had long stigmatized as idolatrous,—as
idolatry of the perishing body.
Although at the time of the great division in the Society of Friends
Samuel Wilson had decidedly taken the part of Elias Hicks, yet was he
seldom or never heard to discuss those questions of dogmatic theology
which some have thought were involved in that contest.
Samuel probably held, with many others of his Society, that the highest
and surest guide which man possesses here is that Light which has been
said to illumine every man that comes into the world; that next in
importance is a rightly inspired gospel ministry, and afterward the
Scriptures of truth. One evening, when certain mechanics in his employ
were resting from their labors in the old-fashioned kitchen, he fell
into conversation with them on matters of religion, and shocked one of
his family, as he entered the sitting-room, by a sudden declaration of
opinion. It was probably the uncommon warmth of his manner which produced
this effect, quite as much as or more than the words that he spoke,
which were nearly as follows: “There’s no use talking about it; the only
religion in the world that’s worth anything is what makes men do what is
right and leave off doing what is wrong.”
As far as was possible for one with so much fearless independence of
thought and action, Samuel Wilson maintained the testimony of Friends
against war. Not only did he suffer his corn to be seized in the field
rather than voluntarily to pay the military taxes of the last war with
Great Britain, but he went to what may appear to some a laughable
extreme, in forbidding his young son’s going to the turnpike to see the
grand procession which was passing near their house, escorting General
Lafayette on his last visit to this country. He was not, however, alone
in this. I have heard of other decided Friends who declined to swell the
ovation to a man who was especially distinguished as a military hero. But
we shall see hereafter that Friend Wilson met with circumstances which
tried his non-resistant opinions further than they would bear.
The distinctive trait of his character, however,—that trait which made
him exceptional,—was his attachment to the people of color. It was in
entertaining fugitives from slavery that he showed the wide hospitality
already referred to; and in this active benevolence he was excelled by
few in our country. He inherited from his father this love of man; but I
have imagined that the hostility to slavery was made broad and deep in
his soul by removing, with the rest of his family, in his youth, from
Pennsylvania into Delaware, and seeing the bondage which was suffered by
colored people in the latter State contrasted with what he had seen in
the former. Be that as it may, no sooner was he a householder than his
door was ever open to those who were escaping from the South, coming by
stealth and in darkness, having travelled in the slave States from the
house of one free negro to another, and in Pennsylvania from Quaker to
Quaker, until in later times the hostility to slavery increased in our
community so far that others became agents of this underground railroad,
and other routes were opened.
When the Wilson family came down in the morning, they saw around them
these strange sable or yellow travellers (“strangers,” they were called
in the family), who, having arrived during the night, had been received
by some wakeful member of the household.
What feelings filled the hearts of the exiles! Alone, at times, having
left all that they had ever loved of persons or of places, fearful,
tired, foot-sore, throwing themselves upon the charity and the honor
of a man unknown to them save by name and the direction which they had
received to him, as one trustworthy.
Sometimes they came clothed in the undyed woollen cloth that showed so
plainly to one experienced in the matter, the region of its manufacture;
the heavy, strong cloth which had delighted the wearer’s heart when he
received the annual Christmas suit with which his master furnished him,
but which was now too peculiar and striking for him safely to wear. Women
and children came too, and sometimes in considerable numbers.
When they had eaten and partaken of the necessary repose, they would
communicate to Friend Wilson, in a secure situation, some particulars of
their former history, especially the names and residences of the masters
from whom they had escaped.
Some years after he had begun to entertain these strangers, Friend Wilson
commenced a written record of those who came to him, and whence and from
whom they had escaped. This list is estimated to have finally contained
between five and six hundred names.
The next care was to bestow new titles upon the fugitives, that they
might never be known by their former names to the pursuer and the
betrayer.
From what has been already said, it may be supposed that these names
were not always selected for their euphony or æsthetic associations. One
tall, finely-built yellow man, who trembled when he was questioned in
the sitting-room, lest his conversation about his old home and the free
wife whom he longed to have brought to him should be overheard in the
kitchen, expressed to me his dissatisfaction with his new name—Simon.
“I never knowed anybody named that,” he said. His beautiful bright
wife—bright in the _colored_ sense,—that is, bright-colored, or nearly
white,—was secretly and safely brought to him, and nursed him through
that fatal disease which made him of no value in the man-market,—the
market which had been the great horror of his life. The particulars
Friend Wilson collected concerning his humble charge the venerable man
entered in his day-book, in a place especially assigned to them. If this
record were still existing, I should, perhaps, be able to tell what name
the fortunate and unfortunate Simon had been obliged to renounce. This
record, however, is lost, as I shall mention hereafter. If the services
of any of these fugitives were needed, within-doors or without, and the
master’s pursuit was not supposed to be imminent, they were detained
for a while, or perhaps became permanent residents in the neighborhood;
otherwise, they were forwarded at night to Friends living nearer
Philadelphia. Of these, two other families willing to receive the poor
exiles lived about twelve miles farther on.
The house and farm were generally pretty well stocked with colored
people, who were a wonder to the neighbors of the Wilson family; for
these were in a great measure “Pennsylvania Dutch,”—a people anxious to
do as much work with their own hands and by the hands of their own family
as possible, in order to avoid expense. It is a remarkable circumstance
that, although Samuel Wilson during thirty years or more entertained the
humble strangers, and although he received so large a number, only one of
them was seized upon his “plantation” and taken back to slavery. This was
owing partly to the secluded situation of his house, and partly to the
prudence and discretion that he exercised. “He was crafty,” it has been
said.
Neither did he suffer any legal expenses, such as lawsuits, from the
slaveholders who came in pursuit of their fleeing bondmen. Two friends
who lived not far from him, and who prosecuted kidnappers, had their
barns burned, and others, of whom he had knowledge, suffered great
pecuniary loss in consequence of their assisting runaway slaves. He,
however, limited his care to receiving, entertaining, and forwarding
those who came to him in person, and never undertook any measures of
offence,—any border raids, so to speak,—such as sending secretly into
Maryland and Virginia for the relatives and friends of fugitives who were
still living in those States as slaves. The one person of whom I have
spoken, who was recaptured from the Wilson farm, was a young girl of
fifteen or sixteen. Samuel and Anna were absent from home at the time,
gone on a little journey, such as they frequently took, to attend their
own monthly and quarterly meetings; assisting to preserve the discipline
and order of the Society of Friends. The men who came in pursuit of the
young girl told her that her friends, who had run away too, had concluded
to go back South again; and the poor child, under these circumstances,
could hardly do anything but go with the beguilers; not, however, to find
the friends whom she expected.
There was also a man who was very near being taken,—a man who had “come
away,” to use the brief euphemism sometimes employed in the Wilson family
in speaking of fugitives from slavery. He escaped by having gone down
the creek or adjacent mill-stream to set his muskrat-traps. This creek
where it ran by the house was well wooded; therefore the colored man,
looking up to the house, could see the white strangers without being seen
himself. With what trembling did he see that they were persons whom he
“knowed in Murrland,” as he expressed it! However, the friendly woods
sheltered him, while Samuel at the house was talking with the slaveholder
or his agents,—kidnappers, as the Wilsons called them.
The men told Samuel that they had come after a runaway nigger,—black,
five feet ten inches high, lost one of his front teeth, etc. To this
description Friend Wilson listened in silence. I do not know what
he would have done had he been directly questioned by them, for the
different items suited him of the muskrats,—the man who had gone to the
woods. But during Samuel’s continued silence they went on to say, “He’s
a very ornary nigger; no dependence to be placed on him nohow.” “There
is no man here,” rejoined Samuel, greatly relieved, “that answers the
description.” “We’ve very good reason to think he came here,” said one;
“we got word very direct; reckon he’s lyin’ around here. Hain’t there
been no strange nigger here?”
“There was a colored man here, but he has gone away; I don’t know as
he will ever come back again.” For, from the man’s protracted absence,
he doubtless had some idea of his having seen his pursuers, and having
sought shelter.
“Tell him that his master says that if he will only come back again, down
to Baltimore County, he sha’n’t be whipped, nor sold, nor nuthin’, but
everything shall be looked over.”
“I’ll tell him what you say,” said Samuel, “if ever I see him again;
but,” he added, regaining his accustomed independence, “I’ll tell him,
too, that if I was in his place I’d never go back to you again.”
The men left, and under cover of the friendly night the fugitive sought a
more secure hiding place.
There was one heroic black man in whom Samuel Wilson felt an abiding
interest. When Jimmy Franklin told the tale of his perilous escapes and
recaptures in the States of Maryland, North and South Carolina, Georgia,
and Florida,—when he showed the shot still remaining in his legs—shot
that had been fired at him as he ran, and, working through to the front,
were perceived through the skin, like warts upon his legs,—the lads of
the family looking and listening had their sympathies enkindled in such a
manner as could never entirely die out. One of them, in after-years, was
asked:
“How does thee account for that man’s persistent love of freedom? What
traits of character did he possess that would account for his doing so
much more than others to escape from the far South?”
“I don’t know,” was the reply, in the freedom of familiar conversation.
“What was the reason that Fulton invented his steamboat? or that Bacon
wrote his System? or that Napier invented logarithms?
“This man was a genius,—a greater man in his way than those I spoke of.
If he had had education, and had been placed in circumstances to draw him
out, he would have been the leader in some great movement among men.”
The narrative of James Franklin was written by a dear friend of him whom
I call Samuel Wilson, but is supposed to have been burned when the mob
destroyed Pennsylvania Hall.
It was in relation to these fugitives that Samuel sometimes forgot for a
while his strictly peaceful principles; for there were to be found among
the men of color those who could be induced to betray to the pursuers
their fugitive brethren, giving such information as would lead to their
recapture; or, if they should escape this, to their being obliged to
abandon their resting-places and to flee again for safety.
It was in talking of some such betrayer that Samuel Wilson said to his
colored friends, “What would you do with that man, if you had him on
Mill-Creek bridge?” (a lofty structure by which the railroad crossed the
adjacent stream,) thus hinting at a swift mode of punishment, and one
that might possibly have been a fatal one.
Though with an unskilled pen, yet have I endeavored to describe that
quiet family among whom the fugitive-slave law of 1850 fell like a blow.
Samuel Wilson had ample opportunity to study its provisions and its
peculiarities from the newspapers of which I have before spoken, and from
the conversation which these journals called forth.
This horrible act gave the commissioner before whom the colored man was
tried five dollars only if the man went free from the tribunal, but
ten dollars if he was sent into slavery. Hitherto, men had suffered in
assisting the fugitive _to escape_; now it was made a penal offence to
refuse to lend active assistance in apprehending him.
Friend Wilson had read much of fines and imprisonment, having studied
the sufferings of the people called Quakers. (Even a lady of so high
a standing as she who became the wife of George Fox was not exempt
from many years’ imprisonment, nor from persecution at the hands of
her own son.) Friend Wilson was about seventy-five years old when the
fugitive-slave bill was passed. In spite of his advanced years, however,
after sorrowful reflection upon it, he said to one of his household, “I
have made up my mind to go to jail.”
That hospitality and charity which had so long been the rule of his life
he was not now prepared to forego through fear of any penalties which
the law would inflict upon him.
It was while suffering from the infirmities of advanced years, and from
the solicitude which this abominable enactment had called forth, that
Samuel destroyed the record which he had kept for so many years of the
slaves that had taken refuge with him. This record was contained in about
forty pages of his day-book, and these he cut out and burned. How would
they now be prized had they not thus been lost!
Samuel Wilson saw, with the prophetic eye of faith and hope, what he
did not live to behold in the flesh,—the abolition of slavery. His
mortal remains repose beside the Quaker meeting-house where he so
long ministered as an elder. No monumental stone marks that humble
resting-place; but these simple lines of mine, that portray a character
so rare, may serve for an affectionate memorial.
COUSIN JEMIMA.
“Well, Phebe, I guess thee did not expect me this afternoon. Don’t get
up. I will just lay my bonnet in the bedroom myself. Dinah Paddock
told me thy quilt was in; so I came up as soon as I could. Laid out in
orange-peel! I always did like orange-peel. Dinah’s was herring-bone; and
thine is filled with wool, and plims up, and shows the works, as mother
used to say. I’ll help thee roll before I sit down. Now then. Days are
long, and we’ll try to do a stroke of work, for thee’s a branch quilter,
I’ve heard say.
“Jethro Mitchell stopped to see me this morning. They got home from Ohio
last week, and he says that Cousin Jemima Osborne’s very bad with typhoid
fever. Poor Jemima! It had been pretty much through the family, and after
nursing the rest, she was taken down. I almost know she has no one fit to
take care of her,—only Samuel and the three boys, and maybe some hired
girl that has all the housework to do. The neighbors will be very kind,
to be sure, sitting up nights; but there’s been so much sickness in that
country lately.
“Jemima was Uncle Brown Coffin’s daughter, thee knows, who used to live
down at Sandwich, on the Cape, when thee and I were girls. She always
came to Nantucket to Quarterly Meeting with Uncle Brown and Aunt Judith;
and folks used to say she wasn’t a bit of a coof, if she was born on the
Cape. When Samuel and she were married, they asked me and Gorham Hussey
to stand up with them. Jemima looked very pretty in her lavender silk
and round rosy cheeks. When meeting was over, she whispered to me that
there was a wasp or bee under her neck-handkerchief that had stung her
while she was saying the ceremony. But I don’t think anybody perceived
it, she was so quiet. Poor dear! I seem to see her now on a sick-bed and
a rolling pillow.
“After my Edward died, I was so much alone that I thought I couldn’t bear
it any longer, and I must just get up and go to Ohio, as Samuel and ’Mima
had often asked me to. I stopped on the way at Mary Cooper’s at Beaver,
and Mary’s son was joking a little about Cousin Samuel’s farming, and
said he didn’t quite remember whether it was two or three fences that
they had to climb going from the house to the barn-yard. I told him that
Samuel wasn’t brought up to farming; he bought land when he moved out
West.
“I found Jemima a good deal altered, now that she had a grown family;
but we just began where we left off,—the same friendliness and kindness.
When I was in Ohio was just when the English Friends, Jonathan and
Hannah Purley, were in the country. We met them at Marlborough Quarterly
Meeting. We were all together at William Smith’s house,—one of the
neatest of places,—everything like waxwork, with three such daughters at
home. How they worked to entertain Friends!
“First-day a great many world’s people were at meeting on account of the
strange Friends. Meeting was very full,—nearly as many out in the yard as
in the house. Very weighty remarks were made by Jonathan and Hannah. She
spoke to my own state:—‘Leave thy widows and let thy fatherless children
trust in Me.’ The meeting was disturbed some by the young babies; but we
could hardly expect the mothers to stay away.
“Second-day was Quarterly Meeting. Of course the English Friends, being
at William Smith’s, drew a great many others. We had forty to dinner. One
of William’s daughters stayed in the kitchen, one waited on the table,
and one sat down midway, where she could pass everything and wait on the
Friends. It was in the Eighth Month, and we had a bountiful table of all
the good things of that time of year,—vegetables and fruit too. William
was a nurseryman.
“There was a little disturbance at breakfast, William’s son—a rather
wild young man—making the young people laugh. We had fish,—mackerel,
and little fresh fish out of the mill-dam. I sat near the middle, and
heard Friend Smith at one end say to each, ‘Will thee have some of the
mackerel, or some of these little dam-fish?’ Then young William, at
the other end, spoke low to his friends: ‘Will thee have some of the
mackerel, or some of these dam little fish?’ But most of the young women
kept pretty serious countenances. When Quarterly Meeting was over, the
English Friends went out to Indiana, visiting meetings and Friends’
families, and I went back with Cousin Samuel’s.
“I was dreadfully disappointed once. One evening Samuel and ’Mima and the
rest of us were sitting round the table, and Samuel put his hand into
his coat-pocket and drew out the paper and two or three letters. As he
read, I noticed that one of the letters had not been opened, and caught
sight of my name—Priscilla Gardner; so I put out my hand and took it. It
was from sister Mary,—just as James and she were starting for California.
She told me that they should stay in Pittsburg over one night, and she
hoped I should be able to meet them there and bid them a long farewell.
But when I looked again at the date of the letter, and glanced at the
paper that Samuel was reading, I found that my letter was ten days old.
The time had gone by. Oh, dear! I walked out into the kitchen and stood
by the stove, in the dark, and cried. Some one came up behind me. Of
course it was Jemima. She kissed me, and waited for me to speak. I gave
her the letter, and in about ten minutes I felt able to go back to the
sitting-room. When I sat down, Samuel said, ‘’Mima tells me, Priscilla,
that thee is very much disappointed about thy letter. I had on this coat
when I went to the post-office a week ago, and I didn’t put it on again
till to-day. I hope thee’ll excuse me. Thomas, my son, will thee bring us
some red-streaks? I feel as if I could eat a few apples.’
“I felt sorrowful for some time about my sister; but my mind was diverted
when we got word that the English Friends were coming to our Monthly
Meeting on their way back from Indiana; and as we lived very near the
meeting-house, of course they would be at Samuel’s. As the time came
near, Jemima and I were a good deal interested to have things nice. They
were going to be at William Smith’s again, where everything was so neat,
and I felt very anxious to make everything in-doors, at Jemima’s, as nice
as we could.
“In the sitting-room was one empty corner, where the great rocking-chair
ought to stand. It was broken, and put away in the bedroom. I wanted
very much to have it mended; but it seemed as if we could not get it to
Salem. One time the load would be too large, another the chair would be
forgotten. At last one day it was put in the back of the covered wagon,
and fairly started. When Samuel got home it was rather late in the
evening, and I heard him say to ’Mima, ‘Only think of my forgetting thy
large chair. I was late starting from home, thee knows; and when I got to
Salem there was a good deal of talk about the war; and when I got halfway
home I remembered the big chair in the back of the wagon. It can go in
next week.’ We did send it again, but it did not get home before Monthly
Meeting.
“Jemima had a very neat home-made carpet on the sitting-room: she had
a great taste for carpets. As there had been some yards left, she let
me cover the front entry too, and her youngest son Edward, a nice lad,
helped me put it down. A little colored girl, near by, rubbed up the
brass andirons for us, and Edward built up a pile of wood ready to kindle
the fire when it was wanted. A good many panes of glass had been broken,
and as we had just had an equinoctial storm, some old coats, and so on,
had been stuffed in at several places; but we managed to get most of the
glass put in before Monthly Meeting.
“When we had done all we could to the house, of course we began to think
of the cooking. Jemima said, ‘I sha’n’t be able to get Mary Pearson
to come and cook: she is nursing. I wonder whether I hadn’t better
heat the oven on meeting-day. I can get the dinner in before I go; and
then between meetings I can run over and see to it. I shall hardly be
missed. I can slip in at the side-door of the meeting-house before Mary
Ann has done reading the Minutes.’—‘Then thee will heat the oven?’ said
I.—‘I reckon,’ she said; ‘but it is only a mud oven. Samuel has been
talking for a good while about having a brick oven. This one is not very
safe.’—‘Suppose I make a little sponge-cake, and put it in too,’ said I.
‘I’ll send for some sugar, if thee is willing. Polly Evans used to call
me a dabster at sponge-cake.’
“Jemima was willing, and we began to get ready to go to the store. Edward
and the little colored girl hunted the barn and the straw-shed, and
brought in a quantity of eggs. All could not be sent, because we needed
some at home, and some had been set on, and some had lain too long. Then
Jemima sent to the garret for brooms and rags, and spared a little butter
too for the store,—not much, to be sure, when Monthly Meeting was coming.
I thought I might as well ride over with Edward; and when we had got
coffee, and tea, and so on, and were just starting home, I caught sight
of some lemons. I bought a few, and when I got home asked Jemima if she
would not like some lemon-puddings. ‘Thy apple-pies and rice-puddings are
nice, dear,’ I said; ‘but Hannah Purley and Jonathan are such strangers,
we might go a little out of the common way.’ Jemima smiled at my being so
anxious, but agreed, as she generally did.
“Fourth-day morning we were up very early. Jemima was going to roast
some fowls and a loin of veal. Edward and the little colored girl helped
me to beat eggs, grate lemons, and roll sugar; and everything was ready
for the oven before the Friends came in from a distance, who always
stopped before meeting to get a cup of tea.
“We had a nice little table for them, of course,—dried beef, preserves,
and so on; and one woman Friend, a single woman, asked for a warm
flat-iron to press out her cap and handkerchief. At last we were ready
to start. Jemima had set everything into the oven, which stood out in
the yard. She put the meats back, and the cakes and puddings near the
door, where it was not so hot. ‘The door isn’t very safe,’ said she, ‘and
I propped a stick against it to keep it up. Don’t let the dog knock it
down, Susan, while we are gone.’
“The day was beautiful; all signs of the storm over, except the roads
a little muddy; and as we stepped over to the meeting-house Jemima
whispered, ‘I am glad I told Susan to set both tables. I think we shall
have a good many to dinner. I wanted cole-slaw, like Pennsylvania folks,
but the cows broke in last night and ate all the solid cabbage.’ She did
not talk of these things generally going into meeting; but our minds were
very full.
“First meeting was rather long, for several Friends spoke besides the
strangers. When it broke, Jemima stepped out, and I quietly followed her.
We walked over to the house, and round into the side-yard, going toward
the oven. But just as we had got into the yard we saw the old sow. She
had broken out of the barn-yard, and had been wallowing in a pond of
brown water near the fence. Now she had knocked down Jemima’s stick,
and as the door fell I guess she smelt our good things, for she had her
fore-feet upon the oven floor. We ran and screamed, but she did not turn.
She made a jump up to the oven, over my cakes and puddings, the veal and
chickens, and carried the oven roof off with her. Oh, dear! oh, dear!
poor Jemima! I could laugh too, if it wasn’t so dreadful.”
_Reader._—And what did they do then?
_Writer._—The best that they could. I do wonder at Jemima, poor thing, to
undertake so much on Monthly Meeting day.
THE MINERS OF SCRANTON.
A few years ago I visited Hyde Park,—a mining division of the youthful
city of Scranton. Besides boarding in the family of an operative, I
talked with citizens, from miners to ministers, and took notes of these
conversations. Upon the information thus obtained the following article
is founded.
There hangs in our house a large map of the State of Pennsylvania of
the year 1851. Scranton is not marked upon it. A little village named
Providence is, indeed, to be found, which is now an inconsiderable part
of consolidated Scranton. Nine years after the date of this map, by the
census of 1860, the population of Scranton is given at nine thousand, and
in 1870 at thirty-five thousand. This very rapid increase was caused by
the working of the immense coal-beds which underlie the narrow valley of
the Lackawanna, in which the city is situated.
Forty-five per cent. of the population is given as foreign, or fifteen
thousand eight hundred and eighty-seven. The miners are almost all of
foreign birth, the Irish being the most numerous, next the Welsh, then
the Germans, and lastly the English and Scotch. Among the Welsh-speaking
population there are, however, natives of Monmouthshire, not now a
portion of Wales, but belonging to England. Among the miners there are
some Pennsylvania Germans. With the exception of these, there is scarcely
to be found at Scranton a native of this country working underground,
either as miner or laborer.
Gaelic is extensively spoken by the Irish here, there being women, I
am told, newly come over, who do not speak English. The Welsh language
is more extensively employed. There are seven churches of which the
services are in that language, a Welsh newspaper, and a literary or
scientific society.[166] But as the Pennsylvania German employs many
English words in speaking “Dutch,” so does the Welshman introduce many
into his vernacular, as “all right,” “exactly,” “you know,” “twenty per
cent.,” “mortgage,” “explosion,” “universe.” In speaking English, those
from South Wales treat the letter _h_ as the English do, and speak of
Mr. ’Iggins, and of picking ’uckleberries, or say, “That’s a hodd name,”
“I have a hell kitchen to my house.” The Welshman frequently emphasizes
a statement, as, “Yes, sure,” “Yes indeed, man.” He says, “Dear to
goodness!” “I ’on’t do it, whatever,” etc., etc.
The Welsh have been accused of bearing malice, and of being clannish,
or of “keeping together.” “I think,” says a Scotchman, “that that is
why they keep up the Welsh language.” For themselves they claim that
they were never subjugated. They are Republicans almost to a man, and
equally Protestant; lovers of liberty, stubborn and enduring, not fickle.
The Welsh churches at Scranton belong to the three following sects:
Independent or Congregational, Baptist, and Calvinistic Methodist.
The Welshman is an experienced miner in his own rugged country. We are
informed that the coal-field of Glamorganshire, in Wales, is one of the
most important mineral districts in the world, and that in this small
district more iron is manufactured than in all the United States. The
Welsh here work more exclusively at mining than do the Irish and Germans.
The Welshman is the miner, who blasts and takes down the coal, while the
Irishman loads it upon the cars, a certain number of car-loads forming
his daily task.
The Irish are more volatile. They do not practise much domestic economy;
their motto is more, “Come day, go day.” On a long strike they have
generally nothing laid by for the emergency. A Catholic clergyman
says, “The Irish are not fit for _bossing_; they are kept in too much
subjection at home.” But the rule is not without exceptions. I visited a
mine of which the inside foreman was an Irishman, and from Connaught too,
that wild western district. Besides having attained to this position,
he was a landed proprietor, the owner of a farm. He was more interested
in politics than my Welsh acquaintances, saying that a friend of his, a
miner, could speak as well as any politician.
* * * * *
The Irish are inclined to superstition. An Irishman tells me that some
years ago a man having been killed in a mine by the falling of the roof,
the story afterward got round that if persons would go on a moonlight
night to a certain spot—a back road at Scranton—the fairies might be
met there, and the lost man with them; then by throwing something, his
friends could get him back all right. Some went there in fun, and some in
earnest.
This is like the idea in “the old country” when a child dies, that the
fairies have changed him, leaving another in his place, and that he might
by some means be recovered. “Some tell it for a fact that they used to do
so in Ireland.”
A Scotchman tells me that if a child, a cow, or a pig suddenly begins
to decline in health, or a cow in milk, the Irish accuse some one of
“looking over it.” They say that such persons do not know when they do
it. This is doubtless “the evil-eye.”
An Irishwoman was telling us of her son’s losing a leg, the result of an
accident when mule-driving in a mine. When she learned that the person
hurt was her “Jamesey,” “Oh!” said she, “it was to be. I dreamed it a
year ago.” She told us her dream, but it was very unlike the circumstance.
Germans, especially Catholics, are said to retain some of the
superstitions of their native country, and to find “spooks” or spirits. A
harmless superstition, if there be any such, is mentioned of them. They
generally have gardens, and plant things “by the signs.” Beans planted in
the decline of the moon they do not think will take to the poles.
A German foreman says, “I have sat and listened to the miners of
different nations telling of spooks and ghosts seen in the mines and
other places, but, if one questions them closely, it is a brother or an
uncle who saw it, and not the man himself.”
The Welsh were formerly very superstitious, but they are not so now.
Says one, “We do not believe in signs or omens, or that any flesh can
see spirits.” Another tells me that the belief in hobgoblins, ghosts,
witches, fairies, and all kinds of signs and omens prevailed in Wales
in his childhood, until about thirty years ago a very eminent Baptist
minister, Robert Ellis, brought out a work called _Ofergoelion y Cymry_
(or Superstitions of the Welsh), which attracted a great deal of
attention, and had great effect upon the minds of the people in banishing
all these ideas.
In spite of the efforts of their clergy the Irish still keep up wakes
at funerals, watching the body of the dead. I am told that the friends
of the family do not feel like sleeping, being sorrowful. In the old
country neighbors would gather whether invited or not, and games would be
introduced to keep them awake, but this custom is not followed here.
A Scotchman says that he thinks the Irish attend “buryings” better than
any other nationality. At Scranton they impoverish themselves by the
train of carriages hired to attend funerals. “It was a funeral of fifty
carriages;” thus they estimate the honor and glory of the occasion. But
that number was exceeded at the funeral of a poor Irishwoman at Scranton,
when there were about one hundred and forty “rigs,”—the name given here
to turnouts.
The Welsh do not make such display. A prominent Welsh citizen, a man of
means, apparently wishing to set an example, hired only one carriage when
burying his son, and walked himself in the funeral procession.
* * * * *
The chief hardship of the miner is the insecurity of his life. He is
liable to accidents at any moment, either in blasting the coal, or from
the falling of the roof in the passages and chambers of the mine, or
from the explosion of fire-damp,—carburetted hydrogen gas,—an extremely
explosive substance generated in the mine.
By an awful accident which occurred in the Avondale mine, more than one
hundred men were suffocated below. At Scranton are interred the remains
of about sixty of these sufferers. The fatal accident is supposed to have
occurred thus. Over each of the mining shafts is erected a breaker or
cracker,—an immense wooden structure,—to the top of which the loaded cars
are drawn up and then “dumped,” the coal in its gradual downward progress
being sorted, the greater part of it broken, sifted, and delivered
into the cars beneath. The mine at Avondale was ventilated by means of
a furnace or great fire, causing a draught. From this it is generally
supposed that the breaker took fire, and this in turn set to burning a
great body of coal; and as there was at the Avondale mine only one way of
egress,—that is, up the shaft,—the men perished below.
At Scranton I saw a sad though simple ballad upon this disaster:
“But all in vain. There was no hope
One single life to save,
For there is no second outlet
From the subterraneous cave.
No pen can write the awful fright
And horror that did prevail
Among those dying victims
In the mines of Avondale.”
The Ventilation Act passed by the Legislature of Pennsylvania after
this great disaster forbids the working of any mine without two outlets.
In one that I visited, instead of a furnace for ventilation, there was
employed an immense fan, worked by a steam-engine, and supplying sixty
thousand feet of pure air per minute.
Great precautions are also taken to prevent the explosion of fire-damp.
Nevertheless, accidents do still occur from this cause, and, as we have
said, from the falling of the roof, and this although one-third of the
coal is left in for support for the rock above. Some companies will not
insure the lives of miners, and when they do insure they demand a very
high rate,—about like that charged for those engaged in the manufacture
of gunpowder.
Besides the more fearful sufferings to which the miner is liable, it is
not uncommon to see him working in water, perhaps up to his knees, and at
the same time water may be dropping upon him from above. Sometimes, on
account of powder-smoke from blasting, he must feel his way rather than
see it. Yet it is a general impression that the miner’s health is good.
It must be accounted one of his hardships that he has not regular
employment. At the time of my visit more than half the mines were not
working at all, and the rest only on half time.
* * * * *
The miner’s luxuries are those of other poor men,—his pipe and glass
of ale or beer,—though I must acknowledge that the Irishman has not
dispensed with whiskey. “I do not think,” says Father ⸺, “that he
drinks more than the Welshman, but perhaps he is more frequently seen
intoxicated in public.” The Welshman, it has been said, does not drink so
much here as at home, for he has bidden his native land farewell with
the intention of making money. The use of malt liquors is very common in
this region, and beer is abundant in the hardest times.
The Irish are fond of singing, dancing, and carousing. The saloons on
Lackawanna Avenue have two rooms, the front one for drinking, the back
for dancing and general amusement. On the contrary, dancing is generally
considered a heinous sin among the Welsh. Says a friend, “The ministers
denounce balls and dancing parties as they would manslaughter or murder.”
The German is fond of hunting. He has a gun and dog, and on a Sunday or
other holiday, or when there is a breakdown in the mine, he goes hunting
on the mountain, and brings home partridges, rabbits, or perchance a
deer. Nor does he have to go far to find his hunting-ground. The valley
of the Lackawanna is only about two miles wide, and lies in the Moosic
Mountains, a part of the Alleghanies. The Germans are fond, too, of
fishing. Their picnics and musical festivals generally begin on Saturday
afternoon and conclude on Sunday evening. About two-thirds of the
Germans go to church on Sunday morning, and many visit the beer gardens
in the afternoon with their wives and children. They observe the church
holidays, Good-Friday and Easter-Monday.
No Irish miners will work on St. Patrick’s Day. They generally go
to church in the morning, and immediately after service, or about
half-past nine, organize and form processions composed of their various
beneficial societies,—the Father Mathew, St. Mary’s, St. Joseph’s,
Young Men’s Beneficial, etc. They do not have a ball on St. Patrick’s
Day, considering it to be somewhat a desecration. On the parade day of
the Miners’ Union the different branches frequently have balls in the
evening, and often with a charitable object, as for the relief of a poor
woman whose husband or son has been killed in the mine. But since the
unsatisfactory termination of the great strike in 1871 the parade day of
the Miners’ Union, August 1, is not generally observed.
Our national holiday, July 4, is kept with great zeal by the Irish. It is
an outlet for the expression of their animosity to England. In 1874 there
was a great parade of several thousand persons, about two-thirds of whom
were foreigners.
The Welsh have only one national holiday,—St. David’s Day, March 1.
On this day, in Wales, they form processions and carry the leek, the
national emblem. I saw it growing at Scranton, very much like the onion
when standing. On this day in Wales they also have meetings for literary
pursuits and for vocal music, being a great singing nation. St. David’s
Day is still observed in some American cities, but among the people at
large the celebration has died out here. Christmas is a great day among
the Welsh, and is observed by meetings of the _Eisteddfod_, a very
ancient national gathering, which can be traced back for nine hundred
years. The word means an assembly, and is pronounced _Ice-teth-vod_, the
_dd_ being like _th_ in _thee_.
These gatherings are literary and musical. At Hyde Park it is announced
in the Welsh paper, in the spring of the year, that the Philosophical
Society will, at the ensuing Christmas, give prizes for the best essay
or the best poem on given subjects, and the best piece of original
music for given words, also for singing and recitation. But although,
as I have stated, these meetings are generally held on Christmas, yet
sometimes a neighboring town may prefer to fix upon New Year, thus
enabling parties to attend both; and St. David’s Day is sometimes
celebrated by an eisteddfod. From the exercises of these gatherings
women are not excluded. The eisteddfods are very generally attended by
the Welsh, and are held in some large public hall, the greater part of
the performances being in the Welsh language. Some of the observances
are described to me in simple language by one who has been a miner. He
says that church choirs attend the eisteddfods, and some very difficult
piece is selected for them to sing, the prize being about sixty to eighty
dollars. Then there are singers alone, and in parties of three. “They get
their poets there; they meet on Christmas morning about ten, and adjourn
about twelve, and then give out subjects for the poets,—likely the
Lackawanna River, or some subject they had never thought of before. At
two o’clock these poets will be called upon to recite their verses,—two,
perhaps,—and a small prize is given (about a dollar), principally for
amusement. Again, they call for compositions in music on some given
subject. They must be sent in beforehand, about two weeks before the
eisteddfod, with the proper name under a seal, the judges being allowed
only to see the fictitious name. Also they read, and the best reader
gets a small prize, the piece being given out at the meeting where it is
read. Another thing causes a good deal of laughter,—they ask who will
volunteer to sing a musical composition from the notes; some half-dozen
will throw in their names (fictitious), and then one will be called
out,—perhaps ‘Greenhorn;’ the other five will retire from the room, while
he picks up the difficult piece, and begins to clear his throat and show
his embarrassment, which is a subject of amusement to the spectators;
then the second comes on, perhaps equally unskilful; and when all have
finished, the remarks of the judge upon each performance are also very
amusing, the prize being only about fifty cents. In order to avoid the
singers being previously acquainted with the piece, sometimes a person
may be sent out half an hour beforehand to compose one. The piece chosen
is generally one very difficult to sing. They hold these eisteddfods in
Wales. The Welsh bards have for centuries back been accustomed to poetry,
and so forth. In London they invited, I think, nearly all the musicians
in Europe to sing on a certain day, all nationalities, for a prize of
one thousand pounds,—a silver cup. There came a choir of singers from
Wales to compete with the best talent they had in England. The lords and
members of Parliament were there. The English selected some of their most
cultivated people, and the Welsh singers were miners and men of very
little education, and they had to go from their own country; but they won
the prize by a great distance, and then sang through different towns and
cities in England. There was money raised here in Hyde Park to support
them while they were training, and to take them up to London.”
A minister at the Welsh Congregational Church in Hyde Park gave me some
explanation of this subject. He said that a company of musical persons
connected with the Crystal Palace offered a prize for competition for
vocal choirs, the reward being a silver cup worth one thousand pounds.
In 1872 a choir of five hundred persons from South Wales, called the
South Wales Choral Union, men, women, and children, principally miners
and their children, appeared, and took the prize without competition. The
next year, 1873, a trained band of English musicians, three hundred and
fifty in number, appeared to compete for the prize, but without success,
for the Welsh won it again. The English were from London, and were called
the Tonic Sol Fa Association.
I heard nothing at Scranton, however, of the harp, once thought
indispensable to the bards, two men on the street at Hyde Park, with
pipe and bagpipe, being the only peculiar instrumental performers that I
remember.
It might be supposed that so dangerous a pursuit as mining, with the
horror of beholding accidents sometimes mortal, the uncertainty of
obtaining regular employment, and, more than any of these, the working
so far from the excellent light of the sun, would repress the buoyant
spirits of the Irishman; but, says my Connaught acquaintance, “Working in
the mines does not dull an Irishman’s spirits,—not a bit of it.”
A German also says that he does not think that working in the mines makes
the Irish and others less fond of jokes, for they get together more. The
mine is cool in summer and warm in winter, and if there is a lull, from
want of cars or other cause, the men will squat down, miner fashion, and
tell stories and crack jokes.
On a like occasion the little blackened slate-pickers swarm out of the
cracker, like children let loose from school or like bees from the hive,
and play at boyish games. Sometimes they get hold of an empty truck car,
and ride down grade full speed, having the labor afterward of getting the
car up again. When a loaded car is coming up the shaft, they can hear the
warning whistle of the steam-engine, for soon the coal will be running
down the chutes, and their labors recommence.
When the circus comes to town there is danger of a stampede among the
boys who drive mules and perform like labors. They will come to the
mine in the morning and gather together, and unless the “boss” is on
the watch, they may be off in a body, and all work be at an end for the
day, as the men cannot get on without them. On the contrary, if they are
separated and started at their work, they will stay. But even the little
fellows lately spoken of, “the boys in the cracker,” who pick the slaty
refuse from the coal, have been known thus to stop mining operations.
The Welsh are not a humorous and jocose people like the Irish, though I
am told that they are inclined to mirth when speaking together in their
own language. A faint smile was caused at the Congregational church by a
remark of the preacher. Translated, it amounts to this: “Some men drink a
quantity of beer, which does not affect the brain, as they have so little
brains;” and the application seems to have been that in a like manner the
trials and vicissitudes of life affect some men little, as they have but
little sensibility.
I am told that among the works of the Welsh poets are many epigrammatic
stanzas. Of one of these, an epitaph, I received the following prose
version: “In this life she told all the untruth that she could. Be
careful not to wake her: if you do, she will say that she has been to
heaven.”
The late hours which have been kept by our “Pennsylvania Dutch” when
_Fanny has a beau once_ do not prevail among the Welsh at Scranton.
A gentleman who leads a large church choir, of which all the men are
miners, and not half of these church members, tells me that the young men
wait upon the young women home before nine, chat a while on the front
porch or steps, and generally leave at ten.
A physician says that most of the courtship of the Welsh is begun, and
often finished, while walking the streets after church. “This street
is thronged,” says he, “on Sunday nights in summer. At first the young
men walk behind, but after a while one step is quickened or the other
slackened, or both, and they come together, and form lively parties,
until ten or after. Courtships are brief, and the marriages early and
happy.”
I asked a Welsh acquaintance whether his son married young. “No, he
didn’t marry young; he was twenty-three.” Says another, “Young women
among the Welsh miners marry from eighteen to twenty-two. At the latter
age they are joked about being old maids.”
* * * * *
Miners’ wives generally hold the purse. As soon as he gets his pay and
his fill of beer, the miner hands his wages to his wife, who acts as
treasurer with much discretion, making all the purchases of the house
and transacting the business of the family. A miner’s wife said to me,
“My husband is a good workman. He never lost any time by drinking or
anything like that. I nearly supported the family by my own sewing and
by taking boarders. Ever since I have been married I tried to keep our
own table, and could generally do it unless I was sick. I ’most always
had a good deal of my own way, but I always consulted him. He always
gave me his wages. I think when a man gives his wife his wages she feels
more interest. I’d kick up a big fuss if he did not give me his wages.
Whenever he was going away, I’d remind him, ‘Charley, haven’t you got any
money in your pocket?’ He knew where the money was, you know? We always
had one purse. My purse was his, and his was mine. We have always lived
in good unity together.
“This is not always the way with miners. We have a neighbor who must
always go to the office on pay-day to get her husband’s money. He’ll go
and take the pay, and hand it over to her. She says he always gives it to
her. If she did not go and get it, he’d go to the saloon and spend it. It
looks to me as if a man was so weak-minded, to do the like of that!”
The Welsh boys, too, hand their wages over to their mother. Germans, on
the contrary, do not give their pay to the feminine head of the family;
and, alas! a physician says that Germans are the best pay.
The Welsh woman is ambitious for her husband’s shoes to shine, and on
every Saturday evening she blacks the shoes of the family (all set in a
row), until the girls are old enough to relieve her. Another corrects
this statement, saying that by the old Welsh rule Monday is the day for
cleaning and putting away the Sunday’s shoes.
Mrs. ⸺ says that she sets a tub of warm water for her son when he comes
home from picking slate at the mine, and gives him soap and a woollen
cloth, that he may “wash all over.” To bathe in this manner is almost a
universal rule with the men on leaving the mine, and a physician says
that he considers the daily bath beneficial to their health. Says an
acquaintance, “Many think, ‘I would not have miners to sleep in my beds,
they look so black and dirty.’ But there is scarcely one in five hundred
that does not wash all over when he comes home from his work; the general
rule is, before he eats his supper. He washes his head, and puts on his
clean clothes, and looks more like a clerk in a store than a miner.”
When first I attended a Welsh church at Scranton, I was surprised at the
nice appearance of the congregation, and I afterward inquired whether
there were any miners there. But on my late visit I learned an almost
invariable means of discovering who have worked in the coal mines. On
the back of my host’s hands were many blue spots, looking like faint
tattooing. These were marks where he had been cut by the coal. Miners
frequently have one or more of these blue scars upon the face. The
coal-dust doubtless remains in the wounded place, like Indian ink in
tattooing; and by these marks you can perceive that men have been miners,
though their occupation now be quite different.
The Welsh have three suits of clothes, one for work, one for evening, and
another for Sunday. Their children look very neat when going to church or
Sunday-school. The Irish mother, too, loves to see her children look fine
on these occasions, but she does not show so much taste. Both are much
attached to their churches and Sunday-schools. The Germans are not so
devotional.
The education of miners’ sons is often much neglected. The law does
not permit them to enter the public schools before the age of six; and
although the Ventilation Act prevents children from working within
the mines under twelve, yet no such prohibition exists as regards the
breaker, or “cracker,” above the mine. A superintendent says, “I have had
them to come at six, and their mothers with them, to get them taken on.”
Most of the recent Welsh emigrants, and those who are still poor and have
large families, send their boys to work at the mine. But very few that
have been in this country ten years are so poor as to be obliged to send
them at an early age. We except those of dissipated habits, who spend
their money in the saloons.
A German tells me that the children of German miners are generally
sent to school, but so great is the demand for boys to pick slate in
the breaker, that they generally go there at about eight or ten. Boys’
wages in the breaker begin at thirty-five cents per day, and go up to
seventy-five or eighty-five. A mule-driver gets from seventy-five cents
to a dollar. Even the little boys in the breakers are proud to receive
their month’s wages, not to spend themselves, but to take home.
A friend says that as soon as the boy earns fifty cents at the mine, his
sole ambition is to earn seventy-five, and then to be a driver. From
driving one mule his desire is to drive a team, then to become a laborer,
and then a full miner. To be a “boss,” or superintendent, is a distant
object of ambition, like being President—
“Alps on Alps arise.”
Almost every one has to work for some time as a laborer, loading coal,
before he becomes a full miner. The sons of miners generally follow in
their fathers’ footsteps; but those who have been here many years often
look higher for their boys, and give them trades. I met a lawyer, an
intelligent young man, whose father is a miner.
For the benefit of the boys in the mines here, the Catholic Church
has organized night schools, open during the six colder months of the
year. The boys, if able, pay from twenty-five to fifty cents a month.
A Catholic clergyman estimates that over two-thirds of the boys attend
these schools. As a general thing, the use of the public school buildings
has been granted them, but the rooms are often overcrowded. Though
principally organized by the Catholic Church, none are refused on account
of their belief. But after working all day, the boy cannot bring so much
animation to the night-school as if he were not fatigued. The girls have
better opportunities, but they are often put out to domestic service at
twelve or fourteen.
* * * * *
The fare of the miner is from necessity simple, not luxurious. He
breakfasts at about five or six o’clock on bread, butter, and tea. In
a little tin can he carries his dinner of bread and cheese, perhaps
with the addition of a bit of pie or cake, and in a tin bottle cold
tea without milk. Even this simple luxury is sometimes discarded, and
water taken in its place. The miner proper finishes his work about four
o’clock, and finds his best meal at home, often a “good cooked meal” of
meat, potatoes, etc. We may call this dinner, and the former meal lunch.
A miner tells me, however, that he has often brought his food uneaten
out of the mine from want of time; for he must have his car loaded when
the driver comes for it, or lose one of the seven car-loads which form
his daily work.
It is the Welshman who eats bread and cheese. His companion or laborer
is generally Irish. He is detained longer in the mine, and wants meat
for his noonday meal. Late in the fall, if the Irishman has not a pig,
he generally buys from the country farmer a part of a beef, which he
salts. Fresh meat from the stalls is too dear for him. When his beef runs
out, he buys mess pork from the store; but I fear that he is not always
able to take his bit of meat to the mine. Rather than cheese, he will
take a couple of boiled eggs, for he is very fond of what he calls “a
fresh egg.” He carries milk in preference to tea, and he loves to own a
cow. Cows are often seen pasturing upon the commons or the unfenced land
belonging to the companies, the surface of which is not yet sold for
building-lots. The Irishman is very fond of keeping geese and ducks. When
he has a lot, he raises potatoes and cabbage, for here, or at home, he
dearly loves cabbage with his boiled bacon.
The German takes for his lunch bread and butter, and perhaps a “chunk
of sausage,” and piece of pie or cake. His tin bottle holds coffee. The
miner’s dinner-kettle and bottle are slung on a rope over one shoulder,
and on entering the passages of the mine are hung on one of the props
that support the roof. The men often play jokes on each other by stealing
pie or cake. Of course, the German makes sauer-kraut. He keeps pigs, and
sometimes buys a quarter of beef, which he smokes.
Great simplicity in food seems to exist among the mining people in
Wales, where it is said that they never think of eating butter and cheese
at once; they would think it sinful. Mr. E⸺, of Scranton, says that he
offered cold meat to an old Welsh lady who was visiting him, and she
thanked him, but she had bread and butter. And Mr. J⸺, of Welsh birth, a
miner from fourteen years to forty-six, tells me that if the streets were
lined with meat, he could not eat it oftener than once a day, though he
admits that he sometimes takes an egg or two for breakfast.
The Welsh miners who come to this country almost invariably bring one or
two feather-beds. The German who can afford it sleeps in cold weather on
one feather-bed and under another; if he cannot, he sleeps on straw and
under feathers.
At his work the miner generally wears a woollen shirt, pantaloons of
bed-ticking or stout linen, and heavy boots. I have seen the sole studded
with iron lest the coal should cut the leather.
As to the number of miners who own their houses, I have heard various
estimates for Scranton, as from one-third upward, the highest estimate
being in one district seven out of ten of the married.
The German’s house is a good one, painted or whitewashed. Germans
cultivate flowers and vegetable gardens, principally worked by the women,
who carry produce in baskets for sale. The Welshman, too, when he has a
home, has a comfortable one, looking quite pretty with its surroundings.
But though the Irish often own their homes, these are of a ruder kind.
* * * * *
Has the miner aspirations? This question has been put, and I have been
tempted to reply by another, Is he a man? Mr. L⸺, of Scranton, came to
this country when about twenty. He worked a few months at Carbondale, in
this Lackawanna region, and afterward in Ohio, mining bituminous coal
by the bushel,—one hundred and twenty bushels a day, at two cents each.
Here he laid by one hundred and thirty dollars, which he sent to Wales to
bring his parents over. “I was,” said he, “the only son they ever ’ad.”
At twenty-five he married, and soon after took a contract in a mine in
Schuylkill County, Pennsylvania. Here the failure of his employer threw
him into debt, from which he was not clear until about thirty. He took
contracts on coal slopes, working always as a miner himself, but hiring
hands to help him. For twenty years he was a foreman, a foreman’s salary
averaging twelve hundred dollars. He also went to California, and mined
gold to profit. He bought, too, a farm in Pennsylvania for three thousand
five hundred dollars, and tried farming himself for two years, but found
it harder work than mining.
“Some eight of us,” he says, “all miners, bought some years ago about
five and a half acres of ground here for eight thousand and fifty
dollars. We sold it out in building-lots, in about two months, for nearly
the cost, and retained the mineral, which we value at twenty thousand
dollars.” By mineral is meant, of course, the coal, of which several
valuable veins underlie Scranton at the point alluded to.
Mr. L⸺ continues: “Another company of us, all miners and all poor men
originally, have bought a tract of four thousand acres of coal lands near
the centre of Alabama. I have been down twice to see it.” He has now
retired from active business, and lives in a neat house surrounded by a
large garden, which he cultivates with pleasure and profit.
Another instance of success in a more intellectual field is Mr. ⸺, editor
of a Welsh paper. When he was eight years old his mother was left a
widow, with nine children, from three years of age to sixteen, and with
nothing but a few household goods. By putting her children to work early
at the mines she kept her family together. She herself spoke nothing
but Welsh. Mr. ⸺ was a precocious laborer, if I may use the expression,
he being well grown, and becoming a driver at ten years, and a miner
at sixteen. He never had but thirty-two days’ schooling; but having
great delight in books, he got a Daboll’s Arithmetic, and went through
it twice, and found some one to set him copies for writing, making use
afterward of copper-plates. One great advantage which he had was the
leisure which the miner often enjoys. He says, “When I was working at
Carbondale two years, I could generally get my day’s work done by noon.
When a miner, I wrote essays three times for the eisteddfod, and two of
them drew prizes. These were each twenty-five dollars; but the pecuniary
reward was not what we aimed at,—it was the honor. I gave up mining in
1869, and have been connected with a newspaper ever since.”
The miner occasionally attains to great wealth. Such, at least, was the
case of Richard Care, of Minersville, of whom I hear that he came to this
country a poor man, and died worth a million and a half.
* * * * *
But all these cases are exceptional. The chief ambition of the miners
in general is plenty of work and good wages. “They’re death on the
wages,” says one, “as the last suspension showed.” As to their desiring
to improve their condition, a German tells me that there is always such
a desire among his people. “I can take you up,” says he, “to Elmira,
New York, and show you, I guess, a whole township of farmers who have
been miners. The Germans who work here are very rarely from the mining
districts of Germany, but from the agricultural. The German will take his
boys into the mine to lay up a little capital, and having done this, he
will buy a farm, or go into merchandise, or open a saloon.”
What provision has the miner for times when he is out of work?
I might answer after the manner of another,—credit, credit, credit. The
miner is paid monthly, but by the smaller companies not always so often.
Could he once tide over the first month, and enter upon the cash system,
he might be pecuniarily benefited by the change, but he seems wedded to
the credit system. Should any trader advertise that he would sell goods
for cash twenty per cent. lower, I am told that the other store-keepers
would throw their influence against him, and also that several cash
stores have been tried in Scranton that did not succeed in the long-run.
One of the main provisions against misfortune is the Beneficial Society.
The miners do not, however, often join the Freemasons. Many of the Welsh
belong to the following societies: Odd-Fellows, Foresters (a secret
society of foreign origin), Ivorites (named for Ivor Hael, the Welsh
founder), Red Men, and the “Philanthropic Institution.” There are other
societies, Irish and German. As for the miner who does not belong to any
of these, and who has no other means, if he meets with a serious accident
or a protracted illness, he must go to the poor-house; but if I may
credit good authority, he very rarely goes there.
Father ⸺ says, “We need hardly use the word poor-house here, for I
never knew a miner to get there. The Irish have a horror of it; but
occasionally some aged, dependent person goes. The law here forbids
out-door support for the poor.” A young lawyer says, “No Welsh miner ever
goes to the poor-house. He has a son or daughter, a brother or sister, a
nephew or niece, who will not intrust him to the cold charities of the
public. If his wife is industrious, she and the children can take care
of him.” Mr. L⸺ says, “Very seldom does a miner get to the poor-house,
unless he be a drunkard; for if he be sober, his fellow-workmen in the
mine, in case of accident or long sickness, make a collection for him.”
And Dr. H⸺ says, “A kinder set of men never walked the earth. When one
of them meets with an accident in the mine, the men put in their hands
and raise a little purse for him. They will divide their last dollar with
a wounded comrade. The Irish extend their care to the widow of their
unfortunate companion, whom they frequently set up in a little saloon,
where she vends candy, pea-nuts, and various drinks.” Since, however, the
beneficial societies have become popular, there is not so much need of
resorting to succor by subscription.
When urged to insure his life, the reply of the Irishman almost
invariably is, “What do I want to insure my life for my wife for? When I
am dead, I don’t want another man to spend my money.”
In these dull times, when so many were out of work, I frequently saw
quoit-pitching, which seemed to be a favorite amusement; some leap and
some play marbles with the boys; but neither men nor boys spend their
time in play. Some work for farmers, some pick berries, some “fuss about
their gardens,” or one, perhaps, has a sickly wife, and will stay at home
and help. A young Cornish man whom I met was going to haul stone to build
an addition to his house. I visited a young Scotchman, a foreman, who was
employing himself in another manner. In the middle of his sitting-room
stood a surveyor’s compass upon its high tripod, and upon the table
lay a book,—_A Conversation on Mines_, by William Hopton: Manchester
and London. I said to him that he was differently situated from other
miners, because he was interested in books, and could study in an idle
time like the present. He replied that it was the fault of the others if
they did not want to read and study; he had never heard of any one in any
profession who could say that he had become perfect, and in his own case
the more he learned, the more he found that there was to learn.
* * * * *
Among the Welsh, however, I learn that there is considerable culture
besides that of which I have already spoken. In the Welsh Baptist church
at Hyde Park a society meets once a week for reading and debating. They
read the Bible and discuss its history and geography, for six months
reading the Old Testament, and for six the New. In reading the Book of
Samuel, the question arose, “Did the witch of Endor raise Samuel from
the dead?” After some discussion the debate was found to take up too much
time, and it was referred to disputants, two upon each side. The question
brought up spiritualism, in which very few of the Welsh believe, but they
love to discuss subjects of general interest. After an evening’s debate,
the chairman put the question, and it was decided that Samuel was not
raised. With this decision the preacher does not agree.
About six years ago the same society argued the question whether the
world was created in six days, and decided that the days were not periods
of twenty-four hours. After the decision, they had a lecture upon geology
from a former preacher, in which he took the same view.
The Welsh, without sectarian distinction, support the Philosophical
Society at Hyde Park, its proceedings being in the Welsh language,
and its meetings held every Saturday for eight months in the year. By
voluntary contribution they are establishing a free library. Some of the
Welsh miners also have considerable private libraries, of three hundred
volumes and over.
The miners in this region are generally peaceable. Order is preserved
in the mines by very strict rules. If one man strikes another, he is
immediately discharged. If one insults another, the latter is to complain
to the foreman, who acts as justice of the peace, and reports difficult
cases to the general superintendent. Properly speaking, however, there
are two foremen to a mine, one above and one below. On an average, there
are about one hundred and fifty hands employed at each mine.
Even in idle times there is very little disorderly conduct. “The men,”
says R⸺, “will sometimes get tight, two or three of them, but as for
getting up big rows, there is nothing of it. In the time of the great
suspension there were threats of burning some buildings belonging to the
Lackawanna Coal and Iron Company, and I went to guard one of them; but we
never saw anybody.”
To this general good order, however, there seems to be a notable
exception. One evening my landlady sent her son to escort me with a
lantern, the lamps along a principal street being “smashed.” They had
been broken, it appeared, for some time. I asked the boy why there was
not a reward offered for the discovery of the persons who had done it.
“Oh,” said he, “the Molly Maguires will kill men!”
The Molly Maguires are the “Ancient Order of Hibernians,” of whose doings
in the coal regions dreadful stories have been told. Although when I was
at Scranton it was said that the priests had broken up the society, yet
I saw, one Sunday, members of the “ancient order” in handsome green and
white or silver regalia, who seemed prepared to take part, with many
other persons, in laying the corner-stone of a church near Scranton.
Hence I inferred that the clergy had not broken up the society, but
might have obliged them to give up their pledge of secrecy. After I left
Scranton, however, a man was killed in that region, of whose murder I
understand that the Molly Maguires were suspected. But so great at one
time was the fear of the people at large of the Mollies, that two hundred
or more revolvers were sold in one day.
There remains to be considered a subject of more general public interest
than perhaps any other in which the miner is concerned, namely, strikes.
“Suspension” is the genteel name among the men. In 1870 a great strike
occurred here, which finally involved not only the whole of the
anthracite, but a part of the bituminous region of Pennsylvania, which
lasted near six months, bringing coal to an immense price in the market,
and seriously embarrassing business, and which deserves the name of the
great suspension. To make the matter perfectly clear, it is worth while
to revert to the opening of our civil war in the year 1861.
The standard price paid to the miner in July, 1874, was ninety-three
cents per car-load. At this rate he could make about three dollars and
fifty cents per day for himself, and pay his assistant or laborer about
two dollars and thirty-five cents. But before the breaking out of the
rebellion the price of mining was as low as forty-five cents per car, or
less than half the price in 1874.
During the war so great was the demand for iron, and consequently for
coal, that prices had risen by 1864 to one dollar and sixty-eight cents
per car, not very far from double the present price, but payable, as it
will be remembered, in greatly depreciated paper money. In spite of this
fact, this was the miners’ flush time. I have been told that many were
earning from one hundred and fifty to five hundred dollars a month, and
that some of these bought homes, and afterward increased their landed
property.
The manner in which this great advance in wages was obtained is
especially worthy of note. The Miners’ Union, or Working-Men’s Beneficial
Association,—the W. B. A.,—began here, during the war, among the
employés of the three great mining companies, the Delaware, Lackawanna
and Western Railroad Company; the Delaware and Hudson Canal Company; and
the Pennsylvania Coal Company. At the time the W. B. A. was organized,
coal was rising in price, but the companies were not raising the men’s
wages. The miners felt themselves entitled to a share, the tenth or
twelfth part of the advanced price, but they did not receive it until
they called a convention. This, as I understand, was thus organized: The
hands in each mine formed a branch of the W. B. A., and each branch was
entitled to send two delegates to local conventions, and these in their
turn appointed delegates to a general convention when one was held.
In order to obtain an advance in wages, the men appointed at their
conventions committees to wait upon the general agent of each company,
and to make the same demand upon the same day, and it was always granted,
until the price had risen, as I have already stated, in 1864, to one
dollar and sixty-eight cents, its greatest height. In September of that
year, when the war was drawing to a close, and the price of coal had
begun to decline, the wages of the miners were reduced eight and a half
per cent., without causing any disturbance. By July of 1865 gradual
reductions had brought wages down from one dollar and sixty-eight cents
per car-load to one dollar and nine cents. On this decline there was a
strike among the miners in the Scranton and Wilkesbarre region.
In the preceding May a convention had been called at Scranton to take
action on the fall in wages. Many were opposed to striking. But in July
another convention was called, and on the 15th the hands of the three
great companies struck, from Wilkesbarre to Carbondale, and “stayed out”
eleven weeks. The companies did not raise their wages before they resumed
work, but they began again with the understanding that their pay would be
raised, and an advance of five cents per car-load was made in a few days,
bringing the price up to one dollar and fourteen cents.
After this the men were quiet for over three years, but as wages
declined, by January, 1869, great discontent was felt among the miners.
There was no outbreak, however, until April, when the men of the two
greatest mining companies suspended. These companies, the Delaware,
Lackawanna and Western; and the Delaware and Hudson, when in full
operation, sent at that time one hundred and eighteen thousand tons
of coal weekly to market. The withdrawal of a mass like this must, of
course, influence the price, and the Pennsylvania Coal Company (the third
in size here, and employing about one-sixth of the hands) profited by
the withdrawal of the other companies, and, figuratively speaking, made
hay while the sun shone. The Miners’ Union could not have been strong
then, or the men of this company would not have worked while the others
were out. It has been remarked that while prices continued to rise, the
miners were delighted with the Union, but when wages began to fall, their
interest in it fell too. However this may have been, the Pennsylvania
Coal Company, in the strike of 1869, continued to work, and raised the
men’s wages about once a month, until they amounted to one dollar and
thirty-one cents the car-load.
The two other companies probably tired, if corporations can be said to
tire, of seeing the Pennsylvania Coal Company carrying on business thus,
and it seems that hints were conveyed to the outstanding men by agents
of their employers that they had made no organized application to the
companies, informing them of their wishes. At length committees from the
men called upon the agents of the companies, and offered to go to work
at the rate at which the other men were working. To these the agents
answered, “We are always ready to pay what our neighbors are paying;” and
the men went to work at one dollar and thirty-one cents. This was not a
long-protracted strike, and the men were successful in obtaining nearly
all which they demanded.
These good prices continued for over a year, partly it seems, for a
reason to me unexplained, and in part because the price at which the
men went to work, although a high one, was actually not so high as the
companies could then afford to pay, so greatly was the stock of coal
reduced and the market-price raised.
Wages continued then at one dollar and thirty-one cents, when, in
November, 1870, the three companies united in notifying the men that in
one month there would be a reduction to eighty-six cents. This decline
was an immense one, over thirty per cent., and the news came upon the
miners like a thunderbolt. It would have been much better policy for the
employers to reduce the price gradually as coal declined in market.
This state of things may indicate that there is not much sympathy between
the miners and the corporations, and I am told that the men feel bitter
toward their employers from their showing so little respect for their
manhood as not to be willing to consult with them. These are tender
points with some in the Scranton region. You will find the foremen not
very anxious to talk about them, but you will be able to obtain the
admission from some here that the men feel their interest to be at
variance with their employers’.
When the end of the month of notification arrived, the men declined to
take the sum offered, and suspended. They claimed that the matter of
wages should be determined by a sliding-scale, adjusted to the price of
coal in the market, and this they called a basis. They also desired to
have an agent to examine the books of the companies, and to see what
their profits really were. The first demand is so reasonable that we
can scarcely see why it should be refused, and it is granted in the
Schuylkill County region.
This sliding-scale, or the basis, became a rallying-cry during the long
and trying conflict which followed. And they stuck to this until they
were starved out.
On their side, the companies thought that strikes were coming too often
(the interval having been about sixteen or eighteen months); and now, as
we have said, the three companies were united.
The miners, however, had not all been in favor of suspending work. Some
of the leading Welshmen would have preferred to compromise by offering to
go on at a reduction less than that demanded by the companies, but these
were overborne by others, who were very violent in the meetings of the W.
B. A., crying out, “Strike! strike!” until, I was told, it was as much
as a man’s life was worth to oppose them. So the pacific or conservative
Welshmen were outvoted by the more reckless of their own nation and
the rest. But once engaged, the Welsh were the most determined, being
unwilling to yield until they had effected something. Says one, “I
believe they would have held out to this day;” and another, “I believe
they would have emigrated: they had strong talk of going out West in
squads.” As it happened, if we may call it chance, the only blood shed in
the struggle was that of two Welshmen.
The Miners’ Union did not anticipate that the companies would hold out as
long as they did; but they seem to have been firmly banded, like the men,
and they had the power of capital on their side. “It was like a big war,”
says an acquaintance,—“a six months’ war.”
It seems to the writer that in this contest, however, the men were
struggling against fate; for as paper money advanced in value and
approached to gold, so, as a general rule, must the price of everything
decline that was paid for in that paper money, including wages, the price
of labor.
The men were not literally starved out, it seems; for one interested
says, “I heard of no miners that were suffering for provisions, though
some of them were pretty hard up. The store-keepers took the miners’
side, because it was their interest to do so. The bigger pay the miner
got, the more he had to spend in the stores.”
Of course the time must have come when the tradesmen could no longer give
credit, and we readily infer that that point must have been nearly or
entirely reached when the men had been out near six months.
During this period families were, of course, much restricted. They
could probably get along with no new clothing, or but little; and the
store-keepers trusted them for flour, tea, sugar, tobacco, and the
other little _necessaries_ of life. Such, too, as had lots, could raise
potatoes, cabbage, etc., but some of them became deeply involved in debt.
However, the times had been so good that probably at least half the men
had means to support themselves for a little time, and they grasped at
any work they could find anywhere. As the strike began in December,
however, the amount of work must have been small. Had not the other
anthracite regions become involved, their comrades might have sent them
funds, or given them a share of work; but this was impossible. The funds
of the Miners’ Union, the W. B. A., were very small. They were unable to
support the men in such a time. Nor were they supported by the public.
Says a friend, “Not one miner in this region went to the poor-house,
nor do I believe that one applied to the commissioners of the poor for
out-door assistance. They would not have thought of such a thing, for
they believed that the sympathies of the commissioners were with their
employers.”
About once a month a committee would call upon Mr. ⸺, the agent of the ⸺
Company (and doubtless upon the agents of the others also) and inquire
whether the company would grant them a basis on the former prices, but
they effected nothing.
The Irishmen were poorer, and they were sooner ready to yield. At length
a gentleman of Scranton induced thirty men to “break away from the
Union,” and to go to work in a mine belonging to a company smaller than
the three mentioned. These men were almost entirely Irish. They went
to work daily about seven in the morning, returning about five in the
evening, carrying arms, and were accompanied by soldiers, and led by
their employer.
When the news spread among the miners that a body of men had gone to work
in a certain spot, the miners would gather upon the way to see who these
were, and the on-looking crowd was swelled by boys, and perhaps by women.
As the men who had yielded made their appearance, the cry arose among the
spectators, “Here come the blacklegs!”—_i.e._, the turncoats or traitors.
One evening as these men were thus returning along the street in Hyde
Park, it is said that a boy on the street threw a stone. One of the men
attacked turned round, and, discharging his musket, shot two men through
the body with the same ball, and killed them instantly.
At least one of these men was a miner, and was or had been a Methodist
local preacher; the other was going to get medicine for a sick child.
Both were Welshmen. There was immediately an immense excitement. While
the man who fired the shot was being taken to the magistrates, some one
cried out, “Kill him!” but others waved them back, saying, “Let the law
do him justice.”
The magistrate, a Welshman, committed him to jail at Wilkesbarre,
whence he was bailed out, and when brought to trial was defended by the
companies, was acquitted, and lives peaceably in the neighborhood now. I
tell the tale as it was told to me.
So the men gave in. This bloody scene and the ensuing funerals probably
broke the doughty spirit of the Welshmen. They gave in and went to work
in the latter part of May, not entirely six months from the outbreak
of the contest. They began at eighty-six cents, the price which the
companies had fixed; but on the 1st of June their pay was raised to
ninety-three cents.
Can strikes be prevented? In speaking to a miner about the great
suspension, I asked whether it would not be better for the company and
the men to meet and settle these matters.
“It could not be done,” he answered. The miners do not seem to have any
desire to buy into the stock of the companies. Is it for fear that, as a
miner’s wife said, “the big fishes would eat the little fishes up?”
But if the miner does not thus co-operate with his employers, or in
the manner that the poorest sailor on a whaling vessel once did with
the owners, the principle of joint-stock is not unknown to them. An
intelligent man, once a miner, tells me that all working men are now
aspiring to form co-operative associations for the purpose of carrying on
mining and iron-works themselves. There are iron-mills on this system, he
said, at Danville, and a number of furnaces and rolling-mills in Ohio.
These are on the same plan as the renowned works at Rochdale, England,
that have been in successful operation for many years.
There is, too, a co-operative store at Hyde Park, Scranton. This store
has been in operation for several years, and pays stockholders from
twelve to fifteen per cent. on stock and purchase. The majority of the
stockholders are Welsh, and nearly all are miners.
IRISH FARMERS.
In 1881 I spent four weeks in Ireland, principally in the south, in the
county Cork. Desiring to learn the condition of the farmer who himself
follows the plough, I inquired among various classes of people. I boarded
four days with a farmer, and about as long at a castle; down in the
southwest I talked with a citizen who had been boycotted; travelling
third-class on railways, I conversed with other passengers; in Dublin
with fellow-boarders; in London with a prominent Irish politician. Of
these interviews I took notes, so that I am not obliged to depend alone
on memory for my simple story. I try to give conversations, but must
allow the reader to draw inferences.
For many years I have known farmers living in comfort and accumulating
property by the labor of their own hands upon their own soil. Such are
Quaker farmers in Chester County and “Pennsylvania Dutch” in Lancaster.
In Ireland I wished to visit a similar class. But I found no one who owns
the land he ploughs, or ploughs that which he owns.
I was assured in Philadelphia by persons knowing Ireland that I could not
find the house of a working farmer in which I would be willing to live.
This discouraged me, but by means of introductions from two or three
young women hying at domestic service, I obtained a good opening into the
land. One gave me a letter to her confessor in Cork, whom we will call
the “Riverend Lawrence O’Byrne.” I found him intelligent and genial; in
person rather tall and thin but with a color in his cheek. He was at a
loss to recommend me to any working farmer’s house, saying that I should
live on potatoes and skimmed milk; but I thought that I could live so for
some days if those people did all their lives.
In further conversation, Mr. O’Byrne lamented the degradation caused by
liquor, and declared that the bulk of the Irish people cannot be induced
to take any interest in lyceums or intellectual culture.
Nearly thus he described to me the aim of the farmers in the present
agitation. It is fifty years or more since Griffith, an agent of the
English government, made a valuation of Irish lands. Since then rents
have risen in some cases one hundred per cent., and the Land League is
trying to reduce them to Griffith’s valuation.
When tenants are evicted, others are forbidden to take them at the price
demanded, and the evicted are supported by contributions to the Land
League. I myself call it an agricultural strike.
Mr. O’Byrne says that there is much competition in renting farms, no
other business being open to the people. This confirms the opinion of a
publisher in Philadelphia, who had attributed the state of Irish affairs
to the want of manufactures.
* * * * *
Mr. O’Byrne kindly made inquiry for me, and I found a farmer willing
to take a boarder. To see him I went by rail to a certain station. Near
by I entered a humble dwelling, where a man was working at his trade,
besides being a petty government officer. He talked pleasantly on Irish
affairs, and said that some landlords have granted a reduction in rent
of twenty-five per cent. I repeated what an editor in New York had
said of the present condition of Irish affairs,—that bad harvests, the
competition of American beef and mutton, and the consequent decrease in
the value of real estate had made the farmers unable to pay their rent.
The Irishman admitted that American meat is much cheaper than theirs,
but said that it had not brought down the price of their own. He said
that four or five landlords and agents had been killed; at this a woman
present smiled; and a man added that it is a pity there were not more.
This was the only sanguinary remark that I heard a poor Irishman make.
At the railroad station the train from the west was behind time, and
the agent suspected disturbances. When it came it was mostly filled
with soldiers, who called out for water; but who reported no immediate
disturbance. At this station I was met by the farmer and his wife with
whom I was to lodge, who took me home in their cart. I call him Maurice
Collins. He was not very poor for an Irish cultivator. He was doubtless
considered quite fortunate in owning a horse and cart, even if the cart
had no box and no seats, but was simply a bed or frame. Upon it lay
a great bag of corn-meal, upon which sat Mrs. Collins and myself. I
steadied myself down-hill with one arm at her waist, while my right hand
grasped a projection of the cart. I expressed surprise at the number of
ruined and abandoned dwellings, for we were within ten miles of one of
the largest towns in Ireland. Collins said that farms once separate have
been thrown together. When the population of a country falls thirty-seven
per cent. in about thirty-four years, or from over eight millions to
about five, it is not strange that abandoned houses are found when
built like these, of stone. Dwellings of mud and straw are more readily
demolished. Collins’s house was on rather a sterile hill. To reach it we
rose above the lower and more fertile ground. On our arrival a chair was
brought out to enable us to alight from the cart. On entering the house
we were followed by a young man, who staggered under the weight of the
great five-bushel sack on which we had sat in the wagon.
There were twelve in the family,—six boys, one girl at home and one away,
the old aunt, and the domestic. The living room had an uneven floor of
earth. Within the front door stood the slop-barrel. A dresser of dishes
stood on the left, and beyond it there was a red-painted, two-storied
hen-coop. A hen and chickens occupied the lower story, and a setting
hen the upper one. A second door faced the front door. It generally
stood open, discovering a little muddy yard. A great settle or couch of
wood stood on the same side of the room. Beyond it, on a low seat, sat
a little fair, weak-eyed old woman, the aunt. She sat beside a small
fire on the hearth, holding the baby. With her left hand she turned a
crank and wheel, which by some invisible agency created an underground
draught to kindle the fire. The fire was generally of coals. It bore no
proportion to the fireplace, which occupied a large part of the third
side of the room. I saw the girl hang over the fire a large Dutch oven,
called here a bastible. It was a round iron vessel with a lid. On its top
she kindled a fire of furze, and hung the bastible to bake the large cake
within, made of flour not fully screened, sour milk, and soda.
At nightfall the barefooted little ones gathered to the blaze, although
it was in the month of June. The babe in arms was Tim, the three-year-old
Norah, and the five-year-old, in trousers surmounted by a red woollen
frock and blue apron, was Dennis. At one end of the long fireplace
stood the heavy cradle. A steep staircase, almost like a ladder with
a railing, led to the rooms above, for this house, roofed with slate
instead of thatch, had a loft with a board floor. Wet weather makes the
uneven earthen floors inconvenient. The water gathers in little pools.
The door to my room was at the foot of the staircase. There were only two
apartments on the ground-floor.
The fourth side of the apartment was lighted by a small window and
the doorway through which we entered the house. There were only two
windows down-stairs, one in this room and one in mine. They were little
iron-barred windows. I thought that they might be taxed, but I was
mistaken. Collins told me that the glass came from England. They used to
have glass-manufactories in this country.
I had taken tea before my arrival, and Mrs. Collins gave me some milk.
She and her husband had been to Cork, where, she said, they had a cup of
tea and a penny bun at a baker’s. (The penny is about two cents.) In the
evening we had a good talk. I commented on the nice hen-house standing in
the corner, and Mrs. Collins told me that they had lost several chickens
by the fox. “And do you still have foxes in Ireland?” I asked, in some
surprise.
“We do,” she replied.
“And that is what the gentlemen hunt?”
“It is,” she said.
“And can you kill the foxes?” I inquired.
“No, ma’am,” was the reply.
This I afterward thought must be an error, as foxes are vermin; but a
gentleman born in the north of Ireland has told me that they would be
evicted for killing foxes. Sometimes hunting clubs pay for poultry killed
by foxes.
In the evening I spoke of the sun’s setting so late and our being so
far north, and asked the eldest son, a youth of fourteen, whether he
had studied geography. He said he had, but his mother told me that he
had been obliged to leave school at eleven, and her manner seemed sad
and disapproving. There are no free schools in Ireland like ours. The
poorest citizens need not pay in the national schools, but others must.
A gentleman in Dublin, who publishes a school journal, told me that
he doubted whether these schools would ever become entirely free to
the public, like those in my own State. He had never heard that such a
movement was contemplated.
In further conversation Mrs. Collins told me that they had lost seven
cows in eighteen months, and that they were nearly broken down. They had
to incur some debt to replace them, and they must meet the rent or be
thrown upon the world. Their lease would expire in about six years. Do
not these misfortunes make them dwell very near to the Divine Father, in
humble submission and prayer?
About ten o’clock in the evening the wooden table was put before the
fireplace. The old aunt had gone to bed. Collins was in one end of the
fireplace, a boy asleep in the other, and the eldest slept on the settle.
Mrs. Collins made tea and put a bowl of white sugar on the table. She
told me that sugar cost about five cents a pound (two and a halfpence).
They cut pieces off of the great cake baked in the Dutch oven, and ate
their supper without any of the precious butter, which must go to market.
Little Norah had given a low laugh when her mother handed her a bit of
warm cake without anything spread on it. Mr. and Mrs. Collins had milk in
their tea. The tea cost about forty cents a pound. Collins helped himself
quite freely to the cheap and nutritious sugar, one of the blessings
which the poor man owes to free trade.
Collins and his wife gave up their own room to me. It was the other
room on the ground-floor. It also had an earthen floor, with perhaps
the addition of a little cement, but it was not level. There I slept,
and here were set my simple meals, more luxurious, however, than their
own. Some of the dishes were of china, which belonged to Collins’s
grandmother. I had plenty of milk, eggs, butter, tea, and baker’s
bread. They gave me goat’s milk, richer than cow’s milk, for tea. For
me especially Mrs. Collins procured meat, a bit of jowl, but I am not
partial to it. They did not, however, go to the extravagance of eating
it themselves. I was told of a farmer’s family who had jowl and cabbage
for a Sunday dinner. A watch was set for the agent, lest, seeing such
evidences of prosperity, he might raise the rent. Collins and his wife
seldom ate meat. He told me that he had two eggs in the morning and the
mistress one. They raised turkeys. Twenty-four were running with one hen.
The servant fed them with a mixture of nettles, corn mush, and thick
milk, but she said they scarcely ever ate a turkey even at Christmas.
In the morning, at breakfast, Mrs. Collins had some cold mush or
stirabout cut up and boiled in sheep’s milk. This saved bread and tea. I
observed one day within the back door, and by the chicken-coop, a little
trough with corn-meal. There seemed to be always food there. The chickens
came in and helped themselves. Seeing a fowl eating, I said to the aunt,
“That rooster ought to be fat.” She did not understand me, and I tried
again:
“That cock ought to be fat, he eats so much.”
“He do ate a dale, God bless him,” she said. She meant “prosper him,” I
think. Some neighbors visited the family one morning, and from my room I
heard earnest talk. They spoke of the rumored arrest of Father Murphy,
which had caused much excitement. One man came in who was full of talk of
the Cork races on the preceding day. At first, Mrs. Collins allowed him
to think that they were present, but they went to sell butter, and did
not go to the race-ground.
The girl swept the earthen floor with a bunch of twigs without a handle.
I mention these little things to show the poverty of the country. They
had no almanacs at Collins’s and no clock, except a Connecticut one,
which did not run. Collins once intimated that it was painful to have
such a poor harness for his horse.
One day I walked over to the school. I passed a house licensed to sell
beer and spirits to be drunk on the premises. It was whitewashed, and
looked better than most of the farm-houses. The boys told me that tea and
sugar could be bought there. Bread was sold, but I could buy no sticks of
candy for the children. A carpenter-shop and a blacksmith’s forge stood
near this public-house, but I saw no country stores like ours at home.
The Collins family carried water some distance uphill from a spring. This
part of the country is supplied from springs. They had excellent roads,
apparently macadamized, and free from tolls. When I spoke in Cork of the
great cost of such roads I was told that they were probably made after
the famine, when the government gave laborers employment. The roads,
however, seemed deserted. Once I saw a man on horseback, and occasionally
market carts were seen, but of plain carriages, like those of the farmers
in Eastern Pennsylvania, I remember none. Poverty hangs like a cloud over
the land. Yet the people seem honest. The servant-girl at Collins’s said
to me, “Nothing do ever be taken.” I wished to know whether it was safe
to leave my towels to dry on furze bushes near the road. Afterward, in
a gentleman’s house,—a gentleman who lived in a disturbed section, and
whose tenants were not paying rent,—I was told that they would not be
afraid to have plate in the house; the people there were honest.
Collins and his wife were trying to better their condition by going to
a market-town and buying butter, which she brought home and reworked
and packed into firkins to sell in Cork. This consumed so much of their
time that it was hard for me to see much profit in it. They may have
received five dollars a week more than the butter cost them. Mrs. Collins
was pleased in telling me of one firkin or tub that brought the highest
market price. But during their absence the elder boys were left alone at
the farm-work. Nor did I see the great pressure of labor found among our
Pennsylvania German farmers. This may be in part owing to open winters
in Ireland, which enable the former to work the year round, in part to
the fact that the patient, ox-like labor of the German is not a trait of
the Irishman, and partly to a national disregard of time, producing such
a proverb as “Hours were made for slaves.” When I apologized for having
talked so long to a poor man and his wife, she answered, “Sure, many a
year we’ll rest in the grave.” Calling on my friend Collins and his wife
before I left the county, I found they had gone with their horse to the
funeral of a much-respected neighbor, and as they were so long absent,
had doubtless accompanied the funeral to the place of interment, twenty
miles. A manufacturer in the county Cork said that the Irish girls in the
mills are not greedy enough. They would rather have less wages and more
play. They were not indolent, but a bit of fun would call them off. A
Quaker lady in Cork said to me, “None of the Irish are thrifty. They do
not value their time.” And afterward, “They are a thrifty people in the
north. They make use of their time.” She herself was born in Ireland,
but when she spoke of the Irish she did not mean to include herself.
When any one called the Irish lazy, I replied that they did not seem so
in America. They left their temperate climate, came to our country, and
constructed railroads under our broiling suns. I heard in Ireland that
girls who go to America say, “If we had worked as hard in Ireland as we
do in America, we would have been well off there.”
I spoke of Mr. and Mrs. Collins’s drinking tea at supper. Once when they
were absent, Mary, the servant, came into my room to hide the teapot,
lest the boys should want sugar and bread.
“What do you give them for dinner?” I asked.
“Stirabout and new milk,” she replied.
“Potatoes?” I suggested.
“They do not care about potatoes,” she said.
Our corn-meal, among its many other Irish uses, seems likely to supersede
the national dish. What a change since 1847, the year of the potato
famine! This family used Indian meal because it was cheaper than oatmeal,
but they did not like it so well. As for the inferior animals, they
occasionally give horses corn-meal, but generally feed them in winter on
oats, turnips, bran, and hay. Indian meal and bran are fed to cows with
young calves. To pigs corn-meal is given the year round, occasionally
adding a few boiled potatoes, the sortings. They are fattened on meal
and sour milk when it can be spared. Poultry abounds here, and Ireland
exports large quantities of eggs. I never saw corn-meal at home stand so
constantly in the chicken-trough as at Collins’s.
I have said that the domestic came into my room to hide the teapot. The
cup which cheers but not inebriates is in immense demand here. The old
aunt wanted tea. The children worried the girl for tea. The beggar-woman
insisted on tea. The three-year-old Norah says she has a pain and
wants tea. It might be a very happy thing for Ireland if the people
would confine themselves to such cups as these; but, while all other
manufactures are languishing in the county Cork, malt liquor and whiskey
distilleries are flourishing. (However, Scotland, a Quaker told me,
excelled Ireland in regular drinking.) As to what constitutes moderate
drinking, I was amused by the remarks of a girl in Cork. Speaking of
young men, she said that she did not object to a bottle of porter at
dinner and one in the evening, but seven or eight bottles a day she
thought gluttony and a sin. Porter, however, is not dear. On draught it
sells at about eight cents the quart imperial. Whiskey is quite another
thing. I hear that the tax on a gallon is twelve shillings and ninepence,
or about three dollars. It has been said that Ireland pays more for
liquor than for rent; yet estimates given me show that while over nine
millions of pounds sterling are spent yearly on intoxicating drink, the
rent of the country amounts to thirteen million pounds. Let no one jump
to the conclusion that it is the working farmers who expend this great
amount, for doubtless the small landlords are great consumers.
Distillers and brewers are great men in such a country. I heard of
several celebrated Protestant churches indebted to them for funds. A
distiller gave twenty thousand pounds and a brewer ten thousand pounds
to assist in building or renewing an Episcopal cathedral in Cork. It is
said to have cost Guinness, the great brewer, two hundred thousand pounds
to remodel St. Patrick’s Episcopal Church in Dublin and to build the
appurtenant houses. And a distiller gave a great sum to repair Christ
Church in the same city.
To return to my farmer, Collins, in whose house I saw no intoxicating
liquor drunk. He rented seventy acres, of which twenty were bog, nearly
worthless; the peat for burning being all cut from the bog land in
this neighborhood. (Nor is the county Cork, taken altogether, a rich
agricultural tract. Lewis’s Topographical Dictionary, 1837, gave the
acreage at about one million seven hundred thousand, of which about seven
hundred thousand acres were bog and mountain.)
Collins’s lease was for thirty-one years, of which six remained. He has
built the part of the house in which we live, having slate-roofed it. He
has also built a stone stable and a small dairy, with slate roofs. The
landlord gave him almost nothing toward these improvements, not even the
flooring of the loft. The stone Collins got off the place. When he came
here the walls of the fields were mostly of clay or mud, and he has built
stone ones. In this neighborhood the walls are mostly built of stone. In
some cases they are covered with earth, and grass and other plants are
growing on them. “These walls,” I said to him, “must take up a great deal
of room. That one beside your house is a yard across the top.”
* * * * *
I have given Collins’s rent at about one hundred and seventy dollars
for seventy acres. Land sold in fee simple, apparently a rare thing,
generally brings twenty times the annual rental. Yet, as a lawyer in
Cork informed me, the average value here now, under present depressing
circumstances, is not over seventy-five dollars per acre.
I have spoken of some of Collins’s land as of inferior quality. His
report of its produce, I therefore infer, is above the average crop.
He says that on this land wheat ought to bring fifteen hundred-weight
per acre, the hundred-weight of one hundred and twelve pounds. (This
is twenty-eight bushels, which would be considered a fair crop in the
wheat-growing region of Pennsylvania.)
Collins says that on land of best quality in good years wheat is expected
to bring twenty-five hundred-weight. On his own land oats frequently
brings fourteen hundred-weight to the acre, or about forty-three bushels.
This land produces about one and one-half tons of hay, and better land
about two tons per acre. A patch of potatoes is called a potato-garden,
even if it contain several acres. The manner in which potatoes are
planted was strange to my eye. The land is laid out in beds about four
feet wide. Between those beds are deep trenches one and a half feet wide.
These beds or ridges are made by turning six sods in with the plough.
There are four rows of potatoes to a bed. These are hand-weeded, and
never hoed. The people manure as heavily as they can for potatoes; and
then, without additional manure, put the land into wheat. Barn-yard,
guano, and artificial manures are used. On Collins’s soil potatoes turn
out about five tons to the acre, or about one hundred and eighty-six
bushels. Potatoes have degenerated in Ireland; but of late a new kind,
the Champion, has encouraged the people much. At an exposition in Cork in
1880, some farmers claimed to have raised from thirteen to fifteen tons
per acre, or about five hundred bushels. Turnips are manured, sowed in
drills or rows in May and June, thinned, hoed, and hand-weeded. They turn
out twelve tons to the acre. Two men can fork out an acre in a day, and
two men can top an acre a day, leaving the tops on the ground.
Domestic animals sell high for food. Beeves sometimes weigh thirteen and
fourteen hundred-weight, and bring about three pounds per hundred-weight.
Good fat calves of three months sell for five pounds. Fat sheep, weighing
dressed about one hundred and twenty pounds, will bring three pounds,
or near fifteen dollars. Mrs. Collins had an exceptional pig, supposed
to be a fine bacon pig, lean and fat well mixed, or a “ribbon” pig. (An
Irishman is said to have fed his pig one day and starved him the next,
that there might be a streak of fat and streak of lean.) That pig of Mrs.
Collins’s weighed when dressed one hundred and eighty-two pounds, and she
got four pounds and ten shillings for it, or about twenty cents a pound.
In view of such prices the saying of my Cork landlady is not strange:
“May the Lord of heaven spare us the American meat! It keeps the market
within our reach.”
Fruit did not seem plentiful in the county Cork. “The children would
pluck gooseberries,” was a reason given for not having them. A certain
priest was supposed to have strawberries and gooseberries in his
garden, but probably fruit-loving children did not disturb those of his
reverence. When a retired lawyer took me into his garden he unlocked the
gate. He had cut down an old orchard and would not plant another, because
the neighboring children would get at the fruit. Thus, the saying of the
domestic, “Nothing do ever be taken,” does not seem to apply to fruit.
* * * * *
I had several conversations with Collins. He freely expressed his
disapproval or dislike of the British government. Working farmers rarely
or never subscribe for a paper, but often buy one at a market-town.
Collins had got one in Cork, and wished me to see a speech in it. He said
that it alluded to a manufacturer at Blarney who took a prize at our
Centennial.
“What would you think,” said Collins, “when people manufactured goods
that they could not send them right off from here to market, but must
send them to Liverpool, and have them unloaded and carted there, and then
sent back, causing that expense? Would you think that was just?”
“That is not so now?” I asked.
“Indeed it is; that manufacturer’s goods must all be sent that way; and
would you think that was justice?”
“It is pretty hard on him,” I answered.
“And is it justice?” he insisted. “You shall have the paper and read the
speech.”
In Cork I called to see Mr. Mahony, the manufacturer referred to,
who told me that there is no government regulation to hamper their
manufactures in any way. It is doubtless a matter of convenience to ship
from a great port like Liverpool, vessels not caring to stop and take on
small quantities at Queenstown.[167]
* * * * *
As Collins, his wife, and I were riding on the cart, going to the
market-town for butter, I asked whether he expected that there would be a
time when there would be no rents to pay. He answered that he did not.
“I understood you to say the other evening that you did,” I continued.
“No,” he replied; “there has been a proposition for the government to
take the lands, and the people to pay rent for thirty years——”
“And then the land be theirs?” I interrupted.
“Yes” he answered; “but they will never grant that. More moderate things
they have refused. All we want is reduced rents, as the people can no
longer pay high ones.”
On our return journey I had an admirable opportunity to talk with him as
he walked by the wagon. I had called on a magistrate in the market-town,
a Protestant gentleman, who had seemed very ignorant or uncommunicative.
He had, however, suggested over-population as a reason for the condition
of Irish affairs. This magistrate bore a military title. I handed to him
the introduction given me at Cork by the “Riverend Lawrence O’Byrne.”
Collins had suggested an officer of the market as suitable to introduce
me. But I was in haste, and carried the letter. The magistrate said that
he did not know the person. “No,” said Collins, on my return, “you were
wrong in two things. You said you were from Philadelphia, and they are
afraid of the Americans, or do not like them, and Father O’Byrne is not
their kind of man.”
I told Collins that some papers in America had said that their
magistrates should be elected, as with us in some States. He replied
that they are appointed from the aristocracy, the land-holding class,
and, of course, in cases of dispute between landlords and tenants, their
sympathies are with their own class.
“If you were in America we should say that your head is level,” I said;
but I had to interpret the slang.
“There has been a change in Ireland,” he added, “within some years.
Formerly the wealthy classes and the learned could make _jupes_ of the
Irish people, but of late years there has been more education, and the
people see things differently. Ireland was a dark country before the
Catholic emancipation. Before the passage of that act no Catholic could
hold office in this country. Now many places are open to them in the
excise and elsewhere.”
Collins intimated that the English are wrong in fearing the Catholic
priests, for they counsel the people to peaceful measures, and they
are the only persons who have sufficient authority over them to quiet
them down. I spoke of Father Murphy and of priests who had presided at
Land-League meetings.
“Yes,” said Collins, “when peaceful measures were advised.”
I replied that the government would not trust them because it thought
that the people might become excited and burst from the priests’ control,
and because they feared that the priests might deceive them. The remark
did not please Collins. He said that the people were excited at the
report of Father Murphy’s arrest because they are so united to their
priests. “One is already in prison,” he said, “Father Sheehey; and many
meetings have been held to petition the government to release him and
other leaders of the Land-League movement.”
In a disturbed region in another part of the county Cork I was told of
a priest who had refused to join the League. The members would not
send their children to the national school under his supervision, and
the people thus opposed to him did not call him Canon Desmond, but only
Desmond. On the other hand, I was told of two influential priests lately
sent out of Cork by the bishop for being too active in the Land League.
They were placed in country curacies—promotion backward—on account of
the influence of a wealthy Catholic clique, which does not in politics
hold to the Conservative, late Lord Beaconsfield party, “like the
Protestants,” but holds to the Liberal party, which is midway between the
Conservatives and Land-Leaguers. It was added that one of these priests
had gone to Rome to lay his case before the pope, not having been able to
get the archbishop to interfere. The archbishop did not think it prudent
to entertain the complaint.
Another of Collins’s remarks may seem unjust to the government. He said
that men’s constitutions have changed. They are no longer able to live on
potatoes. They must have Indian meal and bread and tea. “I think I would
have been dead,” he said, “if I had been kept on potatoes; and when men’s
constitutions are altered, any laws the government can make cannot have
effect.” But it is free trade in Great Britain and Ireland that makes
bread and tea cheap.
The great domestic manufactories of the people demand a word. Collins
wore to market one day a gray frieze coat (there pronounced frize).
Calling at the house, I found an old woman engaged in spinning wool for
the boys’ clothing,—wool that had been beautifully carded at a factory.
Collins’s coat seemed to be black and white wool mixed, but the frieze
is often dyed blue or red, and is also used for women’s petticoats. The
question of the want of manufactures is a great and somewhat puzzling
one. At Dublin it was surprising to find that even the matches in my
chamber were marked London. The want of coal has been given as one
reason of the want of manufactories, but there is great and abundant
water-power. The want of capital is also given as a cause of the lack
of manufactures, and if we look into this point we come to two of the
open sores of Ireland,—absent capitalists and want of national unity. In
Guy’s Almanac may be found a list of landholders of one thousand acres
and upwards in the county Cork, leaseholders of over ninety years being
put down as absolute owners. There are three hundred and seventy-five
of these landholders, of whom about two hundred have residences in the
county, and the remainder are entirely non-resident,—nearly fifty per
cent.! As regards the want of capital, I asked a Protestant banker why
they did not combine and form companies to manufacture. He replied,
“As soon as eight Irishmen combine to do a thing, nine will combine to
oppose them.” The want of unity is owing, at least in part, to their
being still two nations, if I may be allowed to say so, the conquerors
and the conquered. Methodists and Quakers born in Ireland may be heard
speaking contemptuously of the Irish. A woman of Scotch Presbyterian
origin remarked, “It’s a common saying, it’s a blessed land and a cursed
people.” A Friend in Dublin said to me that the Protestants of the North
are as bitter as the Catholics, “and more blamable, as they have the
Scriptures.” And I find the statement in my note-book that those who
desired to be considered the “upper ten,” and Protestants from country
localities, speak very contemptuously of the Land League. Finally, the
laws are unequal, the qualification for voters being higher in Ireland
than in England.
On manufactures an Irish gentleman said to me, “There are lots of
American shoes brought to Cork. Blacksmith’s tools, agricultural
implements, and carpenter’s tools are brought to this country from
America. There’s a finish and a style about them that they don’t do
here.” A Catholic manufacturer attributed the want of manufactures to
the lack of skill and knowledge in the people; but does this account for
the decline in manufactures? As lately as 1837 there were one hundred
thousand hides tanned yearly at Cork. It had seven iron-foundries, five
factories of spades and shovels, numerous and extensive paper-mills, and
two large houses making flint-glass.[168] But where are most of them
now? My sprightly little landlady at Cork, a Catholic, expressed in very
simple terms a natural reason for this decline, saying, “We want energy,
for there’s not an atom of trade that the English did not spoil. There
was a cotton-factory here in Cork, and the English sent their goods in
and sold them a half-penny lower. They put their foot upon these things,
bless them! They have crushed us out of the market in various ways. There
is a little screed of linen manufacture in the North, but I believe that
they cannot make it as good in England.”
However, Mr. Mahony, a successful manufacturer of tweeds at Blarney, says
that manufactures are reviving in Ireland. He thinks that three hundred
power-looms have been established within fifteen years. There is also
ship-building in the north.
* * * * *
I talked with another working farmer. He had a tidy place near Cork,
perhaps the neatest farm-house I saw, although there was no floor and no
window in the principal room. Two hearty children and a domestic were
present. The wife had been confined that morning, and the husband’s
breath indicated potations. “Such,” said my landlady, who accompanied
me, “do not employ a physician, but a ‘knowledgable woman.’ She is not
recommended for skill in her profession, but ‘she is lucky.’ Had we gone
into the room where the baby was, it would have been insisted on that we
should take a glass of punch or we’d take away the beauty of the baby.”
Dan Donovan, the father, said that he had sixty-five acres, all tillable,
for which he paid the landlord one hundred and forty-two pounds yearly.
He was also obliged to pay twelve pounds a year to the widow of the man
who rented the farm before him. His taxes amounted to about twenty-five
pounds, if not more, making the whole outlay in money about eight hundred
and fifty dollars a year for sixty-five acres. He had been there about
four years, and was only a yearly tenant, but he had manured the farm
and put it in heart. That he was one of the very thriving farmers was
evidenced by his stock of eight cows, eight calves, a pair of horses and
a foal, a pair of donkeys, and twelve pigs. He employed more hands than
an American would employ on so small a farm,—four “boys” or laborers at
six shillings a week and their diet and lodging, which cost him as much
more. He told us that he could not get ahead at all. “I am in debt to
my master. He’s a very intelligent man and fond of me. When I paid last
year’s rent the landlord promised some abatement this year.”
Donovan is a voter. To a person of experience I mentioned how many hands
Donovan employed. He answered, “He cannot get along with less, as he
hauls manure from the city and hand-weeds.” The speaker himself has four
persons hand-weeding grain-fields, “taking out thistles and dock-roots
that a previous tenant left as a boon.”
On another walk I saw two men beside the road, one of them a remarkably
neat old man, a farmer. They confirmed what I had heard, that very few
around there could afford to save their hay and straw and feed cattle
during the winter to manure their farms. “How do they manage, then?” I
asked.
“Like that man,” pointing to a handsome field opposite; “let land at five
pounds an acre to those who have manure-pits.”
Such, I understand, are men who, having donkey-carts, go around Cork
gathering from houses the offal and garbage to throw into these pits.
I have said that Donovan was a voter, and this brings up the most serious
complaint that the Irish have against the British government,—the
inequality of the suffrage. This inequality does not exist in country
districts. In counties in both countries the payment of an annual rent
of twelve pounds entitles a man to vote for members of Parliament. But
as Ireland is much poorer, doubtless the number of these voters is less.
The inequality spoken of exists in boroughs. In England those living
in towns have household suffrage, and even the lodger franchise; but in
Irish towns the parliamentary voter must pay four pounds rent.
I have seen an estimate that in England two men out of five are voters;
and in Ireland only one out of five is a voter. As to the operation of
this high property qualification, we may observe that the county of
Cork, having a population in 1871 of over five hundred thousand, returns
under fifteen thousand votes. The city, having within the parliamentary
boundary nearly ninety-eight thousand, gives under five thousand votes!
But here is an illustration of the old rotten borough system of England:
The county of Cork, with over fourteen thousand voters, elects two
members at large. The city of Cork, with over four thousand six hundred
voters, elects two members, while four boroughs in the county elect
each a member; Bandon having four hundred and thirty voters, Mallow two
hundred and ninety-three, Youghal two hundred and eighty-nine, Kinsale
one hundred and ninety-four.
If, now, we come to teachers as voters, I hear that of the teachers of
Ireland not more than one-twentieth can vote for members. This probably
refers to teachers of national schools, nearly resembling our public
schools.
* * * * *
I boarded some days at a castle, the residence of a gentleman who
formerly belonged to one of the learned professions. Had his tenants
been paying rent, it is possible that I should not have been received
as a boarder. To this castle I went by rail. On the way I saw soldiers,
of course, but they were so common that I hardly noticed them. The
castle was a handsome stone building in a grove. The wall of the old
part measured six feet in the embrasures of the windows. The new part
measured three feet. I was shown into a great parlor, barely furnished,
with a turf fire in the grate. It was in June. I call my host Mr. Loftus.
The family were Protestant and Conservative, holding to the Church of
Ireland, as the Episcopal Church is called since its disestablishment.
The tenants of Mr. Loftus sent a delegation to him. They offered rent on
the basis of Griffith’s valuation, which Mr. Loftus declined. He offered
to allow them about one-fourth of the proposed reduction, or over sixteen
per cent. on the rate of rent. But they went away without accepting his
offer. Not to receive his rents was inconvenient for him, to say the
least, as he had annuities to pay and bills to meet. Here I may add that
a lawyer in Cork told me that the present unsettled state of affairs
puts everybody on his guard against spending money, and so the laborers
suffer. Some landlords have gone without their rent for two years,
perhaps longer. Thus the bottom seems to be dropping out of society.
Another peculiarity in Irish affairs is the subletting of land; thus I
heard of a farmer who has three landlords above him. To begin at the top,
Mr. Prior lets land to the Osbornes, who get it from him on a perpetual
lease for two shillings and sixpence per acre. The Osbornes let land to
Daniel McBride, who has bought out a lease, but who has to pay also ten
shillings and three pence per acre. Daniel McBride has other occupations,
and does not work the land himself, but rents to a farmer, who takes a
portion of the land, and pays McBride seventeen shillings per acre. As
said farmer holds thirty-six acres, possibly he has one or two laborers’
houses which he rents out to men who would thus have four landlords above
them.
To return to Mr. Loftus, the gentleman with whom I boarded. He spoke
to me of the condition of the laborers in this district, which is but
a poor one. It is natural for the aristocracy to look at this point,
when farmers who are refusing them rent are themselves receiving rent
from laborers. “The farmers of this country,” said Mr. Loftus, “are the
worst in the world. They drive the laborers very hard, and treat them
badly. Often they do not give them a house fit to put a pig into. The
houses are roofed with sods, as they want the straw for farming purposes.
Nearly all the poor people lie on straw beds, and it is hard to get straw
from the farmers. They allow the laborer about one-fourth of an acre
for his potato-patch, and charge him rent of from two pounds to four
pounds, sometimes in advance. The laborer’s wages may be counted at one
shilling a day the year round, and as his wife works in harvest, we may
reckon hers at sixpence a day for six months. I speak only of my own
neighborhood. I do not know the rates in others. There is near here a
cluster of about a dozen cabins, all upon one farm. They are mud-walled
and wretchedly roofed. A quarter of an acre of miserable boggy land is
set apart for each tenant, and there is a large pool of stagnant water
opposite each house. The tenant pays in advance three pounds and ten
shillings yearly. The farmer sometimes makes the whole rent of his farm
by what he receives from these people. I think the place a nuisance, and
liable to breed a fever. None of these houses have windows, and many
have no doors, except bunches of furze. The walls are propped up on the
outside with pieces of bogwood to keep them from tumbling down.”
The laborer, having no outbuildings, must necessarily protect his
precious domestic animals under his own roof. Most laborers have a goat,
and the poorest have poultry, but since the potato famine pigs have not
been kept as before. Sometimes, however, there is a donkey.
“The children of the laborer,” said Mr. Loftus, “go to the national
school until they are about twelve years old. In most cases they go
winter and summer without shoes and stockings. The laborer takes great
pride and pleasure in being able to send his children to school. Laborers
go to mass on Sunday, and in the afternoon may often be seen in the
house, or beside a ditch, reading a newspaper. After mass they play ball
in parties against each other, or have a fiddler and dance on the green
or under trees. And they play cards, especially in Dublin county, where
you can see them on Sundays playing on the banks of the ditches,”—i.e.,
under shelter of a wall.
“What games do they play?” I asked.
“Forty-five and spoil five,” he replied.
The laborer has no political privileges. Unless he pays a rent of over
five pounds he pays no poor-rates, and no other taxes except the county
or grand jury cess, and for malicious injuries, such as burnings. He
pays this tax, but is not allowed to vote. “Would you put us under the
Papists?” once cried an Irish Protestant on the question of universal
suffrage.
On one occasion, when Mr. Loftus’s man was driving for me, he spoke
of the desire or the efforts of the laborer to keep his little family
together, for in the unions or poor-houses the sexes are separated.
Mr. Loftus pointed out to me a building which he called the curse of
the country. It is a union. “Children,” he said, “brought up there are
well fed, and idle, and never want to work.” The number of these houses
and the amount of money paid to sustain them seem almost incredible.
Mr. Loftus’s district is very heavily taxed, about five shillings in
the pound, or twenty-five per cent. on the valuation of a man’s annual
income. The farmer pays this rate, but the landlord allows him half. The
county of Cork, with a population of about five hundred thousand, has
sixteen poor-houses. The one in Mr. Loftus’s district contains about
four hundred inmates, and the one in Cork over one thousand. The Cork
poor-rate amounts to from two and one-quarter to four shillings a pound
annually on every pound valuation of houses and lands, but the valuation
for taxes is only about sixty per cent. of the annual income.
When the country is poorest these taxes are heaviest. Very few who go
into the unions ever get out, excepting children. Said a guardian of
the poor, “What causes the immense number of paupers in Ireland is the
able-bodied persons going away and leaving the old. All the lower classes
here speak of America as their home or final place of settlement. When
the people send part of the money for their children, the board of
poor-law guardians will sometimes supplement it gratuitously and send the
children out. And at their own expense the board sometimes sends out lots
of young women that are in the unions.”
The region in which Mr. Loftus lives is a disturbed one. On a recent
Sunday a Land-League meeting was to be held in the town. It had been
extensively advertised in the newspapers. On the day before the meeting
was to be held the lord lieutenant issued a proclamation forbidding it.
About two hundred dragoons and infantry and one hundred armed police
arrived at the town, bringing with them provisions, as no farmer nor
storekeeper would dare to sell any to them. One storekeeper had already
been boycotted for not joining the Land League. On the appointed Sunday,
after mass, or about one o’clock, some five or six thousand people came
together, with bands of music. Five or six Roman Catholic clergymen were
among them. The people desired still to hold the meeting by erecting a
platform on some other spot. Two stipendiary, or salaried, magistrates
were present, and with them the priests entered into an agreement that
the soldiers and police should not interfere with the people if they
listened to no speeches, but simply formed in an orderly procession and
paraded in the town. The affair went off peaceably, and the people went
quietly home, although feeling much discontent at the action of the
priests. If they had not obeyed the contract, the priests would have
retired and left them to the mercy of the armed men.
At dinner, one day, in the course of conversation, Mr. Loftus said, “The
country is well enough if it was left alone.”
“But,” said I, “you approve perhaps of one agitator, O’Connell; you like
the effects of Catholic emancipation?”
“O’Connell!” he cried; “the best man Ireland ever produced; a clever
man. Not such a fellow as this Parnell, that nobody knows where he sprung
from; not fit to clane O’Connell’s shoes in cleverness. O’Connell never
allowed any quarrelling or disturbance. He kept up the agitation, but the
people were kept in order. The repeal collections were kept up, but there
was nothing like the burning, wounding, and killing that is going on in
these times.”
I asked whether there might not be a home parliament for local affairs,
and delegates to a general parliament. He answered that the people are so
much given to contention that they could not carry on affairs. “If half
a dozen of them,” he added, “come together at a poor-law meeting, they
can’t behave themselves.”
* * * * *
After my return to Cork, an acquaintance advised me to visit a town in
the southwest, where manners are more primitive. Accordingly I travelled
thither, where women in a shop may be heard talking the Irish language.
I went third-class. The railway terminated at the town. Falling into
conversation with an intelligent fellow-traveller, he said that he had
many men constructing a road. He was a steward or overseer. Looking out
at the country, I asked, “Why are there no barns?”
“They have nothing to put into barns,” he replied. “They sell their hay
in the fields, and thresh their grain and get it quickly into market.
They even sell their straw sometimes to meet their rent. Then when spring
comes the landlord endorses for them in the bank. This answers for one
year. On the next year the farmer must go to a money-lender, to whom he
signs a note for twenty-five pounds, receiving only twenty pounds.”
An intelligent Protestant, to whom I read this statement, made some
corrections. He said that the landlord would only endorse for the rent,
and the money-lender would charge ten or fifteen per cent.
I cannot substitute a name for that of my next witness. It is too well
known, having been mentioned in Parliament. John Coppithorne is a
Methodist. In politics, a Conservative. He says that if poor Beaconsfield
were in there would not be any of these disturbances. He has a shop. He
is a dyer, coloring frieze for country-folks. He rents several acres
of land, and, finally, unfortunately for him, he lets “cars,” or keeps
a small posting establishment. It is on account of letting vehicles to
the police that he is boycotted. He has lived for fifty-two years in
the town of Skibbereen, in the southwest, near Cape Clear. Skibbereen
is the terminus of the railroad, but beyond lies Skull, the residence
of Father Murphy. Father Murphy is a quiet Catholic priest. One day a
police-officer went into his house to get him to use his influence with
the people. But Father Sheehy was already in jail, and the people, seeing
the policeman, flew to the idea that Father Murphy was to be apprehended.
A riot impended, and a message was sent to Skibbereen for a reinforcement
of police. Not many police-officers were there, but they sent as many
as they thought they could spare, and unfortunate John Coppithorne let
them have cars to convey them, having no idea that the people would
break out as they did. Mrs. Coppithorne was extremely alarmed when the
mob attacked their house. They began about nine P.M., and continued at
intervals until daylight, or about half-past two. It was not alone the
breaking of windows, doors, and shutters which was alarming, but the
accompanying sounds. The women were dreadful, howling and laughing. They
brought stones in their aprons and encouraged the men. Horns were blown
all night on the surrounding hills,—conch-shells and cows’ horns. The
military arrived by special train at three A.M., “and their arrival was
as grateful as at Lucknow,” said Mrs. Coppithorne.
At an early hour of the night some of the mob suggested to the priest
that if the armed police were withdrawn they themselves would disperse.
The stipendiary magistrate agreed to the proposition. The stipendiary,
or paid magistrate, commands the armed forces, soldiers and police, in
case of riot. So the police withdrew to barracks, and the mob took the
priest on their shoulders and carried him home. The magistrate retired
to his hotel, and then the mob came back in double force. Having before
confined their efforts to the upper windows, they now attacked the doors
and shutters below, and plundered the shop.
After all it was a false alarm, as Father Murphy was not apprehended.
Tears came into Coppithorne’s eyes when I asked him the amount of his
losses. I hear that he claims damages to the extent of eight hundred
pounds. He says that his business, worth perhaps two hundred pounds a
year, is almost entirely ruined. Sometimes the people will come creeping
in, perhaps with a permit to get frieze left to be dyed before the riot.
There was a man in the shop while I was there, who wanted some frieze
which some one had left for a petticoat. He had lost the ticket. The
clerk declined to let him have it. “Only that the book was torn,” he
said, “I could let you have it.” So the inconvenience of tearing books
is not all on one side.
John Coppithorne is familiar with the pecuniary condition of the farmer.
We could hardly expect him to be prejudiced in the farmers’ favor. It
is therefore remarkable that he confirms the report of the desperate
condition of many of them. Of working farmers around him, he estimates
that ten per cent. have barns. About fifty per cent. sell their hay. Then
horses and cows are fed in the winter on the young shoots of the furze,
chopped up for the purpose. (It is like donkeys eating thistles.) Fifty
per cent. of the farmers sell their straw, and buy guano and phosphates.
These are the small, unthrifty farmers. The large ones buy these, and use
barn-yard manure also. But about fifty per cent. are never forehanded
enough to be able to make manure in the winter sufficient to keep their
land up to the standard. Poor creatures that have only a few acres can be
seen going security for each other in the spring to buy guano for their
potato ground. They live on potatoes, fish, milk, and Indian meal gruel.
About the same percentage sell all their grain to meet their rent and
pressing demands, and then buy, often on credit, to feed themselves and
animals. They buy their seed grain on credit at a high rate, paying,
if they pay at all, after the next harvest. Legal process is not
infrequently used to oblige them to pay. If money had not been sent into
Ireland, and relief afforded by benevolent persons, half of the farmers
would not have had seed potatoes in the spring of 1880.
Others at Skibbereen said that the competition is too great when farms
are to be rented, and some farms are entirely too small to support a
family, even if they had them rent free. Near the sea-coast an existence
can be eked out by fishing, but there are many in Ireland cultivating
five acres or less.
During my visit to Skibbereen I saw a funeral. The corpse was followed by
wailing women, for this old custom still prevails. They buried the body
at the graveyard of the abbey, an old ruin, where the dead were buried
coffinless during the famine. It was so desperate that these people, who
have so great a regard for funeral observances, would bury their dead,
in some cases, in fields near the houses, and the parish cart went round
and took up dead bodies that were buried in trenches. This great famine
was caused by the potato-rot. A gentleman told me that at that time
nineteen-twentieths of the people rarely ate bread.
* * * * *
But whether Ireland has not long been subject to famines is to me a
question. Within two or three years we have seen one averted by liberal
contributions, and there was one in 1822, or twenty-five years before the
great potato famine just mentioned.
While in the county Cork I met another person well qualified to speak
of the condition of farmers. Michael McBride’s occupations were
multifarious. He kept a shop, and a public-house distinct from it. He
farmed many acres of land in different tracts. He sold his cattle at the
fair. A public-house is a drinking-place, but McBride said that he drank
no liquor himself. He was not a member of the Land League. He turned
out a tenant and suffered by the League. While we talked in a retired
corner of his “public,” he occasionally spoke in a loud voice, as though
for others to hear, in this manner: “England is getting sixteen million
pounds a year out of this unfortunate country, and plunging people into
jail under the coercion act for saying nothing but the truth.”
McBride appointed an hour for me to call again. In the evening he had
to go out and raise contributions for the poor of the parish. “A very
wild summer, thank God,” he said, meaning a cold summer, unfavorable to
agriculture. (“We thank God for everything,” said my landlady; “good,
bad, or indifferent. One of my English cousins could not believe that
there was any reality in thanking God for bad things.”) McBride said that
he held much land.
“Of course you employ some one to work it for you?” I asked.
“Oh, bedad, yes,” he replied.
He said that there are men who sell their clover green when in want of
money, and who will even take off two or three crops in the year and sell
them green.
The poor farmer sells his hay, straw, and turnips to pay his rent, and
therefore cannot make barn-yard manure in the winter. Guano was selling
at thirteen pounds the ton. “It is a great evil to rely on,” said
McBride. “The poor farmer may sell his oats at the glut of the market at
five pounds a ton, and afterward buy Indian meal at seven pounds to feed
his animals and himself.”
In February, McBride paid seven pounds per ton for hay, but in the
preceding summer at harvest the same quality was less than two pounds per
ton. He showed me a note which he had signed to prevent a small farmer
or poor man from being turned out. Such must have two endorsers; but
McBride’s signature was enough, because he was a man of means. At first
he refused. The man cried, for he was to be served with a writ if he did
not pay that day. The note runs in this manner:
“16th of June, 1881.
“On demand we jointly and severally, or any two of us, promise
to pay Messrs. Kelly & Co., limited, Patrick Street, Cork, or
order, the sum of £10, for value received.
“DAVID SMITH.
“MICHAEL MCBRIDE.”
McBride added that he supposed that he signed “a thousand a year,” and
lost as “often as I have hairs on my head.” On the above note for ten
pounds the borrower was to pay ten shillings interest and sixpence other
charges for the use of the money for three months, which is over twenty
per cent. annually.
He said that of private bankers and money-lenders at exorbitant rates
there are twenty in Cork, some of them pawnbrokers. In various towns
there are many poor people who pawn their clothing on Monday and redeem
it on Saturday.
McBride said that the great cause of the present embarrassment is the
three bad years of 1877, 1878, and 1879. Oats, wheat, barley, and
potatoes were bad. Some oat-fields were never cut. McBride said that
seventy per cent. of the farmers around Cork are unable to pay their
debts, and would be bankrupt if forced to do so. They would need three
good harvests to bring them up. “They will never pay the same rents
again. Their condition is owing to high rents, bad harvests, and
American competition.”
* * * * *
After leaving the county Cork I spent a few days in Dublin. From persons
on the train thither and in that city I obtained information concerning
other portions of Ireland. To this I add the testimony of an Irish
gentleman well known in politics, whom I met in London.
A young man from the county of Limerick said that that county is all
pasture. Not more than forty per cent. of the farmers in his neighborhood
could afford to save hay and straw and feed cattle in winter for manure.
Farms average from forty to fifty acres, some being as small as ten. He
knew one man who farmed over three hundred acres, and paid three pounds
and five shillings per acre therefor. He had two or three acres in
potatoes, and the same in oats, but all the rest in pasture.
“Can he make money?” I asked.
“Not these late years,” he replied. “He is served with an ejectment
because he can’t pay his rent.”
None of our farmers will be surprised that a man cannot make money on
grass-land at a rent of about sixteen dollars per acre.
Another passenger, who was from Tipperary, said that, with few
exceptions, the farmers of that county can keep cattle in winter and
keep up their farms. Take the whole of Ireland, however, and farm-lands
are deteriorating in value. In Tipperary and Limerick lies “the Golden
Vale,” celebrated for its fertility. I had an impression that Tipperary
was wild and riotous. In London I spoke to the political gentleman above
alluded to, who knew the county well. In politics he is not in unity
with Parnell, and is opposed to the Land League; but not, if we may judge
by his conversation, to sanguinary measures.
“Tipperary,” said he, “has not of late suffered so much as some other
districts. Thirty or forty years ago the farmers were entirely at the
mercy of their landlords. They took the law into their own hands and
fought for their farms, shooting down the landlords or their agents. Many
of them were hanged or transported. The land bill of 1870,” he continued,
“extended to all Ireland, restrains the landlord from evicting tenants
without leases, unless paying them for their improvements.” He says that
the present trouble is caused mainly by landlords demanding increased
rents.
My intelligent fellow-traveller from the county Tipperary further said
that the provisions of the proposed land bill, by which the tenant is to
hold his land as long as he pays his rent, will do away with all abuses.
The Three F’s of the land bill are: First, Free sale,—that is, the tenant
is to have the privilege of selling his right in the farm; second, Fixity
of tenure; and, third, Fair rent, to be determined by a court.
I remarked that this third F is against the free operation of trade; that
everything should be sold at its value in the market. “No one puts such
restrictions upon trade as you Americans,” he replied.
When I arrived at Dublin I lodged at two different temperance houses.
In one I met a plain man from the county Galway, in the west. He kept
a shop, and was a dealer in hides. He traded from town to town. He
said that his priest and bishop were good men, and that young boys and
girls were signing the pledge. Of the farmers of Galway he estimated
that seventy per cent. are unable to pay their rent unless they sell
horse, cow, and calves; and even then they would be left in debt to the
shopkeeper. He complained greatly of the recent coercion act, under
which, he says, worthy citizens are apprehended or are in danger.
One fellow-lodger was a Methodist minister from the county Fermanagh, in
the north. He had been attending the Cork Conference. He complained of
the increase of luxury among farmers in buying tea and bread and in the
clothing of their daughters, and spoke of their spending two days a week
at market, and five or six shillings each time in treating each other.
“But your congregations are not of this class?” I said.
“Indeed they are,” he answered. “There are plenty in my congregation who
come home tipsy every market night.”
He afterward took out change and called for a bottle of ale. They sent
out and got it for him.
I was much interested in the conversation of two men who were dining
at the house. One of them, a young man, said that the three F’s would
not satisfy the Land-Leaguers. They wanted the extermination of the
landlords and the possession of the land. The other did not agree with
him. He said, “It would be a nice thing for you to be paying two pounds
and ten shillings for land, and a Land-Leaguer over the fence be getting
it for half the money. I am an Orangeman,” he added, “and the son of an
Orangeman, and the grandson of an Orangeman, yet I am greatly in sympathy
with the poor, suffering tenantry of this country.”
He said of himself that he had been in the army nine years; that he was
a landlord in a small way, five or six hundred pounds a year; and that
he was now lying out of rents. Rather than disturb tenants he had paid
as high as ten per cent. for money, and “glad to get it at that.” He was
originally from the county Cavan, northwest of Dublin. He said that the
average size of farms there is about twelve acres. Some have thirty.
About twenty per cent. of the farmers own horses. Many keep donkeys, but
these are unfit for farming. They put out manure with jennets, which are
not fit for ploughing. The poor farmer must wait until the richer one
has done ploughing so as to hire horses, and then the land is ploughed
shallow and injured. Both speakers were agreed on the trouble of hiring
horses. You must pay ten shillings a day for a pair, feed them and the
ploughman, and give him several glasses of whiskey, added one. If you
have cash in hand, you can get horses when you will; but the small farmer
cannot pay until he has harvested his crop. He generally pays labor in
exchange for horses.
A suggestion that the British government should buy the lands of Ireland,
rent them for the space of thirty years, and that the people should then
become possessors, met with some favor. The Irish politician whom I met
in London found two objections to this plan: First, that it would take
from the country the cultivated class; and, second, that for thirty years
it would drain the country of money.
ENGLISH.
I spent a few weeks in England in 1881, and visited three agricultural
regions in the east, the north, and the south. An article on the last is
to appear in _Harpers’ Magazine_. The following is drawn principally from
my visit to the east. Some account of my stay in the north and of a few
days in a manufacturing county may appear hereafter.
My authority for the statements in the following article is almost
entirely notes taken at the time, assisted in a small degree by
recollections. But it cannot be assumed that this essay is without faults.
With regard to another country, I was advised to tell what I saw and how
it impressed my mind, and not to endeavor to draw conclusions. But what
a traveller sees and hears is greatly influenced by his own opinions. He
goes to a foreign land, and if of different religious institutions from
his own, he inquires on this point; of a different form of government, he
asks political questions. He notices, also, differences in dress, food,
and manner of living.
The first family with whom I boarded in Huntingdonshire was that of Mr.
Jackson, a carpenter, who, besides working at his trade, rented a few
acres. His wife, who was a farmer’s daughter, had a small dairy of three
cows. Jackson appeared to have a splendid constitution. He was short and
somewhat thick-set. He began his trade at eighteen, and was an apprentice
five years and a journeyman three, when, having put by some money, he
married at twenty-six. His wife was near thirty. One of them said that
they had prospered with the help of the Lord.
Mrs. Jackson also had been able to save something wherewith to furnish
a house. She learned a trade, and was also companion or lady’s-maid to
sick ladies and those going to Brighton. One of them made her a wedding
present of neat china.
Jackson and his wife have four children,—the eldest about six, or as she
says, “Four little children, not one of them able to put on a shoe nor a
stocking.” She attends to her dairy, boards the apprentice, and has no
servant.
Their children are sweet and clean. Three of them go to the public school
in the village. It is called the national school. Mrs. Jackson gave the
eldest three pence to pay for their instruction for a week; which is
at the rate of about twenty-four cents a quarter for each of them. The
penny is a trifle over two cents, the shilling a little under a quarter
of a dollar; but in turning sterling money into our own, it will avoid
repetition to consider the English penny as two cents, and four shillings
as a dollar.
The Jacksons’ house seemed a perfect palace compared to that of any
working farmer that I saw in Ireland. Coming freshly from that country, I
thought it must be the gem of the village, but I was mistaken. The busy
activity of the Jacksons, who have a young family to keep, was more like
what I have seen at home than what I saw in Ireland.
The house has a peculiar name placed on the front, something like
Hallelujah House. Doubtless it was built by a dissenter. I saw another
bearing title Bunyan Lodge.
A lodging-room was assigned to me, and I ate by myself in one of the
front rooms below. (Thus to take lodgings is very common in England.)
Jackson and his wife ate in the kitchen. When they had finished, she gave
the apprentice what she chose. My room had strips of carpet on the floor,
neat white curtains at the window, a suitable toilet service, linen
sheets and pillow-cases. There stood in it a neat red chest with iron
bands at the corners, and a white fringed cloth covering the top. It was
locked, expressive of thrifty housekeeping.
Jackson and his wife do not go to the gray Church of England, which,
with its spire, overlooks the trees. They attend the brick chapel, being
Independents.
After he had taken me to see his calves and pigs, I asked him what
proportion of the farmers in the neighborhood belonged to the Church of
England.
He answered, “About one-half. I think that is just about the proportion
that voted last year.”
This answer amused me much, but I feared that his wife would not
understand why I laughed.
“You mean to say,” I said, “that large landed proprietors expect those
who rent from them to go to church?”
“Yes,” he said, “or they would not rent to them.”
“Of course,” said I, “it is not put into the leases. But how can they
know how they vote now that you have the secret ballot?”
“They go round and ask them, and if they would not promise, they would
lose their farms. Many a farmer has been turned out because he would not
vote for his landlord’s party.”
On another occasion I spoke to him of the wars which England had lately
waged in Asia and South Africa, and Jackson spoke of the deficit in
the finances when the Liberals came in. He said that he believed
their country has had to smart very severely for unnecessary wars and
bloodshed, and added, “Because it was a smart little country, what
business had we to go and say to other nations, ‘You shall do as we
please’?”
* * * * *
I did not stay many days with the Jacksons. Mrs. J. considered the burden
of a dairy and of young children to be enough without taking lodgers. I
was recommended to the house of Mr. Benton, the principal farmer in the
village, and a friend called with me and introduced me to Mrs. B., who
after an interval for deliberation consented to take me as a boarder at
their family table.
Benton farmed about seven hundred acres, but not all in one tract. He
owned a small part, and rented from various persons. One large farm he
had taken at a heavy rent, and he was worried in these hard times. He
used to follow the plough when a boy, but he cannot now, having so much
to do in walking around and superintending work.
Mr. and Mrs. Benton adhered to the Established Church. He began to
attend Sunday-school early, perhaps at two years, and had attended ever
since, he being fifty, and a teacher. He was church-warden, and the most
considerable parishioner in attendance; but was not on equal visiting
terms with the clergyman.
He was more reserved than his wife; he said that the English did not
incline to make new friends. He seemed to hold to the same opinions that
he cherished in early life; to be of warm and constant attachments,
and not free from prejudice. He said that Ireland should be sunk for
twenty-four hours and repeopled with English and Scotch; that the reason
the poor-rates are so heavy in Ireland is that the people are so lazy. He
declined to tell to which political party he held, saying that the ballot
is secret. He remarked of ourselves that he wished “the Americans would
let our things go in there free, same as we let their things.”
The Bentons had seven children, five of them daughters. The eldest son
was twenty-one, and was actively employed attending to farm operations.
The girls had taken music lessons, and could play upon the piano. The
eldest two were away learning dressmaking, and Mrs. Benton thought that
she might be able to get a place as lady’s-maid for one or more of her
girls.
Mrs. Benton had a large house, kept in good order. She was tall, fair,
good-looking, active, and sprightly. She said that she “would rather have
a penny of her own _hearning_ than tuppence that anybody should give
her.” She did her housework with the help of the young daughters left at
home. She said that, as a general rule, the tenant farmers had brought
up their children too high, had hired servants, and now that these hard
times had come, they had failed.
But Mrs. Benton’s housework is not like that of the wife of a large
farmer in Pennsylvania. She does not board any of the farm hands; the
only thing of the kind that they do now is to give them their beer in
“’aytime.” She hires a woman to help wash. In summer they wash about once
in eight weeks, and in winter more rarely, having plenty of clothes.
The washing is done in two days, Saturday and Monday. Mrs. B. and her
daughters do the ironing, though sometimes she puts out a frilled
petticoat. They iron only the starched things; the others are mangled.
Nor does Mrs. Benton have the labor of milking, for it is done by one
of the hired men. In the care of poultry she has the assistance of
the shepherd’s wife, who raises chickens at their own house. Mrs. B.
furnishes feed, and pays her eight cents for every fowl that she raises,
and four for every twenty eggs that she brings her. She pays her own
daughter a trifle for the eggs which she brings in at the home-place.
As regards the number of meals that she gave her family, we had four
daily; for, in addition to the afternoon tea, we had a late supper. I
noted one. All the young children had gone to bed, for Mrs. Benton was an
excellent house-mother. For supper, we had onions, soft cheese, bread,
cold pork, stout for the mother to drink, and ale for the father. After
supper, Benton read aloud a small portion of the New Testament; the son
of twenty-one before going to bed kissed his mother and bade his father
good-night, and the daughter kissed both parents.
Mrs. Benton asked a blessing at meals: “For what we are about to receive
may the Lord make us thankful, for Jesus Christ’s sake. Amen.” Thanks
were returned by the young children. One said, “Thank God, father and
mother, for a very good tea. Amen.”
Mrs. Benton delivers tracts. She takes them to dissenters’ houses; for
the plan on which “the church” acts seems to be that all these are only
stray sheep from their fold. They are indeed parishioners. Jackson, the
carpenter with whom I boarded, as he rented land, was obliged to pay
tithes for the support of the clergyman, although he himself was an
Independent or Congregationalist.
Though she is a church-woman, Mrs. Benton tells me that one of her
uncles is a bitter dissenter. He would not open a prayer-book, and even
objected to the repetition of the Lord’s Prayer at the close of another
supplication.
FARMS AND FARMERS.
This village where the Bentons lived closely adjoins the fenny or swampy
land of the east of England. Said Benton, “Perhaps a hundred years ago
the fens grew nothing but reeds and rushes and produced a quantity of
wild fowl.” “All the geese in Lincoln fens” I had before heard of.
The water is now kept out of the fens by means of steam-engines. This
level land is well fitted for tillage, but bad weather had been very
unfortunate for the wheat farmer. He generally holds more land than
the dairy farmer, but he had been suffering from a succession of wet
harvests. Before the abolition of the corn laws, high prices were kept up
by a duty on foreign grain, but now the farmer cannot compete with our
Western grain. An experienced man told me that the man who held even as
high as one thousand acres was going behind every year.
In the summer of 1881, before the harvest was gathered in, I was told
that there had not been a dry harvest since 1874. Some idea of what an
English summer can be was given to me by Benton, the farmer with whom I
boarded. He said that in 1879, at a Royal Agricultural Show near London,
the farm implements were up to the hub in mud, and boards were spread
for people to walk upon. In meeting, some would get shoved off up to the
knees in mud. Men did not go round offering to black shoes, but with
pails of water to wash off the mud. Yet there were thousands there.
The average of wheat raised in England is much greater than ours. In
this country we do not hoe wheat and then weed it. But the production of
England is scarcely half the amount required for the population. In 1880
the amount raised was sixty-four millions of bushels; the amount needed,
one hundred and seventy-six millions. In 1881 they hoped to get one
hundred millions of their own produce. One of my friends said that they
would have starved the last year or two but for America.
In considering the English climate it is well to remember the high
northern latitude. There is no city on our continent, not even Quebec,
which is so far north as Paris. London lies in the latitude of
Newfoundland and Labrador. Whether wet climates like that of England and
Ireland can successfully compete in wheat-raising in the long run with
our drier ones may well be doubted.
Another acquaintance spoke to me of the depressed condition of this
district. He said that within a radius of six miles, six large farmers,
cultivating three or four hundred acres each, had failed since the
last harvest. “For four years,” he added, “the seasons have seemed to
alter,—snow and rain fell in seed-time; there was little or no sun to
mature the grain at harvest. There were floods of water covering acres of
ground, so that one farmer holding perhaps five hundred or more acres,
that had also been cultivated by his father and grandfather, lost in
three years about twenty thousand dollars. Then he took his remaining
capital and went into other business.”
It was surprising to one accustomed to the small farms of the fertile
district in which I live to find such large farmers as many of the
English. Said one of my acquaintances in Huntingdonshire, “One who farms
fifty acres is scarcely called a farmer. He farms a little land. In
another county I know a farmer who holds fifteen hundred acres.” The
tendency of course is largely to increase the number of farm-laborers,
while diminishing the number of those who farm themselves.
The farmer with whom I boarded employed a large number of hands, forty I
think, in the spring. In July he had four men hoeing turnips, potatoes,
“mangles” (mangel-wurzels?), and kohl-rabi. He had also about eleven
children pulling weeds out of wheat, barley, and oats.
He kept twenty working horses, and with them had eight or ten hands. In
the earlier season he had twenty hands hoeing wheat, barley, oats, beans,
and peas. He had a shepherd to look after about two hundred sheep. He
employs some women, girls, and boys. In the early morning I heard a
peculiar cry as of a boy calling the cows, but he was crying to keep away
the birds that depredate on the wheat,—linnets, sparrows, and blackbirds
in the hedges. Benton also employed hands to go over fields that were to
be planted in potatoes, turnips, buckwheat, and to pick twitch out of
them. This, he said, is a wild and very troublesome grass, that fills the
ground with roots, so that nothing else can grow.
I have just mentioned buckwheat. Benton had about thirty acres in this
grain. It is fed to pigs and other animals; he said that he had never
heard of its being eaten by men.
One of the most surprising things to me was the short number of hours
that the farm-laborers made. That men should quit farm-work in July at
or before six in the evening was novel to me. But all the work that is
possible Benton puts out by the piece.
* * * * *
The price of land in this arable region is differently reported. One told
me that it can be bought in fee simple for from two to three hundred
dollars per acre. Perhaps this is the fen land and more valuable. The
village in which I boarded was at a small distance from the fens. Land
around this village sells at from one hundred to five hundred dollars per
acre, but the latter are nice bits around the village. Land can be rented
in this or the fenny region for farming at about nine dollars per acre.
The tenure on which lands are held it was hard for me to understand. For
instance, I was told that copyhold is nearly as good as freehold. At some
length a friend endeavored to explain to me copyhold fine arbitrary, and
then said that copyhold fine certain is more desirable.
In the depressed condition of farming of which I have spoken, it has been
found that grazing and dairy farms are more profitable than grain. The
abolition of the corn laws, said a friend, made bread cheap and enabled
the mechanic and manufacturer to live, and they can buy more meat than
before, and grazing and dairy farms are very profitable. Grain, which can
readily be transported by sea, comes more closely into competition with
the English grain than meat does.
One of the persons whom I met in Huntingdonshire was a retired farmer,
and must have been a successful one. When he began to farm the fen land,
that which he held had lately been brought under complete drainage,
and was comparatively new. About 1835, on twenty-four acres of land he
had the exceptional crop of sixty-four bushels of wheat to the acre.
He has often grown four hundred bushels of potatoes to the acre on
twenty-five acres, and he thought that his average yield had been three
hundred bushels. He has had potatoes growing to the height of three
feet, level as a floor, and not a weed to be seen. “There should not
be a weed seen in an acre. I have grown,” he continued, “one hundred
and twelve bushels of oats to the acre, and did not think that I had a
crop under eighty-four. However, I did what none of you Americans do.
In the latter part of my time, when I farmed only one hundred acres, I
used six thousand dollars a year (twelve hundred pounds) in fertilizing
my farm. Thus I bought six thousand dollars’ worth of grain and fed
animals, especially pigs. Further, I sold the best of my wheat, oats,
and potatoes, and consumed all the rest of my produce on the farm. I find
no one who has fed so much on one hundred acres.”
* * * * *
Mrs. Benton took me one evening to see a steam-plough or cultivator at
work. It did the ploughing well here when the weather was sufficiently
dry. It was an immense affair. There were two steam-engines, one on each
side of the field, sending the cultivator back and forth. The whole cost
of the machine (including the van for the men to sleep in) was about
ten thousand dollars. The charge for ploughing was three dollars per
acre (twelve shillings), and the farmer furnished coal and perhaps also
one hand. The men who brought the plough boarded themselves. They were
making long days, from four in the morning to nine at night. By working
until ten, they could cultivate twenty acres per day, and in these high
northern latitudes summer days are very long.
* * * * *
During my short stay in the east I heard the price of a few articles,
principally farm products. Mrs. Jackson, wife of the carpenter with whom
I boarded, had prepared for me (in July) a very nice sparerib of pork,
for which she paid eighteen cents per pound. She thought that no mutton
could be bought under twenty. She had understood that meat was dearer
than with us and clothing cheaper. Bread was cheap, she said. But I have
before quoted the saying that they would have starved lately but for
America.
“After midsummer is turned,” said Mrs. Jackson, “butter grows dearer.
The pasture is shorter, and milk will not keep.” It was then selling at
thirty-two cents the pound, but last summer it was dearer. At supper
she and her husband had a large piece of good cheese. I heard that the
best American was bringing sixteen cents (eight pence). Leicester cheese,
which used to cost about twenty-four cents, no longer sells here.
Benton, the farmer, said that American hams are very poor. I endeavored
to inform him how finely swine are fed on corn in Illinois, but he said
that the difficulty is not in the feeding, but in the manner of curing
the meat. For American bacon they thought that they paid thirteen cents.
In conversation, Benton spoke of eleven fat beasts (beeves) that would
have brought two hundred and fifty dollars last year, but had sold much
lower this year, on account of the American beef coming in.
As regards milk, a retired farmer told me that he used to sell it at
about ten cents the imperial gallon in summer and twelve in winter, and
he had to convey it five miles to the railroad station. It had now risen
a penny the gallon.
THE CHURCH AND THE RECTOR.
Two adjacent villages formed here one parish, which may be called
Haddenham cum Stonea, from said villages. The living was a good one,
as the rector received his house and six thousand dollars a year. This
income was principally drawn from tithes, which amounted to about two
dollars per acre on the arable land in the parish, and to near five
thousand five hundred dollars yearly. From glebe land he drew the
remainder of his income. He was, however, bound to keep his house in
repair, and for the last eighteen months he had not drawn his full income.
Benton was the principal parishioner in attendance at church. His family,
however, did not associate on equal terms with that of Mr. Rounce, the
rector. On the occasion of a wedding-breakfast, Mr. Rounce had taken a
meal at the farmer’s, and Benton had dined at the rectory on the occasion
of a church meeting. But Mrs. Benton did not expect the rector and his
daughters to associate with them equally. I heard an intimation that the
rector was originally poor, but no one who attended the church was now on
a social level with himself.
I attended one Sunday afternoon. The congregation was not large, and very
few looked well-to-do. The number of communicants, I was told, was over
sixty. One young man, who came into church, was showy in appearance. He
was neatly dressed, with plenty of large, silvery-looking buttons. He was
the rector’s footman.
The church was a gray stone building. Though plain, its appearance over
the level fields was agreeable. The curtains within were rather shabby.
From one at the end the rector emerged, so I suppose it concealed the
vestry-room. In appearance Mr. Rounce, the rector, was blustering and
brawny. His lungs seemed brazen, but perhaps some of the congregation
were deaf. He wore a white linen robe, and upon his shoulders behind
lay a mantle or hood of black, faced with magenta color. The text of
the sermon was, “Not slothful in business; fervent in spirit, serving
the Lord.” I took some brief notes, which I reproduce. They contained
one very happy, and, as adapted to the congregation, one very unhappy,
remark. He said that it is difficult to continue piety amidst the
cares of daily business. “I was going to compare this to tar, to being
surrounded by tar; very dirty, very sticky.
“There are people who shut themselves up in cells with one small bed,
a chair, and a candle. This is the way that many are taking to become
fervent in spirit, forgetting the first part of the text, diligent in
business. In my young days there were but six monasteries and nunneries
in all England, Scotland, and Wales; now they number over six hundred.
“There are some who think that their religious exercises should be
confined to Sunday. There are various things that we shouldn’t do on
Sunday; it’s quite right we shouldn’t read newspapers on Sunday. But
religion has thus been defined: it is the art of being and doing good.”
As we left the church, I asked its age, and the rector said that it
was of the time of Henry VII. (who died in 1509). What is old has a
great attraction to the people of our new country, and I looked in the
churchyard for interesting monumental stones. The oldest that could be
deciphered bore date 1672, and seemed to be that of a great pugilist.
The gravestones were not numerous and showy. Some one told me afterwards
that those who attend the church are the poorest of the poor, and are
generally buried without tombstones.
Concerning the rector, I ventured to draw some conclusions as follows:
Mr. Rounce is a strict Sabbatarian, between two fires,—Dissent on the
one hand and High-Churchdom and Papacy on the other. In the eyes of a
zealous incumbent of the English Church, even of a zealous low-churchman,
all the people living in the parish are his people. But many, very
many of them, are like lost sheep wandering on the barren mountains of
Dissent, and so long have they refused to hear even the church that they
have become to him like heathen men and publicans, and with them he does
not wish to hold intercourse. He employs members of his own church,
however, to distribute tracts among them as regularly as among his chosen
people, even although these dissenters are full communicants in their own
“chapels.”
I was allowed to visit the rectory grounds and afterward to see the house
itself, through the courtesy of an assistant in the National school, who
was also a servant in the rector’s family. The house was not so much
distinguished by the elegance of its carpets and other furniture as by
the number and variety of its cabinets (among them I may reckon a great
carved chest), by the quantity of china displayed, and to some extent
by paintings and natural history collections. The ladies were absent,
but I met the rector for a moment or two, and it seemed to me that he
considered me to need pruning or cutting down. But he was kind enough
to allow the lady’s-maid who conducted me to find for me in the library
one or two works which I wished to consult, and she was sufficiently
intelligent to aid me, and obliging enough to do so.
When we walked through the garden I observed that a net was spread to
protect cherries from the birds, and that currants were trained to the
top of the wall, about eight feet.
Mrs. Benton, the farmer’s wife, received a letter from the former
rector. She said that he had removed to the “’op” country, to Kent. She
described him as a tiny little man, over eighty, a very stanch liberal in
politics; a clever, very learned man.
While I was still in the village, Mr. Rounce’s two daughters had a
lawn-tennis party on their grounds, and the guests could be seen from
the road. Three of the men appeared to be “in their shirt-sleeves.” I
learned at Mr. Benton’s that the guests would be about fifty in number,
the farmer’s young daughters being permitted to look on. It was thought
that the refreshments would be tea, coffee, and cakes, handed round,—Miss
Rounce being a teetotaller.
DISSENTERS.
A rector of the Established Church, whom I met upon a railroad train,
spoke to me of there being here one hundred and fifty different religious
sects, but the number seemed incredible. Afterwards, however, an
acquaintance pointed out to me the list in Whitaker’s Almanac for 1881.
This list is headed
“Religious sects. Places of Worship.
“Places of meeting for religious worship in England and Wales
have been certified to the Registrar-General on behalf of
persons described as follows.”
And the list, instead of numbering one hundred and fifty only, goes up at
least to one hundred and sixty-nine.
The dissenting chapel in the village which I am endeavoring to describe
was a brick edifice, and the yard contained a number of conspicuous
monumental stones. Two prominent sects were united to compose the
congregation, and the number of communicants was one hundred and thirty.
I call the building a chapel, as the English do; nothing is a church, in
fashionable speech, that does not belong to the establishment.
There was within the bounds of the parish a third “meeting-house,”
where the assembly is composed mainly of a few members of a religious
body, generally respected, but declining in numbers. I had a letter of
introduction to one of the members here, and when I spoke of her to Mrs.
Jackson, the carpenter’s wife, Mrs. J. told me that I might be able to
receive an introduction to others by means of her to whom the letter was
addressed, who was a person of education and the wife of a retired farmer.
“Now,” I asked, “how likely shall I be to see the rector?”
“Oh, not at all!” There is such a strong feeling against dissenters is
one reason why I should not meet him.
On the other hand, a dissenting minister, in speaking to me of the
Established Church, remarked that the feeling against it is more
political than religious. There is nothing, he added, in the doctrines of
the Church of England that is repugnant to a vast number of people who
attend dissenting churches; the objection is to a religious denomination
which is elevated by the state over others, and consequently has greater
social power and prestige.
But one whom I met at a neighboring town spoke more strongly. He was a
retired farmer who had travelled in our country. He brought forward the
following objections to an established church. The people have little or
no choice as regards their own clergyman; they have no control over their
own forms of worship; and all spiritual life is destroyed in the church.
In further conversation he said, “Can I forget that I am socially
persecuted because I am a dissenter; that my father was commercially
persecuted for being a dissenter,—he could not rent a farm on equal
terms; that my grandfather was probably excluded from holding office
for being a dissenter; and my great-grandfather, if a dissenter, would
have been thrown into jail for attending a conventicle. But it may be
said, ‘Why rake up old sores?’ Simply because the same persecuting
spirit remains, and if the dissenters were not so strong in numbers,
and consequently in political power and wealth, the same things would
be done again.” He added that no farmer should be a dissenter. He
himself belonged to a Liberation society. He wondered at the apathy of
the Americans in not sympathizing with them in their efforts against an
established church. (I have given my friend’s words from my notes, but
I suspect that the date at which Quakers and others were imprisoned in
England was not so recent as that of the gentleman’s great-grandfather.)
The following anecdote was given to me by another person, also a retired
farmer. It concerns a man of some distinction, now dead, and who did not
bear the name which I assign him. This as well as others are substitutes.
My friend told me that when Carter Gray rented a mill from Lady Letitia
Robyn he also rented from her a large farm, which he conducted to much
profit. He built schools in his neighborhood and also a dissenting
chapel, and the clergy got at the Lady Letitia and induced her to take
the farm from him. But she did not take away the mill. Carter Gray was
so popular that although a dissenter he was appointed a magistrate. The
lord lieutenant of the county has the recommendation for magistrates and
had declared against a dissenter, but Lord John Russell is supposed to
have been in Mr. Gray’s favor. “Lord John was a great liberal,” added my
acquaintance. “Until his persevering action in Parliament the dissenters
had a hard time of it.”
* * * * *
In the English village I describe, I called at the modest residence
of the dissenting minister. He had studied at the Baptist Theological
Seminary in London. I found him to be interested in several of our home
authors. Among his books were the complete works of Ralph Waldo Emerson
(London: Bell & Daldy). He said that there is no one he honors more than
Emerson, except, perhaps, their own Carlyle. He said that he had in his
theological library Channing’s works and another man’s, Beecher,—Ward
Beecher. “I have a great admiration for that man.” He had Lowell’s poems,
and rejoiced in Lowell. He spoke of the “Biglow Papers,” and of the pious
editor’s creed, repeating,
“I du believe in principle,
But oh! I du in interest.”
TAXES AND TITHES.
The rates for the poor, for repair of roads, for police (for there is a
policeman in every village), and for the county prison amounted in the
parish I speak of to about two shillings and sixpence in the pound of
the assessed annual value of the land. As the pound is twenty shillings,
the assessment consequently is over twelve per cent.
The burden of supporting the poor, while much lighter than in Ireland,
must be far heavier than in our country. Huntingdonshire is one of
the smallest counties in England. In 1871 it contained less than
seventy thousand people, and at the time of my visit had four unions
or poor-houses. But this does not altogether represent the amount of
poverty. In another farming region, I understood that the farm-laborer,
even though he be sober, honest, and industrious, seldom or never lays
by enough to support his family in his age, but becomes partially or
entirely dependent on parish relief. But out-door relief in the parish I
have been describing, and perhaps in England generally, is granted only
to the aged; young people must go into “The House.” There they pick oakum
and work garden ground. Children are put out at fourteen or earlier, if
they have passed in the school “the fourth standard.” No child is allowed
during the period that school is open to go to work under the age of ten.
* * * * *
Tithes in this parish of Haddenham cum Stonea average about one dollar
and eighty cents to the acre. If there were sufficient land attached
to the rectory for the income to support Mr. Rounce there would be no
tithes, but there are only sixty acres of glebe land, and the living is
worth, as I have stated, about six thousand dollars yearly. The sixty
acres of glebe land bring in about five hundred dollars, hence the
remainder is to be raised by tithes.
I have spoken of Jackson, the carpenter with whom I boarded. He was a
dissenter, and they attended the chapel. He rented, however, six acres of
land, and his tithes to the English Church were about ten dollars yearly.
Formerly Quakers resisted the payment of tithes. A friend told me that
his father, uncle, and grandfather were imprisoned in the county jail for
non-payment. When he himself farmed three hundred and twenty-two acres,
he paid five hundred and twenty pounds rent and one hundred and twenty
pounds for tithes. This money was generally seized from him. He had
land in three parishes, and numerous warrants were out against him. The
officers would come with cart or wagon, and seize his grain while he was
threshing. In his father’s time they would have green boughs, and stick
one into every tenth shock of grain or hay. But Friends have now given up
this contest, and pay tithes quietly. Apparently he did not think them
burdensome.
* * * * *
Tolls on roads were abolished in England only a few years ago, and the
expense now falls on the landholder. We do not often see in our country
such a road as connects the two villages which I describe under the name
Haddenham and Stonea. It is a highway in splendid form and order, with a
wide grassy margin and a ditch on each side. On one is a wide, gravelled
footpath, and fine green hedges separate the road from the fields.
SCHOOLS.
There are three schools in these two villages. One of them is a Dame
school, or an unpretending private one, which I did not visit; but
the two principal ones deserve attention from the students of our
institutions and of English ones. They are public schools, although
people pay for tuition. That in Haddenham is a National school, that
in Stonea a British school. In the former, Mr. Rounce, the rector, is
manager, and the doctrines of the Church of England are taught. The
other, the British school, is under charge of a board, or of a committee,
of which several members are dissenters.
I first visited the National or Church of England school. Eighty-one
names were upon the roll and fifty in attendance at one of my visits.
(Some little ones were at work in the fields, weeding, or perhaps
hay-making.) Pupils may enter at two years. The printed form issued by
government asks, “How many have you under three?” And by the obligatory
law the schools can claim them at five.
Upon the walls of the school were several maps, a large printed copy of
the Creed, large tablets of the Commandments, and little pictures from
the Bible, with perhaps a few from natural history. The blackboard was an
insignificant one, about four feet square. I observed the small amount of
blackboard surface provided, and the youngest teacher said that in the
British schools there is blackboard on the sides of the room.
There was in the school a little picture of the royal family. “We teach
them loyalty to the queen,” said one of the teachers.
Connected with the school was an infant department. Here the blackboard
measured about one foot by eighteen inches. There were a few objects upon
the walls, but there seemed to me a general bareness of appliances for
instruction.
This school is an endowed one, having fourteen acres of land; it has
always been a National school, or one where the principles of the
Church of England are taught. Five years ago it became a government
school,—_i.e._, it has become an “efficient elementary school” under the
government; it is examined by a government inspector, and for children
coming up to the government standard the school receives a small sum
in payment on each. These “results,” as they are called, all pass
into the rector’s hands, as manager of the school, to be appropriated
either toward the payment of teachers or for school apparatus. Here all
apparatus is paid for from this fund.
For instruction of children farmers pay four cents a week for each child;
others two. The parish pays for pauper children. The amount of the
endowment and the government grant are not even enough, I am told, to pay
the principal; and the two assistants are paid by the rector.
National or, in other words, Church of England schools are also visited
by a diocesan inspector, appointed by the bishop to report their progress
in “Holy Scripture, Prayer-Book, and Catechism.” This school having been
reported very good last year, a gift of about seven dollars was made to
the teacher and monitor.
Instruction must be given for four hundred sessions yearly, equivalent to
two hundred days.
Some teachers in government schools receive pensions, but as the number
of pensions in England and Scotland is limited to two hundred and
seventy, there are not enough for all. Before leaving this school, I may
mention that I made some inquiry about the chapel, which stood not far
off. One of the teachers answered, “I know nothing about dissent; I never
go into those places.”
* * * * *
The school in the other village of Stonea (Haddenham cum Stonea) was
called the British school, and was much larger, having one hundred and
forty pupils. The room was large and well lighted, and there was an
appearance of thrift and animation in the scholars. It is not under the
control of the Church of England; neither are members of that church
excluded from its management. It is managed by a committee of seven,
of whom two or three are members of the church. The services of the
committee, including the secretary, are gratuitous. The school has
an income of three hundred dollars, drawn from a gift in land, made
many years ago for the free education of village-born children. This
sum is supplemented by subscription. This school also is visited by
the government inspector, and a certain sum is paid, according to the
attainments of the children, called, as I have said, “the results.” The
committee decides what shall be done with this sum.
The school funds are further supplemented thus: In the village the
children pay two cents a week. Those out of the village pay, if laborers,
four cents for the first child, and two for each of the others. Persons
of means pay twelve cents a week, but there are very few such.
Members of the Society of Friends, “who have always been active
in education,” raised a general subscription for building a new
school-house, and the government added a grant; “the government would
always thus assist to build a public school.”
Religious instruction is not obligatory here as in the National school;
it is at the option of the committee, who have decided to have Bible
instruction for the first hour in the morning. The government allows any
one who brings a written request from his father to absent himself from
this instruction. No such case has ever arisen here. It may in towns
where there are Free-thinkers and Catholics.
This school is plentifully supplied with blackboards. The principal
difference that I observed in instruction between this and some public
ones I have known at home was in arithmetic. A series of six small
practical arithmetics was in use. At the close of each were examination
questions. Here is the last in Standard 6, the highest: “If 27 men build
54 roods of garden wall in 26 days, how many roods will 32 men, working
equally well, build in 39 days?” Perhaps twice in a week they have mental
arithmetic. Here is the last question in Standard 5, mental: “A yard at
half a guinea an inch?”
These elementary schools in villages are mixed, or for both sexes; in
towns they are not. By the act of 1870, a pupil must enter school at
five (education being obligatory), and remain until thirteen. There
are, however, six standards in the school, and a pupil who wishes to go
to work sooner may demand a certificate if he has finished the fourth
standard, and is not obliged to finish the term.
I asked of one of the teachers or monitors in this British school whether
she had ever visited the other, the National school. She replied that she
would not like to go there. She seemed to fear that she would be thought
a spy. The rector does not visit this British school. “Unfortunately,”
said one to me, “in our country the Church of England people think
themselves above everybody else, and unless they can have the management
of affairs will have nothing to do with them. The rector feels that he
ought to have the management of the school, and is sore on that point;
but it has been a successful school for forty years, and nothing that the
rector can do can injure it.”
I asked, “Has the teacher of the National school ever visited this one?”
“No; where the rector does not go, his people may not. We have tried
every means to unite with them, but without effect. All the exertions
here are for the good of the school, but in the other village for the
good of the church. They want a teacher who will serve them in the
school, the Sunday-school, and the choir.”
But on this parish controversy a few words were spoken to me by a
diligent member of the Established Church. He said, “The rector thinks
he ought to be one of the trustees of the British school, as a bequest
upon which it is in part founded says that the clergyman of the parish
shall be one of the trustees, but they say that they will wait until
the trusteeship is vacant.” The place was filled, I understood, by the
former rector, who, as I have said, was described as a tiny little man; a
clever, very learned man; a stanch liberal in politics, over eighty years
of age.
* * * * *
Afterwards, in Manchester, I met a person who spoke further on the
subject of public schools. I give what he said, as drawn from my notes,
on his own authority; for although it does not especially concern the
parish of Haddenham cum Stonea, yet it does the general subject of
English schools.
He said that the members of the Church of England support National
or Church of England schools. The Roman Catholics support their own.
The dissenters support unsectarian British schools, which receive
all denominations. There is yet another class of elementary ones,
namely, School Board schools. These boards are elected by the rate- or
tax-payers. The schools are established in districts where there are not
enough others to educate the children. It not unfrequently happens that
a Church school or a British one which is unable to support itself, in
spite of the government assistance before described, is turned over by
its conductors to the school board. In Manchester this board has now in
its schools about two-fifths of the children.
If the board wishes to establish a new school it has first to obtain
leave from the committee on education of the Privy Council, belonging
to the general government or to the ministry for the time being. The
policy of the government is to prevent school boards from supplanting
the sectarian schools; they are only allowed to supplement them, and no
matter how poor the sectarian school may be, there is no way of getting
it closed so long as Her Majesty’s inspector pronounces it efficient.
The reports of the inspectors show that Board schools are improving more
rapidly than others.
When by the act of 1870 these schools were first established they were
regarded by the conductors of the others with contempt, especially
by those of the Roman Catholic and Church schools; but such has been
their progress within this brief period that they are now regarded with
jealousy.
As to the prices charged by the Board schools, they must submit the
payment of their proposed fees to the committee of Privy Council. The
others mentioned may charge up to eighteen cents a week for instruction.
If a private school be inefficient, the school board may prosecute the
parents of the children. But this applies to schools which teach pupils
at less than eighteen cents per week; such as the old “Dame schools,” now
nearly extinct, at least in Manchester.
MISCELLANEOUS.
Ways of living in England differ from those I am accustomed to in points
before mentioned, such as the large number of meals, and the short hours
of farm labor. A Lancashire youth complained that they clemmed or starved
him in America on three meals a day. In this rural region those who can
afford it take four, tea being in the afternoon and supper before going
to bed.
Of articles of furniture I especially noticed two. One of them, which is
nearly universal in England and Ireland, is entirely out of date where
I live. It is the old-fashioned dressing-glass, which swings in a frame
and stands upon a table. I do not remember its absence in any house that
could afford it. Another article that I saw more rarely, but in both
England and Ireland, was the canopy over the head of the bed. Of one I
saw the framework was of heavy wood, with curtains at the side running on
rings. A straight piece of the same material hung down behind the head
of the bed. At my hotel in Cork this canopy was of faded blue damask;
at the carpenter’s in the village, of faded red, and above trimmed with
heavy woollen fringe. A handsomer one was on my bed in London. Perhaps
this canopy is all that remains of curtains that formerly surrounded the
bed.
* * * * *
I have spoken of mangling as used in England. Mrs. Jackson, the
carpenter’s wife, hired a woman to come to the house once a month
to wash. It took them both two days to do it, and Mrs. Jackson paid
regularly about twenty-four cents a day; or if the woman made a long day,
twenty-eight. In harvest she must pay higher. (When Benton, the farmer
with whom I boarded, heard me speak of our paying washer-women here
seventy-five cents or a dollar, he said that before he would pay so much
he would turn his shirt or throw it into a pool and give it a slop wash.)
After Mrs. Jackson’s clothes were dried she took them to a neighbor’s
to be mangled. The mangle is not unlike a great wringer with rollers;
and if the clothes are damp, it rolls them smooth. Mrs. Jackson’s
neighbor allowed people to do their own mangling at “tuppence ha’penny or
thruppence,” according to the size of the basket. This is a great saving
of fuel, and Mrs. Jackson said that they look just as well.
* * * * *
Active sports seem to have more prominence in England than in our own
country. At Haddenham I called toward evening at the teacher’s, and found
that he had gone to play cricket. And young Benton, son of the farmer,
had gone too. He seemed actively engaged in business, but one morning
he was up early, as he wished to go that day to a cricket-match, eleven
miles distant. At Benton’s, mention was made of one of their relatives,
who had been much given to cricket and other sports, and who had gone to
Canada. He said that if he had worked as hard in England as he did in
America, he would have got on there.
Yet Benton, the farmer, thinks it strange that I do not want to see the
races in their county town.
Skating is a favorite amusement. On a meadow near by, which is always
covered with water in the winter, they have skating-matches. On the fens
are great skaters, I hear, and people come from all parts to compete with
them.
* * * * *
One of the strongest evidences of a higher state of civilization than
ours (and perhaps of a different climate) is that Mrs. Benton, the
farmer’s wife, told me that she had never seen a man without stockings
in her life. All the children in the British school (I think in both
schools) wore both shoes and stockings, and some woollen stockings,
though the month was July. However, the teacher said that in the north of
England children go barefoot; and I had just come from Ireland, where I
had heard of laborers’ children that passed the winter without stockings
or shoes.
* * * * *
In our own country I had read or heard of English farmers who rode
in handsome vehicles, who wore silk hats, who occasionally drank
champagne. But great farmers, cultivating hundreds of acres, must be
capitalists. Of course there will be less luxury in straitened times. I
heard, however, that a respectable farmer would never go to church, or
especially to a funeral, places where he wished to show respect, without
a silk hat. At market he might wear one of felt or straw.
Other matters being equal, the retired farmer is more nearly one of the
gentry than the retired tradesman. In the parish of Haddenham cum Stonea,
where I dwelt, perhaps the only person that came within that charmed
circle, the nobility and gentry, was the rector of the church, and he
did not stand high in it. I heard of the daughters of one clergyman who
invited another to dine, and told him that it would be a nice party,
“nobody who did not keep a footman or lady’s-maid.” If a distinguished
dissenting minister like Spurgeon should come to a country town to
lecture, in all probability he would not be socially noticed by the
nobility and gentry.
A young Englishwoman told me that her sister, who lived in our country,
said that the Americans are more polite than the English; and two
Englishmen who had travelled here spoke of the many attentions which they
had received.
* * * * *
In this region of eastern England villages are found bearing names
derived from the Saxon. I have called this parish Haddenham cum Stonea.
The syllable ham comes from the Saxon, and means a dwelling, hence our
word home. The syllable _ea_, in Stonea, means water.
Said the dissenting minister, “There is no part of England where the
people are freer and more independent in thought than in these eastern
counties of Norfolk, Suffolk, Huntingdon, and parts of Cambridge and
Lincoln.” And he inferred that from these counties our Pilgrim fathers
must have sprung. About fifty miles from the parish I describe lies the
city of Boston, from which came Mr. Cotton, the preacher in whose honor
our own city of Boston was named.
“The last struggles of the Anglo-Saxons against the Normans were in these
counties,” said one. “At Ely, then an island in the centre of the fens,
Hereward fortified himself for a while, and made the last struggles
against the Normans.”
An acquaintance who had visited America remarked to me that the district
of Cambridgeshire and Huntingdonshire, where we were, is typically
agricultural; that there are very few resident gentry; therefore the
social life of this region more resembles that of the United States than
does that of most other sections of England.
In this county of Huntingdonshire was born Oliver Cromwell, and at
its town of St. Ives he lived. In this section he probably raised his
celebrated soldiers called Ironsides. But the conservatives of England do
not admire Cromwell. About twenty years ago in his native county it was
found impossible to raise means to erect his statue.[169]
* * * * *
On this side of the county are no county families bearing the title
Esquire. ⸺ Farrar, Esq., north of us, is a great landed proprietor, with
an income of about two hundred and twenty-five thousand dollars. The
Earl of S. and the Duke of M. are also large landed proprietors. The
Duke of Bedford owns an estate in Thorny Fen of perhaps ten to fifteen
thousand acres. My friend who tells me this thinks that the estate,
however, is in another county from this. He understands that the duke
expects each tenant to take one thousand acres and to keep a hunter. The
duke is a liberal in politics.
The subject of politics was alluded to in the opening of this article, in
the remarks of Jackson, the carpenter. Another acquaintance said, “If you
go to a nobleman or great landed proprietor to rent a farm, you must be
deferential and, as a general thing, you must vote on his side. If a man
is a liberal, he must go under a liberal landlord; and if a tory, under a
tory. Perhaps one-third of the House of Lords are liberals,” he added.
Benton, the farmer, did not tell me his political opinions. He said that
the ballot is secret. But he added that a man’s political opinions have
not now anything to do with renting the land.
But a person whom I afterward met in Manchester said that the
agricultural districts were in the main thoroughly tory, the farmers
being dependent on the landlords. He added that the late Lord Derby used
to say, “Tell me what the landlords are and I will tell you what the vote
will be.”
* * * * *
Haddenham cum Stonea has declined in population. In 1840 the parish
had nearly one thousand four hundred inhabitants. It now has about one
thousand. Many went to America; now many go north into the manufacturing
regions. Nor are these two villages alone in this. Jackson, the
carpenter, told me of one where he had lived which, at the last census,
had three hundred and thirty people. Twenty years back, he said, it had
over five hundred.
Public-houses are numerous in these villages. They are mostly simple
ale-houses, with such titles as the Three Horse-Shoes, the Rose and
Crown, the Three Jolly Butchers. I counted at least eleven in a village
of less than seven hundred people.
The wages of a farm-laborer here are under two dollars and seventy-five
cents a week, and he boards himself. The cottagers on the farm where I
boarded got their houses free and a rood of ground in which to plant
potatoes. While at Haddenham I visited a friend in a near village, who
took me to ride upon the fens, and her husband particularly desired
her to show me some cottages, or laborers’ houses, that he had built.
The point that I was especially to observe was the rooms provided for
sleeping, there being a bedroom down-stairs and two or more above. On
this subject I spoke to Mrs. Benton, the farmer’s wife, who said that the
laborers here have generally a kitchen, I believe a better room, and two
chambers. She admitted that the boys and girls have to sleep in the same
room.
Mrs. Benton said that if the laborer’s wife, who has a number of young
children, is kind and considerate of her husband, she will try to provide
him a bit of meat daily, but it will be but a little bit; and the
children will not taste meat oftener than once a week.
As I have before intimated, hours of labor are easy,—farm hands getting
half an hour for lunch, and an hour for dinner. (But I cannot say whether
this lunch-time is allowed at other than harvest.) In hay and harvest
they work overtime, and are paid for overwork.
Fruit-picking was going on while I was at Haddenham. In fruit-gathering
times, when the wives and boys get out a little, meat may be more
plentiful in laborers’ houses. There is a great press at fruit-gathering.
The people go out in gangs about six or seven o’clock, and return about
seven. The wages are about thirty-two cents a day. A market for the fruit
is furnished by the manufacturing regions, where farm produce is more
scarce.
At Haddenham I heard that after harvest they have a thanksgiving
festival. There is a village flower-show in the rectory grounds and a
public tea. They deck the church with wheat, barley, oats, beans, grapes,
apples, and pears, and have a service in the evening. A collection is
taken up for the county hospital, which is supported almost entirely by
voluntary subscription.
To return once more to education. It is now compulsory, as I have said;
but a friend estimated that of the people over thirty, a large proportion
could not read and write.
PECULIARITIES OF SPEECH.
To us that one by which the English drop the letter h where it belongs,
and put it on where it does not, is one of the most striking; as, Harable
land is ’eavier taxed; my huncle is not very ’ealthy.
Two ways of speaking that are called Yankee with us are found here; one
is the sharp _ou_.
“Please tell me,” I inquired, “where Mr. G.’s house is.”
“It’s the last hayoose in tayoon; a big hayoose,” answered the boy.
The other “Yankee” peculiarity is dropping the letter r. School-children
said ’osses for horses. Buttah was said for butter, and Hemmingford
sounded like Emmenfauld. A woman spoke of a certain Mr. Halbut. I had
thought that his name was Wiseman. Yes; Mr. Halbut (Albert) Wiseman.
Comin’ I heard for coming; they used to say shay-house for chaise-house;
and I am told that in Norfolk they say _du_ and _tu_ for do and to.
The carpenter’s wife said, “The bread is silly,” meaning heavy.
A spinney is a grove.
Laboring men call a lunch a dockey; and in another neighborhood a beaver.
Said an innkeeper, “The people come to flit them,”—to help them move.
Frequently “I dare say” becomes _dessay_, or _I’d say_.
We say to-day; they also say to-year. And when it begins to thaw, they
say the weather is ungiving, it ungives.
APPENDIX.
THE PENNSYLVANIA GERMAN DIALECT.
The “Pennsylvania Dutch,” which is spoken over a large portion of our
own State, and is also heard in Maryland, Virginia, Ohio, Indiana, and
Illinois, is not divided into dialects as are the languages of many
European countries, but seems to be nearly homogeneous. The following
specimen was taken from the lips of a working-woman born in Cumberland
County, Pennsylvania, of German descent, but who learned most of her
“Dutch” in the State of Maryland. She now lives in Lancaster County,
Pennsylvania. An English article was read to her; and with some little
difficulty she turned it into the version given. This version was
submitted to a learned gentleman born in the eastern part of this State,
but now living in Lancaster, and he declared it to be a good specimen of
Pennsylvania German. I have abbreviated it, and give the English first,
so that the difficulty may be observed which the translator found in the
version.
“At Millville, New Jersey, about noon, while everybody in town was going
to dinner, a deer came dashing down through the main street, and right
behind it followed a dozen dogs, barking the loudest they knew how. Every
dog on the line of the chase joined in, so that when the edge of the town
was reached there were nearly fifty dogs after the deer. One solitary
horseman caught on to the procession before it left town, and he was soon
followed by a score of others, and inside of half an hour there were only
women and factory hands left in the town. The deer got into the woods and
escaped. A hound, which a merchant sent to Philadelphia for on Thursday,
brought the deer to bay, and the merchant’s son fired the fatal shot.”
“_An Millville, New Jersey, about Mitdog, wie all die Leit in der Stadt
zu Mittag gange sin, en Hayrsch is darrich die main Schtross schprunge,
und recht hinne noch ein dutzet Hund noch schprunge, und hen so laut
gejolt als sie hen könne. All die Hund in der Schtadt sind oof die
Geschpoor und sin noch; so wie sie an die End von der Schtadt sin der
ware about fufzig Hund am Hayrsch noch. Ein ehnzige Reiter ist noch
eh sie aus der Schtadt kumme sind und es ware gly zwanzig meh, und in
weniger als en Halb-stund da war Niemand meh in der Schtadt als Wipesleit
und die factory Hendt. Der Hayrsch ist in der Busch kumme und sie hen ihn
verlore. En Houns voo ein Merchant in Philadelphia geschickt hat dafore,
hat den Hayrsch schtill schteh mache; und der Merchant sei Sohn hat ihn
dote schosse._”
But although the Pennsylvania German is not divided into the great number
of dialects or varieties found in Europe (I hear that there are about
fifty in little Switzerland), yet there are differences here in the
spoken dialect. While visiting at the house of a gentleman born in Lehigh
County, but living in Lebanon, the following were pointed out to me. In
Lehigh a lantern is a _lutzer_; in Lebanon, _lattern_. In the former the
word for orchard is _boongart_; in the latter, _bomegarte_. Meadow is
_Schwamm_ in the former, and _Viss_ in the latter. The adverb _orrick_
(_arg_) is very much used in Pennsylvania German; but a clergyman coming
to live in Lebanon County was reproved by some of his plain friends for
its use. Perhaps it is nearly synonymous with our _darned_,—“That’s
darned cheap.” Der _Arge_ in the Bible is the evil one.
Mr. Weiser, of the Reformed Church, finds differences in adjoining
counties. Thus, in Berks a set of bars in a fence is _en Falder_; in
Montgomery, _E’fahrt_ (or a place to drive through). In Lehigh they say
of a drunken man, “_Er hat e Kischt ah_” (he carries a chest); but this
is not heard in the near parts of Montgomery. Tomatoes are sometimes, I
think, called _Goomeranze_ in Allentown, and in Bucks County _Boomeranze_
(from _Pomeranze_, an orange); but this is not heard in Lancaster County.
A learned German in Philadelphia says that several different dialects
have flowed like streams into Pennsylvania,—one the Palatinate, another
the Suabian, a third Allemanian, a fourth Swiss; and Prof. Dubbs, of
Franklin and Marshall College, Lancaster, but born in Allentown, finds
in the region with which he is familiar, east of the Susquehanna, three
plainly marked sub-dialects. The one east of the Schuylkill is marked
by the diminutive _chen_ in the place of _lein_. In that district a
little pig is called _Säuche_, and west of the Schuylkill _Säulie_
(for _Säulein_). A third sub-dialect, he says, is peculiar to some of
the sects of Lancaster County. It is probably of Swiss origin, and is
marked by a broad drawl. (The late Prof. Haldeman remarked that in our
dialect the perfect is used for the imperfect tense, as in Swiss; so that
for “ich sagte” (I said) we have “ich hab ksaat” (gesagt), and for “ich
hatte” (I had) we have “ich hab kat” (gehabt)).
(The following excellent remarks on the Pennsylvania dialect are taken
from an article in the _Mercersburg Review_ by Prof. Stahr, now also
of Franklin and Marshall College, Lancaster. I have made some trifling
alterations, mostly in parenthesis.)
“It is of course impossible in our present limits to specify all the
peculiarities of Pennsylvania German, so as to give an adequate idea of
its form to those who are not familiar with it. We may, however, state a
few general principles, which will enable any one conversant with High
German to read and understand the dialect without difficulty. In the
first place it must be borne in mind that the letters have the _South
German_ sound: _a_ has the broad sound like the English _aw_; _st_ and
_sp_ whenever they occur sound broad, like _scht_ and _schp_, etc.
Secondly, letters are commuted or changed. Instead of the proper sound of
the modified vowel or _Umlaut ō_, we find the sound of the German _ē_ or
the English _ā_, and instead of _ü_ we find _ie_ or _i_, equivalent to
the English _i_ in _machine_, or the same shortened as in pin. Instead
of the proper sound of _eu_, we have the German _ei_ or the English
_ī_. Instead of _au_, particularly when it undergoes modification in
inflections, we have broad _a_ or _aa_ in the unmodified, and _ä_ or _āā_
in the modified, form. Thus we have _Baam_ for _Baum_, and _Bääm’_ for
_Baüme_; _laafe’_ for _laufen_, and _laaft_ or _lääft_ for _laüft_. The
diphthong ei is often changed into long _e_ or _ee_. Thus for _Stein_ we
have _Stee’_ (pronounced Shtay), for _Bein_, _Bee’_, for _Eid_ we have
_Eed_, for _Leid_, _Leed_. _A_ is often changed into _o_, as _Johr_ for
_Jahr_, _Hoor_ for _Haar_; _i_ is changed into _e_, as _werd_ for _wird_
(_Es wird Schlimm_ is spoken _Schvate schlimm_), _Hert_ for _Hirt_, etc.
Consonants are also frequently changed; _b_ into _w_ (_Bievel_ is heard
for Bibel), _p_ into _b_, _t_ into _d_, etc. Thirdly, words are shortened
by dropping the terminations, especially _n_ of the infinitive or
generally after _e_. Prefixes are frequently contracted, so also compound
words. Thus instead of _werden_, _folgen_, _fangen_, we have _werre’_,
_folge’_, _fange’_; _einmal_ becomes _emol_; _nicht mehr_, _nimme_, etc.
Fourthly, the Pennsylvania dialect uses High German words in a different
sense. Thus for _Pferd_, horse, we have _Gaul_, which in High German
means a heavy farm-horse or an old horse; _gleiche_, from the High German
_gleichen_, to resemble, means in the Pennsylvania dialect, to like;
_gucke’_, from High German _gucken_, to peep, to pry, means to look.
Finally, we find English words introduced in their full form, either with
or without German prefixes and modifications; e.g., _Store_ (Schtore),
_Rüles_, _Cäpers_, _Circumstänces_, _trävele_, _stärte_, _fixe_, _fighte_.
“Nouns have scarcely any changes of form, except to distinguish singular
and plural. These, where they exist, are the same as in High German. One
of the most striking peculiarities is this: the genitive case is never
used to indicate possession, the dative is used in connection with a
possessive pronoun. Thus instead of _Der Hut des Mannes_ (the hat of the
man) we find _Dem Mann sei’ Hut_ (to the man his hat).... The definite
article is used for _dieser_, _diese_, _dieses_ (this), and _seller_,
_selle_, _sell_, for _jener_, _jene_, _jenes_ (that). The adverb _wo_ is
used instead of the relatives _welcher_, _welche_, _welches_.
“In inflecting pronouns, _mir_ is used instead of _wir_ (us). The verb
has no imperfect tense; the perfect is always used for it in Pennsylvania
German. (And it will be observed, I think, that those accustomed to
speaking the dialect will use the perfect thus in English.)
“From _wollen_ we have: _Ich will_, _du witt_, _er will_, _mir wolle’_,
_ihr wolle’_, _sie wolle’_; and from _haben_: _Ich hab_, _du hoscht_, _er
hot_, _mir hen_ (from han, haben), _ihr hen_, _sie hen_.”
* * * * *
The number of writers in the dialect is becoming numerous. There are
Mr. Zimmermann and Dr. Bruner, of Berks County, Rev. F. J. F. Schantz,
originally of Lehigh, and Rev. Eli Keller and Mr. Henninger of the same;
also Miss Bahn and Mr. H. L. Fisher, of York County. The most popular
writer is the late Henry Harbaugh, of the Reformed Church, whose poems
are collected under the title _Harbaugh’s Harfe_. Among them the favorite
is _Das alt Schulhaus an der Krick_. (The old school-house on the creek.)
In publishing this volume, the English words introduced after the manner
of our Pennsylvania Germans have been generally replaced by German, so
that it is not a perfect specimen of the spoken language. Here follow a
few lines from Harbaugh’s _Heimweh_, or Homesickness:
“Wie gleich ich selle Babble-Beem!
Sie schtehn wie Brieder dar;
Un uf’m Gippel—g’wiss ich leb!
Hock’t alleweil ’n Schtaar!
’S Gippel biegt sich—guk, wie’s gaunscht,
’R hebt sich awer fescht;
Ich seh sei rothe Fliegle plehn
Wann er sei Feddere wescht;
Will wette, dass sei Fraale hot
Uf sellem Baam ’n Nescht.”
How well I love those poplar-trees,
That stand like brothers there!
And on the top, as sure’s I live,
A blackbird perches now.
The top is bending, how it swings!
But still the bird holds fast.
How plain I saw his scarlet wings
When he his feathers dressed!
I’ll bet you on that very tree
His deary has a nest.
The most witty prose articles that I have met are some in Wollenweber’s
_Gemälde aus dem Pennsylvanischen Volkleben_. (Pictures of Pennsylvania
Life.)
Mr. E. H. Rauch (Pit Schwefflebrenner) accommodates himself to the great
number of our “Dutch” people who do not read German by writing the
dialect phonetically, in this manner: “_Der klea meant mer awer, sei
net recht g’sund for er kreisht ols so greisel-heftict orrick (arg) in
der nacht. De olt Lawbucksy behawpt es is was mer aw gewocksa heast, un
meant mer set braucha derfore. Se sawya es waer an olty fraw drivva im
Lodwaerrickshteddle de kennt’s aw wocksa ferdreiv mit warta, im aw so a
g’schmeer hut was se mocht mit gensfet._” (The little one seems to me
not to be quite well, for he cries so dreadfully in the night. Old Mrs.
Lawbucks maintains that he is what we call grown (enlargement of the
liver), and thinks that I should powwow for it. She says that there was
an old woman in Apple-butter town who knew how to drive away the growth
with words, and who has too an ointment that she makes with goose-fat.)
I have already stated that our Pennsylvania dialect has been thought to
be formed from different European sources; but Mr. H. L. Fisher, of York,
has lately shown me a collection of Nadler’s poems in the Palatinate
dialect, which, he says, more nearly resemble our idiom than anything
else which he has seen. Also at Allentown, Mr. Dubbs, of the Reformed
Church, has mentioned a collection which he thinks resembles much our
Pennsylvania German. It is the poems of Ludwig Schandein, in the Westrich
dialect. These are both dialects of the Rhenish Palatinate, the former of
the district on the Rhine, the latter of the western or more mountainous
part. And as the Germans coming into Pennsylvania were at one time called
Palatines, it is not remarkable that these Palatinate dialects resemble
ours. Here is a specimen of the eastern or lowland dialect:
“Yetz erscht waasz i’s, yetz erscht glaaw i’s,
Was mar in de Lieder singt;
Yetz erscht glaaw i’s, dann jetz waasz i’s,
Dasz die Lieb aam Schmerze bringt.
“Nachdigalle dhune schlage,
Dasz ’s dorch Berg un Dhäler klingt;
Unser Bawrebuwe awwer
Dasz aam’s Herz im Leib verschpringt!”
At last I know, at last believe it,
That what our poets sing is so;
At last I think, yes, now I know it,
That love brings also pain and woe.
The nightingales so sweetly warble,
Their notes through hill and dale do ring;
But oh! the heart in the breast is riven
Whene’er our peasant boys do sing!
Here is a specimen from Schandein’s poems in the Westrich dialect:
“So lewe wul, ehr liewe Alte,
Do i’s mei’ Hann, Glick uf die Rês!
De’ liewe Herrgott losze walte,
Dann Er es wul am beschte wêsz;
Un machen euch kê’ Gram und Sorje
Ya denken an ihn alle Dah:
Er sorgt jo heut, er sorgt ah morje,
Er sorgt ah in Amerika.”
Dr. Dubbs, of Franklin and Marshall College, has kindly given me this
verse from his own translation:
“Farewell! and here’s my hand, old neighbors!
May blessings on your journey rest!
Leave God to order all the future,
For He alone knows what is best.
And do not yield to grief or sorrow,
Trust in His mercy day by day;
He reigns to-day, he reigns to-morrow,
He reigns too in America.”
Various estimates have been given me of the numbers speaking the dialect
in different parts of our State. Thus a lawyer in York County, beyond
the Susquehanna, says that there are still witnesses coming to court,
natives of the county, who do not speak English, and whose testimony
is translated by an interpreter. Crossing the Susquehanna easterly,
we come to my own county, Lancaster. My own neighborhood, near the
Pennsylvania Central Railway, is much Anglicized. The southern part
of the county is greatly “English,” but as I was riding lately in the
north, on the railway which connects Reading in Berks, to Columbia in
Lancaster, a conductor estimated that along the forty-six miles of the
railway about nine out of ten of the travellers can speak German. In
Reading I am told in a lawyer’s office that three-fourths of the women
who come in to do business speak “Pennsylvania Dutch.” My tavern-keeper
says that many come to his house, born in the county, who cannot speak
English. Another lawyer estimates that of the country people born in
Berks County, three-fourths would rather speak Pennsylvania German than
English; and another thinks that in the rural districts of the county
from one-half to two-thirds prefer to speak the dialect, although perhaps
half of these can talk English. Another person says that when there is
a circus or county fair at Reading, which draws the farmers’ families,
you hardly hear English, for the store-keepers accommodate themselves to
the visitors. One of my friends, born in Germany, says that she saw at
a forge in Berks County colored people, men, women, and children, that
could not speak English; they spoke Pennsylvania German. If, now, we
pass northerly to Lehigh County, we come to “Pennsylvania Dutch” land
par _excellence_, for in no other county of our State are the people so
nearly of unmixed German origin. I am told of Allentown, the county seat,
with a population of about nineteen thousand, that Pennsylvania German,
“Dutch,” is the prevailing language. A lawyer estimates that more than
one-fourth of its inhabitants do not speak English if they can help it,
and a considerable number in town, born in this region, do not speak
English at all. Of the county, a physician says that three-fourths of the
people speak Pennsylvania German more easily than English, and another
that nearly all the country people would rather speak the dialect.
East of Lehigh lies another very German county, Northampton. The county
town Easton is, however, connected with New Jersey by a bridge over the
Delaware, and Easton is to a very considerable degree Anglicized. Easton
is the seat of a great Presbyterian institution, Lafayette College; yet
a professor tells me that the Presbyterian Church cannot overcome the
Lutheran and Reformed element. The Lutheran Church, he says, is very
strong. Of the same county I was told some years ago that the people
generally spoke German, except along the New Jersey line, and that
outside of Easton and Bethlehem three-fourths of the people are Reformed
and Lutheran. At the same period, about nine years ago, a physician told
me that the public-school teachers in the rural parts must necessarily
speak German for the children to obtain ideas, or must interpret English
to them. These counties, with Lebanon, six in number, are the great
German ones, beginning with York on the southwest, and ending with
Northampton on the northeast; but the Pennsylvania German population is
by no means confined to these counties. It spreads along the cultivated
soil like grass. Adjoining Berks and Lehigh is Montgomery, the northern
part of which is very “Dutch.” Here I visited a preacher of one of our
plain sects, whose great-grandfather came from Germany. But he, himself,
speaks very little or no English, and he employed the ticket-agent to
answer an English letter. One son and his children live under the same
roof, making six generations in Pennsylvania; but the whole household
uses the German dialect.
It must not be supposed of a large part of the Pennsylvania Germans that
they are unacquainted with pure German. A simple and pure German they
find in the Bible and in their German newspapers, of which there are
several, altogether enjoying a large circulation. Also, at least in the
Reformed and Lutheran Churches, there are many ministers who preach in
pure German. Yet, when the minister goes to dine with a parishioner, they
generally speak the dialect. The minister who speaks this to his flock
is more popular. They could understand the higher German; but they say
of him when he speaks the dialect, “_Er iss en gemehner Mann_” (He is a
common, plain man, or one who doesn’t put on airs.)
A gentleman in Lebanon, born in Berks, told me that he should be pleased
to speak German as it is in the Bible. “But,” he added, “as soon as
a person begins to use pure German here among his acquaintances the
Pennsylvania Dutch will say, ‘_Des iss ane Fratz-Hans_,’ or a high-flown
fellow; or, as it may be rendered, ‘He’s full of conceit.’”
One of the most amusing things in the dialect is the adopting and
transforming of English words, as “Ich habe en Prediger _entgetscht_,”—I
have engaged a preacher; “Do hat der _Eirisch_ gemehnt er wott
_triede_,”—the Irishman thought he would treat; “Sie henn en guter
_Tietscher_ katt, der hot die Kinner vieler Leut _getietscht_,”—they had
a good teacher, who taught the children of many people; “Ich will dir’s
_exsplehne_,”—I will explain it to you; “Er hat mich _inweitet_,”—he
invited me; “Do hen sie anfange _ufzukotte_ und zu lache,”—then they
began to cut up and laugh. A workman who was tired of waiting for
material said, “Sie hen us nau lang genug ’rum _gebaffelt_”—they have
baffled or disappointed us long enough.
On the amount of English that is sometimes introduced into the dialect,
a lawyer in Lebanon says that of the Pennsylvania Dutch which he uses in
his political speeches, or in his practice, fully one-third is English.
This specimen was given to me by a lawyer in Allentown, as the opening of
a political speech: “Ich bin desirous um euch zu explaine die prerogative
powers fum President.” And this a lawyer to his client: “Ich bin certain
das die Opinion was ich den morge geexpress hab, correct war.”
Before leaving the subject of the idiom, I give some of the peculiar
expressions heard in speaking English. A neighbor told me of her
daughter’s being invited to a picnic, and added, “I don’t know what I’ll
wear on her.”
Said a tavern-keeper’s wife, “Don’t jine sweeping.” “It’s time to jine
sweeping,” was the reply.
A girl got into a car near Mauch Chunk, and had headache.
“Don’t sit with your back to the engine,” I suggested.
“Do you sink?” she asked me. (Do you think so?)
“I guess it will give a gust,” is said in Lancaster County.
“Do you want butter-bread?” (or bread and butter.) “No, I’d rather have
coffee-soup,”—_i.e._, bread broken into coffee.
“Mary, come down to the woods.” “I dassent.” She does not mean that she
is afraid, but that she is not permitted, like the German _durfen_.
“I’m perfectly used to travel every _wich_ way.”
“A body gets _dired_ if they _dravel_.”
“Mind Ressler? He was in Sprecher’s still;” or, “Do you remember Ressler?
He used to be employed in Sprecher’s store.”
“It’s raining a’ready, mother,” or, “Where’s Mrs. M.?” “She went to bed
a’ready.”
“I guess that Mrs. B. does not spend all her income.”
“She didn’t still.”
“She’d rather be married to him _as_ to keep house for him” (like the
German _als_).
We think those very “Dutch” who say “Sess” for Seth, “bass-house” for
bath-house. Thus it would be, Beslem is in Norsampton County.
“I’m fetching a pig. I had it bestowed.”
“We’re getting strangers, and I was fetched.” (They are expecting company
at our house, and they sent for me to come home.)
“Mrs. M., how does your garden grow?” “Just so middlin’.”
“Your head is strubly,” means that your hair is tumbled.
A scientific friend, wishing to examine a specimen, said, “Let me see it
once.”
Of the same kind are these: “When we get moved once.” “You’ll know what
it is when you hain’t got no father no more once.” (This use of _once_
has been alluded to in the text.)
“Mother, don’t be so cross!” “I ought to be cross” (angry).
I do not know that it is “Dutch” to say, “Did you kiss your _poppy_?” or,
“Barbara, where’s your _pap_?” (for father).
“How are you, Chrissly?” (diminutive of Christian.) “Oh! I’ve got it so
in the back.”
Those who live among Pennsylvania Germans cannot fail to observe that
when they, speaking English, make mention of a couple, as, “She gave me
a couple of peaches,” they do not generally mean two only. Couple has
doubtless to them the same meaning as the German word _Paar_, which is
defined by Whitney “a couple, two or three, a few, sundry.”
I cannot tell the deviation of our interjection of pain, _Owtch!_
_Ok!_ is doubtless the German _Ach!_ or is it Irish?
And what is the derivation of “_Sahdie?_” so much used by children for
“Thank you.”
There is a word neither of English nor German origin which is sometimes
used as a salutation by Pennsylvania Germans. It is familiarly _Hottiay_.
Few would divine to see it thus that it is the French adieu.
PROPER NAMES.
Changes equally remarkable are found in proper names. The family of my
own neighbor Johns was originally Tschantz, as is more easily perceived
by the pronunciation; Johns ending with the s sound and not the z. The
important family in Lancaster County named Carpenter were Zimmerman when
they came in, the name being translated. But of a family in Berks County,
some are Hunter and some Yäger. Some persons named Bender, who have
removed to California, are there called Painter.
It is surprising in Pennsylvania to hear of persons with Irish or
Scottish names who can scarcely speak English. A gentleman in Harrisburg
told me of one he knew in Dauphin County named Hamilton (whose father
was born in Dublin), and of two others named Dougherty. I have met in
Berks County a person with a purely Scottish name who spoke of Norsampton
County, and of Souss Reading (not pronouncing the th). But his mother was
of a German family, and “Pennsylvania Dutch” his mother-tongue.
A lawyer in York, with an English name, tells me that his ancestors came
from New England, and settled first in the Wyoming Valley, but some moved
southward, and by intermarriage, to use, I think, his own expression,
became quite Dutchified. He himself can speak the dialect.
Several families with French names are now not to be distinguished from
the Pennsylvania Germans among whom they live and intermarry. It is said
that the Bushongs were once Beauchamp; then probably the Deshongs were Du
Champ. The Shopells were Chapelle; the Levans perhaps Levin. Delaplaine
is pronounced _Dillyplen_. There are still Bertolettes, De Bennevilles,
De Turks, De Planks, Philippes, Philippis, and Philippys. Coquelin has
become Cockley and Gockley. These families were perhaps French Huguenots
who sought refuge in Germany, where so many went on the revocation of the
edict of Nantes. From the Palatinate came very many of our Pennsylvania
Germans, and that state is directly east of France.
But it is also probable that many French names were translated when their
owners removed to Germany. One of my acquaintances in Philadelphia is a
German, born in the Palatinate. She tells me that her grandfather left
France during the revolution. He was a Mennonite, and named Coquerel; but
this was translated into Hähnchen; so that my friend was a Miss Hähnchen.
Coquerel, Hähnchen, and our English word cockerel are synonymous.
Changes in the names of persons of the same family in Pennsylvania
will be observed. I know a gentleman in Lebanon County with an English
name, who tells me that his mother’s name was Besore; supposed to have
been La Bessieur. The name has also been spelled Basore, Bashor, and
Bayshore. The name Beinbrecht is said to have gone through these changes;
in Philadelphia there is a Bonbright, in Chambersburg a Bonbrake, and
there are Bonebreaks. In Lancaster County, I hear of a father who writes
his name Bear; but one son is Barr, and another Bair. There is a large
Reformed family in Pennsylvania named Wotring, now turned into the
English Woodring, which was originally the French Voiturin. Probably
within the Reformed German Church are more French Calvinistic families
than in the Lutheran.
Of the Buchanans and Livingstones in our country we might assume the
Scottish origin; but _Der Deutsche Pionier_ tells us that the German
name Buchenhain [meaning Beech grove] has been changed to Buchanan,
and Löwenstein to Livingstone. A more grievous change is said to have
befallen the name Hochmayer or Hochmier [high steward], for in Virginia
it has become Hogmire!
POLITICS.
One of the most remarkable distinctions between our Pennsylvania Germans
is that which ranges the counties and townships inhabited by the wehrlos,
or peaceable sects, with one political party; and those where the
Reformed and Lutherans are strongest with the other. We might once have
thought that the Democratic party was the war party; but during the great
rebellion the counties of Berks, Lehigh, and Northampton still remained
adherents of the Democratic party in its opposition to the war. The
county of Montgomery, in the eastern part of the State, is thus divided;
the Mennonites, Schwenkfelders (with Quakers), are almost invariably
Republican; while the strong Democratic townships are almost entirely
Reformed and Lutheran. Of course there are in all such localities many
who do not belong to any religious body.
A Democratic editor in the same county of Montgomery says that he does
not know a Mennonite or Schwenkfelder who is not Republican; so also are
the great majority of the German Methodists. He, however, added that the
Reformed and Lutherans are nearly equally divided in politics. But every
politician who knows the people must concede that the counties which are
the stronghold of these two churches are an immense Democratic stronghold.
Mr. H., of Easton, tells me of a man who stood looking at a procession in
honor of the funeral of Jackson, Harrison, or some other distinguished
person. In the procession were Freemasons, Odd-Fellows, and other
societies. “Oh,” said he, “_des ish alle letz!_ That is all wrong. There
ought to be only two societies,—the Democrats and the Lutherans. If a man
lives up to the principles of General Jackson and Martin Luther, that is
enough.” He took his boys to delegate or town-meetings. “Now, boys,” he
said, “are you going to vote the Democratic ticket as long as you live?
Always stick to the Democratic party, and carry out the principles of
General Jackson. If you intend to do this, you can vote for delegates.”
(This anecdote is a little injured by the introduction in the beginning
of the name of Harrison, who was a Whig. But it was given to me by a
person of a well-known Democratic and Lutheran family.)
A few years ago, in an adjoining county, an adherent of the Democratic
party told me that the word democracy has a magic sound for the people
of Lehigh. “A Democratic parade,” he added, “can easily be got up in
Allentown two miles in length, composed in a great measure of farmers on
horseback; and in Presidential campaigns sometimes farmers’ daughters
also appear on horseback in the procession. A skilful speaker, generally
a lawyer, who speaks the dialect, and who will frequently introduce the
words democrat and democracy, can lead the crowd. Even if he do not speak
the dialect, if he will introduce those words, he can bring out the
applause of his hearers.”
An acquaintance tells me of a political speaker in Berks County, that
Democratic stronghold. He was telling of _die Demokratie_, which he said
goes over hill and dale, over the sea, and strikes the seat from under
kings. “And if you ask where that democracy comes from, they will tell
you from Berks County.”
YANKEES.
An acquaintance once explained to me the prejudice against Yankees
by telling me how, about fifty years ago or longer, the tin-peddlers
travelled among the innocent Dutch people, cheating the farmers and
troubling the daughters. They were (says he) tricky, smart, and
good-looking. They could tell a good yarn, and were very amusing, and the
goodly hospitable farmers would take them into their houses and entertain
them, and receive a little tin-ware in payment.
A lawyer in Easton, from the State of New York, says that he never saw so
large a body of people so honestly inclined as the Pennsylvania Germans.
He speaks from a knowledge of the people of Northampton and Lehigh.
They have an especial dread of the people of New England and New York,
from their having been so terribly victimized by patent-rights’ men. He
adds that they are not a reading people, but by their careful and slow
manner of getting along they really accomplish more than the people of
New England and New York, who, he says, make a great display, and then
frequently compromise with their creditors by paying fifteen or twenty
cents on the dollar. A person present added of these Pennsylvania Germans
that they never headed any great moral reforms and never drowned witches.
Another thinks that in his youth the Yankee drovers in Lehigh County were
respected for their acuteness. He adds, however, that when the “Dutch”
call a man a Yankee, it is not near so opprobrious as to call him a Jew.
“But,” says another, “when a Yankee comes to Reading with patent rights
and inventions they point and say, ‘_Do geht en Yoot_.’” (There goes a
Jew.) Dr. L., of Lebanon County, says that the “Dutch” idea of a Yankee
is not of one who starts out to cheat for the pleasure of cheating, but
of one who prefers to make his living by his wits rather than by hard
labor. He starts with the idea of making money easily, and does not care
much finally about the honesty of his proceedings.
In the market at York a learned man of New England origin asked a farmer,
“What is the price of your apples,—twenty-five cents?” “Yes, you can
have them for that; but I wouldn’t let Kochersperger have them for a
quarter,—he’s a Yankee.”
THRIFT.
In his speech in Congress upon the death of John Covode, Simon Cameron
declared that he honored Covode for his true courage when he proclaimed
in Philadelphia what weaker men would have tried to suppress, giving as
a reason for his hostility to every species of human bondage the fact
that his father had been sold as a redemptionist near the spot where he
was then speaking. “Scarcely a generation had passed away,” adds Cameron,
“before the hired servants began to buy their masters’ lands, to marry
their masters’ daughters, and to make good their claim to full equality
with those whose bondsmen they had been. For a time the Scotch-Irish made
a sturdy stand for that supremacy and superiority which seem to be their
peculiar inheritance, place them where you may. At length the thrift, the
superior patience, and the perseverance of the German blood prevailed.
They bought, and still possess, the old homesteads, and have furnished
us with an array of distinguished men of whom every citizen of our State
is justly proud.” The superior patience, says Mr. Cameron. _Geduld ist
das beste Kraut, das man in America baut_,—patience is the best plant
grown in America,—is a saying I have heard in Lancaster County. But I
must interrupt my regular course to explain the word redemptionist used
by Mr. Cameron. It was applied to persons coming here from Germany who
were unable to pay the expenses of their passage, and who were sold
or indentured for a term of years until that expense was paid. Minor
children were bound out until of age.
Mr. Cameron also speaks of the Pennsylvania Germans dispossessing the
Scotch-Irish, and plenty of corroborative evidence of this can be found.
A learned gentleman has said to me that the Scotch-Irish element, which
used to be the leading one in Franklin County, is in a great measure
replaced by the Pennsylvania German. “As the Irish farmers got poor and
sold their land it was bought by the Pennsylvania Germans, who then got
rich by their extreme thrift or severe economy and great industry.” A
correspondent of the Philadelphia _Press_, in 1871, goes further, and
writing from Brown’s Mills in the same county, from “the fertile and
picturesque Cumberland valley,” speaks of the Pennsylvania Germans of
that region as wearing the short gown and petticoat, the shad-belly
coat, and broad-brimmed hat. The district, he says, was first settled
by Scotch-Irish and Welsh, but these have mostly been replaced; a few
families of Lutherans and German Reformed linger here, but their numbers
annually grow less, and the difficulty of supporting their ministers is
yearly more serious. Then, if we may trust this correspondent, it appears
that the _wehrlos_, or defenceless men (who do not pay ministers), are
gaining possession of that region. It was said of old time that the meek
shall inherit the earth. Far east of Franklin County, in Montgomery, I
was told of peacemen, the Schwenkfelders and Mennonites, that they buy
good farms. “They don’t buy the hilly, stony ones; and, at the same time,
I don’t know how it comes they can afford to pay for them.”
The severe economy of the Pennsylvania Germans has been just mentioned.
One New-Year’s day I saw in a bank a young man who was asked to subscribe
for something. He declined, and spoke of “our old Dutch rule that it is a
bad plan to buy on New-Year’s morning. Always get money in before you pay
it out.” In Northampton County an old resident is reported to have said,
“Do you know the difference between a Yankee farmer and a Dutch one? When
a Yankee farmer has apples, he sells the scrubby ones and eats the good
ones at home; and a Dutch farmer picks out the scrubby ones to eat at
home, and sells the good ones.”
One of my Lancaster County neighbors has grain-bags that have been in
use on the farm for about seventy years, and bid fair to last for twenty
more. They were made from flax and hemp grown on the farm. A young member
of the family says that their preservation not only shows the economy,
but impresses him with proofs of the good judgment of those who made
them, in selecting material, and in the thorough manner of their work. He
adds, “All these characteristics were, I think, possessed in full measure
by the people, somehow and somewhere misnamed Dutch, in whose hands the
largest part of Lancaster County has become what it is.”
CHARMS AND SUPERSTITIONS.
Mrs. G., born in Lebanon County, says that when they were children one
would take a looking-glass and go down the cellar-stairs backward, in
order to see therein the form of a future spouse. Another custom was
to melt lead and pour it into a cup of cold water, expecting thence to
discover some token of the occupation of the same interesting individual.
A person in York also remembers that at Halloween her nurse would melt
lead and pour it through the handle of the kitchen door-key. The figures
were studied and supposed to resemble soldier-caps, books, horses, and so
on. This nurse was Irish, but the other domestics were German. A laboring
woman from Cumberland County, and afterward from a “Dutch” settlement in
Maryland, says that she has heard of persons melting lead to see what
trade their man would be of. My German friend before quoted says that in
the Palatinate they melted the lead on New-Year’s eve. In Nadler’s poems
in the Palatinate dialect, St. Andreas’ night is the time spoken of for
melting the lead. This is the 30th of November. Further, in a work called
“The Festival Year” (_Das Festliche Yahr_), by Von Reinsberg-Duringsfeld,
Leipsic, 1863, the custom of pouring lead through the beard, or wards, of
a key is mentioned.
A lawyer, born in Franklin County, tells me that it is a common
superstition among Pennsylvania Germans that persons born on Christmas
night can see supernatural things and hear similar sounds. He adds that
his mother told him of a person who was sceptical and ridiculed the idea,
and was told to go out into his feeding-room and listen. He lay down on
the hay, and while there one of the oxen said, “_Uebermorgen schieben mir
unser Meschter auf den Kirch-hof._” (Day after to-morrow we will haul our
master to the graveyard.) And his funeral was on the day specified. My
German friend before quoted says that in the Palatinate they believe that
as it strikes twelve on Christmas eve, all animals talk together. She
adds, “I think that idea is through Germany.”
A gentleman connected with schools in Northampton County says that at
Halloween his daughters meet their companions and melt lead into water
to tell their fortunes. They also fill their mouths with water that they
may not speak, as speaking would break the charm; and walk around a
block of houses. The first name which they hear is that of their future
spouse. Another practice, which, unlike the foregoing, may be tried at
any time of year, is to take a large door-key and tie it within the
leaves of a small Bible, the handle remaining out. Two girls rest the
handle upon their fingers, and repeat some cabalistic verse; of which, he
thinks, each line begins with a different letter, and the key will turn
at the initials of the future spouse. These, he says, are the remnants
of old superstitions, and he suspects that the human mind is naturally
superstitious. He adds, “The population of Easton is mixed so that we
cannot tell how many of these are purely German; but by going into the
rural German districts of Northampton County you will find many strange
ideas, such as that on a certain church festival, say Ascension day, you
must not sweep your house, lest it become full of fleas.”
A simple-minded woman in Lancaster County, who showed some regard for the
Reformed Church, said that she had sat up late sewing the night before,
so as not to sew on Ascension day. “My mother,” she said, “knew a girl
that sewed on Ascension day; and there came a gust and killed her.”
One of my German acquaintances calls my attention to the salt-cake eaten
in Lancaster. It is made extremely salt, and is eaten by girls, who then
go to bed backward without speaking and without drinking; and he of whom
they dream is to be their future husband. This, he says, is a custom also
in Germany.
But the most universal ideas of this superstitious kind are those
connected with the signs in the almanac. Baer’s Almanac, published in
Lancaster, still has the signs of the zodiac down the pages, like one
shown to me in the Palatinate, where a man of some education said, “Here
is where I see how to plant my garden.” What, however, is very mysterious
is that when our people tell you you must not plant now, for IT is in the
Posy-woman (and the things will all run to blossom, and not bear fruit),
they cannot tell _what_ is in the Posy-woman, or Virgo. I infer, however,
that it is the moon.
I have been shown a German Bible, which belonged to the grandfather of
one of my neighbors, wherein the family births were entered in the German
language. I endeavored to decipher one, as follows:
“_1797, September den 9ten 1st uns ein Sohn gebohren ihm Zeichen Witter,
ehr ist ihn dem nehmlichen Mohnat ihm Herren entshlafen._”
“On the 9th of September, 1797, a son is born to us in the sign of the
Ram [Aries]. In the same month he fell asleep in the Lord.”
The same neighbor who owns the old Bible just mentioned tells me that one
of the Russian Mennonites showed him a pamphlet in the German language,
which the man had brought from Europe; wherein was told what would be the
fortune of a child born in each sign, his health, wealth, etc.; but my
neighbor says that he, himself, had no faith in it.
“Grain should be sowed in the up-going; meat butchered in the down-going
will shrink in the pot.” But my worthy neighbors do not appear to know
what it is that is going up and going down. I infer, of course, that
it is the moon. Is it not remarkable that my neighbors should be so
attached to book-farming? I knew a woman, born among Friends, but in a
Pennsylvania German settlement, who was lamenting the smallness of the
piece of meat on the table. “What a little piece, and so big before
it was cooked! How it has shrunk! It is in the down-going. And those
strawberries, too, that I preserved, that went away to so little; they
were done in the down-going.” But one of her family spoke up, bravely,
“Just so, mother; that must be it. Now I know what’s the matter with my
portemonnaie, that it shrinks away so; it’s the down-going.”
These beliefs in the influence of the heavenly bodies must be the relics
of astrology remaining in the almanacs, and never drawn now from actual
observation of the weather and the planets.
Mrs. Nevin relates the following (Philadelphia _Press_, June 2, 1875):
“There are several superstitions connected with death and funerals
in the country, which are a strange blending of the ludicrous with
the mournful. One is that if the mother of a family is dying, the
vinegar-barrel must be shaken at the time to prevent the ‘mother’ in
it from dying. Said a man once in sober earnest to me, ‘I was so sorry
Mr. D. was not in the room when his wife died.’ ‘Where was he?’ ‘Oh, in
the cellar a-shaking the vinegar-barrel; but if he had just told me, I
would have done it and let him been in the room to see her take her last
breath.’”
Mrs. Nevin adds: “Another superstition is that the last person that goes
out of a house at a funeral will be the next one to die, and as the
audience begins to thin, you may see people slip very nimbly out of a
back or kitchen door to avoid being that last one.”
The belief in _spooks_ or ghosts is not lost in “Pennsylvania Dutch”
land. In some of his verses Mr. Schantz tells (Allentown _Friedensbote_)
of an abandoned school-house standing near a sand-pit, beside some woods.
He says,—
“_kam mir zu Ohr_
_Vom Sandloch Schuhlhaus am Kreuzweg_
_Was Lesern ich nicht gern vorleg._
_S’ hen lent g’sad ‘Am Sandloch spukts!’_
_En mancher hot oft g’frogt, ‘Wie guckt’s?’_
_Reiter sie sin schnell geridde!_
_Laüfer nahme g’schwinde Schridde!_”
“About the sand-pit school-house, at the cross-roads, things were said
that I do not like to tell. It was told that there were spooks at the
sand-pit, and ‘In what shape?’ was asked. People riding by rode rapidly,
and those on foot hurried swiftly by.” There are still standing near
the Conestoga, close to Lancaster, the remains of a building long and
extensively known as “the spook house.” It probably became unpopular from
a suicide in it, or from having been built in a field where strangers
were buried.
A Lutheran clergyman said lately, “I do not believe in _spooks_ myself,
but plenty of people do; and sad enough it is that there should be such
superstition.”
MEDICAL SUPERSTITIONS.
The peculiarities of a people are always best observed by those who do
not live among them, or rather by those who visit them occasionally. Most
of my notes on this subject are taken from the conversation of physicians
born in other localities than those in which they practise. One in my
own county mentions the “apnehme,” or wasting away of children. He says
that popular remedies are measuring the child and greasing it by certain
old women. Another says that the “Pennsylvania Dutch” also measure
for wild-fire or erysipelas, generally using a red silk string, and
measuring about sundown. They blow across the affected part to blow the
fire outside of the string, at the same time they “say words” or powwow.
This physician says that the greasing above mentioned is for liver-grown
children, and not for “abnehme” (as it is spelled). One class of
powwowers do not interfere, he says, with regular practitioners; but one
old woman in this county (who builds a fire in the brick oven, and says
words over the coals) has been known to hide the prescriptions of regular
physicians. He adds: “If a person is burned, recourse is sometimes had to
a professional blower, who blows across the surface, saying words in the
interval. Along the Pennsylvania Canal, on the Susquehanna, where ague
prevails, the patient who has a chill is tied to a tree by a long string,
and he runs around the tree until the string is exhausted, and then on to
some distance. This is tying the chill to a tree. A ‘Pennsylvania Dutch’
remedy for whooping-cough, and one by which they bother the millers a
good deal, is to put the child into a hopper with grain, and let the
child remain until the grain is all ground out. Blood-stopping is very
common in Pennsylvania. I saw a man with an artery cut, in whose case a
blood-stopper was called in. The man pressed his hand on the bleeding
part and repeated something, raising his eyes to heaven; but the artery
was too powerful for him.”
On the west side of the Susquehanna the only county that can
distinctively be called Pennsylvania German is York. A physician in the
borough says that town and county are full of superstitions. He says,
“In case of hemorrhage from the nose, from a wound or from other cause,
a common cure is to wrap a red woollen string round each finger; another
is to lay an axe under the bed, edge upward; and you can’t talk them out
of it. I used to get angry when I first came here, but I found that it
was of no use. These are not occasional things only, but I have seen them
over and over again. Then there are prayers for stopping blood, always in
‘Dutch.’ They can’t be sick in English, and the first question to me as
a physician has been ‘_Kann er Deutsch?_’ (Do you speak German?) One of
the prayers for stopping blood is, I understand, for human beings, and
another for animals; and I think that the names of the persons of the
Trinity are introduced. I have often asked, but they are not allowed to
tell. Soon after I came here, I ordered some boneset tea for a patient,
and the mother asked in ‘Dutch’ whether the leaves should be pulled
upwards or downwards. ‘Will it make any difference?’ I asked. ‘Oh, yes;
if you pull them upwards, it will work upwards; and if you pull them
downwards, it will work downwards.’ [A valuable hint for a physician if
the same plant can be used both as an emetic and a purgative.] Of the
blood of a black fowl,—no other color will do,—three drops are given
internally. I think this is for convulsions; but I hear so many of these
things, and have heard them so many years, that they make no impression
on my mind. These are pure ‘Pennsylvania Dutch’ peculiarities; I have
found none or few of them among foreign Germans.”
I asked whether these ideas still continue or whether they are wearing
out. “No,” he said, “they don’t wear out. I meet them every day. They
still speak of horses and animals being bewitched (_verhext_). I have a
story from good authority of a horse that was said to be _verhext_, and
that turned out to have a nail in his hoof. That is a fact. What are you
going to do about it?”
But to come to another county, Berks. I hear that in Reading there
is a woman called the _Wurst-frau_, because her mother sold sausages
and “puddings.” This woman has a large office practice in salves and
powwowing. In an adjoining county, Lehigh, I remember a few years ago
to have seen the names of two persons put down in the directory as
_powwowers_; the word being spelled as pronounced in “Dutch.”
Norristown, in Montgomery County, is greatly Anglicized; but a physician
says that an idea exists of stopping blood by a religious lingo, into
which come the words “_der Vater_, _Sohn_, _und heilig Geist_.” “A
certain man told me that he had never failed to arrest bleeding from
wounds or even from the lungs, nor was it necessary to be upon the spot;
he could go home and repeat his lingo. This was his only medical skill;
he did not claim to be a doctor.”
In Norristown also I met a woman who had been quite ill; but I heard that
when better she would not get up on Sunday, lest she should never get
well, and Friday was as bad. Her little grandchild having a birth-mark,
she passed the hand of a dead person over it to take it away, but was
unsuccessful.
To return, however, to this county of Lancaster, which I know better. A
physician says that he found a child very ill with membranous croup, for
which he left powders to be administered every half-hour, saying that
when he called again, if it seemed possible to dislodge the membrane he
would give an emetic. When he called, he found a powwower sitting, who
looked very smiling. The doctor went up to the little patient, and asked
whether the mother had given the medicine. She had given only one dose;
the man had said that it was not necessary to give any powders. “Don’t
you think the child is better?” the mother asked. On examination the
doctor declared, “I am sorry to tell you that the child will not live
two hours;” which caused the countenance of the powwower to fall. The
child died, and this case caused the doctor to declare that he would not
practise in conjunction with powwowers; and if they are now called in, it
is done privately.
Although one physician spoke of not finding many of these ideas among
foreign Germans, yet my friend, before mentioned, from the Palatinate
says that when children have earache there, or _abnehme_ (wasting away),
or when persons are in the early stages of consumption, country people
say, “_Lasz dir brauche_” (or, Consult a powwower); and a woman comes
and whispers some words. “My father” (she adds that he was a Reformed
preacher) “knew a blacksmith to whom children were brought, suffering
with earache. The man would heat the big tongs, hold them close to
their ears, and whisper something. My father asked him what he said.
He answered, ‘Nothing; but if he did not whisper, the people would not
believe in him;’ and my father told him that he ought not to impose upon
them.”
HOLIDAYS—EASTER.
I live in the country, but on last Good-Friday was at Reading, and was
surprised to see so many persons going to church. Easter is greatly
observed by Reformed and Lutherans. It is the time of confirmation and
administering the sacrament; and you may hear of churches in country
localities having as high as six hundred communicants. At Easter, of
course, eggs greatly abound. At a boarding-house at Allentown I heard of
colored eggs being offered to callers or taken to friends. Fragments of
egg and of colored shells may be seen on the pavements for about a week.
A little childish myth is found in these more eastern counties, of which
I have heard very little in Lancaster County. It is that the rabbit
lays the colored eggs. A young man in Reading says that when they were
children they always made a nest the evening before Easter Sunday, of an
old hat or something similar, which they set near the door for the rabbit
to lay the colored eggs in. An old man in a tavern, however, says that it
is foolishness, like _Bellschnickel_. At my own tavern the landlady was
coloring eggs, and had bought some canton-flannel rabbits with which to
dress the guests’ tables at breakfast on Sunday morning.
In Lehigh County a lawyer says that when they were children they would
take flax and each make his nest under a bush in the garden. On Easter
Sunday morning they would run out and find three eggs of different colors
in each nest. Literalness has gone so far in Allentown that I hear of
cakes in a baker’s window in the form of a rabbit laying eggs.
At Easton a lady spoke of making nests for her two boys by taking plates,
ornamenting them with cut paper in the form of a nest, putting into each
a large candy egg and colored eggs, and placing a rabbit in one and a
chicken in the other, and hiding them for the boys to find.
This myth of the rabbits’ eggs is very common among the Moravians. One
of my “Dutch” acquaintances, born west of us in Cumberland County,
and afterward living in Maryland, says that her mother told them when
children to set their bonnets at Easter for nests for the rabbits’ eggs.
This is an old German myth. A gentleman from Switzerland says that he
heard the fable there, and he thinks that it prevails all over Germany.
Many or most of our early German emigrants into Pennsylvania seem to have
come from or through the Palatinate. My friend before mentioned, who was
born there, thus describes the custom at her former home. If the children
have no garden, they make nests in the wood-shed, barn, or house. They
gather colored flowers for the rabbit to eat, that it may lay colored
eggs. If there be a garden, the eggs are hidden singly in the green
grass, box-wood, or elsewhere. On Easter Sunday morning they whistle for
the rabbit, and the children imagine that they see him jump the fence.
After church, on Easter Sunday morning, they hunt the eggs, and in the
afternoon the boys go out in the meadows and crack eggs or play with them
like marbles. Or sometimes children are invited to a neighbor’s to hunt
eggs.
Prof. Wackernagel, of Allentown, has kindly pointed out to me the
antiquity of the myth. The old German goddess of spring was called Ostara
(whence Easter). She rode over the fields in the spring in a wagon
drawn by hares. (Our Pennsylvania rabbit is really a hare, as it does
not burrow in the ground.) The egg is an emblem, says the professor,
of the resurrection from the dead; so herein he finds heathenism and
Christianity blended. However, the author of _Das Festliche Yahr_
(Leipsic, 1863) considers the myth older than Christianity; for he says
that in Thuringia, Hesse, Suabia, and Switzerland it is said now, as
apparently in ante-Christian times, that the hare or Easter hare lays the
eggs. Finally, one of my German friends finds the whole a myth of the
renewal of life in the spring.
HALLOWEEN.
On the 30th of last October our farmer locked the gate on the road,
lest it should be taken off. Therefore the Halloween visitors limited
themselves to taking down bundles of corn-fodder in the field and
building a fence across the road, and to propping up one end of the
market-wagon on the fence. I am told of a person who once had his wagon
taken apart, and the pieces put up into different trees, so that it was
some time before all were found. In Lebanon County a similar custom is
found. One of my acquaintances living in a small town says that they
celebrate Halloween roughly,—hanging beets and cabbages at the doors,
moving steps, taking gates from hinges, throwing corn. The speaker
was born in Lehigh County, where nothing of this prevailed, and this
fact constitutes one of the chief distinctions among our Pennsylvania
Germans of Lancaster and Lebanon on one hand, and Lehigh, Berks, upper
Montgomery, and probably Northampton on the other. In Montgomery a young
“Dutchman” did not even know when Halloween is, and when I described our
Lancaster County custom, said, “That ain’t any use.” Traces of similar
observances of Halloween are found, however, in other regions. In
Philadelphia the boys indulge in ringing front-door bells. In Harrisburg
people who had wooden door-steps used to take them into the house, lest
they should be carried off. Of Franklin County, beyond the Susquehanna, I
am told that at Waynesboro’ it has been a favorite amusement at Halloween
to gather store-boxes and build a fortification around the town pump, and
collect wheeled vehicles around the public square. At Lockhaven, up the
West Branch of the Susquehanna, my landlady was anxious that her cabbage
should be housed, for fear that it would be carried off on Halloween.
My German acquaintances, before quoted, born in the Palatinate, do not
report to me anything of this kind as existing in Germany at Halloween.
One of them says, however, that at the time of putting up string-beans
(which are preserved like sour-krout), children throw the strings into
front doors. And Mr. Wollenweber, of Reading, also a native of the
Palatinate, says that when the farm-work was over in October, they used
to practise tricks. He has helped to take a wagon to pieces, and put it
together again in a stable or barn. “We troubled ourselves very much,” he
says. He adds that the boys were expected, when the fun was over, to come
together and take it down again; but this is not the case in Lancaster
County.
Can it be that some of these practices belong to the season of the year,
and are a warning to the tardy to gather the fruits of the earth and
their farm implements?
In his work called _Die Alte Zeite_, or Old Times, Mr. H. L. Fisher,
of York, Pennsylvania, describes such pranks as played at weddings
or home-comings “infares.” The boys hid the bridegroom’s horse in a
quarry, and the young men’s saddles and bridles were put upon trees,
straw-stacks, etc.
In the text I have spoken of Bellschnickel, who in “Pennsylvania Dutch”
land takes the part of Santa Claus, being in fact the same personage;
Bellschnickel, or Peltz Nickel, being St. Nicholas in furs. St. Nicholas
day is not, however, Christmas eve. It is the 6th of December; but it is
in Advent. One of my German friends thus describes Peltz Nickel: “In the
Palatinate at Christmas they have the Christ-kindchen, which is a little
girl dressed in white and riding on a donkey. I often made one myself,
dressed in my mother’s wedding-veil. If you have no donkey, a boy is
dressed to represent one and goes on all-fours. The Peltz Nickel is a boy
leading; he is blackened, and has a beard and rattling chains. He gives
a switch to the mother, which sticks behind the glass the whole year, if
the children do not hide nor break it. This begins on the first Sunday of
December, with Advent, and may be practised till Christmas. He carries
apples and nuts. The children must kneel and say their prayers, and if
they say them nicely they get some of these, and perhaps honey-cakes and
candy, which the Christ-kindel and Peltz Nickel distribute; but they do
not give the Christmas gifts.” She adds, “We only went to one or two
houses.”
As regards the New Year, Mr. Wollenweber says that in Berks County,
around Womelsdorf, a dozen boys or so will form a company, choose a
captain, take a gun, and go around the neighborhood, calling on different
persons and asking leave to wish them a New Year. If they obtain consent,
they will form into a rank, and the captain will repeat the following
verses:
“Nau wunschen wir euch en Neues Yohr,
En Bretzel wie en Scheuer Thor,
En Brodwurst wie en Ofen Rohr,
Und in der Midde-Stub en Tisch
Oof yedem Eck en gebrodener Fisch,
Und in der Mitt en Bottell Wein,
Das soll unser Neu Yohr’s Wunsch sein.”
“Now we wish you a New Year; a pretzel like a barn-door; a fried sausage
like a stove-pipe; and in the middle room a table, with a fried fish at
each corner, and in the midst a bottle of wine,—that shall be our New
Year’s wish.”
Then they fire off the gun, and are invited to come in and take a
supper. Generally they go to farm-houses, where there are a number of
daughters, and these daughters are usually prepared to give them a
hospitable reception.
This custom, says Mr. Wollenweber, also prevails in the Palatinate.
I am also told that the custom of firing-in the New Year is found in
Lehigh, Berks, and Lebanon Counties.
THE PLAINER SECTS.
Some of our Pennsylvania German Baptist sects cannot escape a suspicion
of asceticism. I speak of them as Baptists, for not only the Dunkers who
dip, but the Mennonites who pour, are Baptists, because they baptize
on faith, adults or young persons, and not infants. At the time of the
great Centennial Exposition one of our farmers told me that although
their members were not forbidden to visit it, yet it had been recommended
for them not to do so. He said that there were worldly things there,
unnecessary things. Of the stricter sect of New Mennonites I heard that
they were forbidden. But as these churches are of simple congregational
form, this rule and this recommendation may have been local.
I met another farmer on a railway train, and asked about the Exposition.
He answered, “I don’t think the Lord has any love to them things. It’s
like those picnics and things; those that will go to them will do
anything.” But his name was afterward connected with a more disreputable
thing than a picnic.
In some things our New Mennonites are very strict. It is said that one
was obliged to take down his front porch and another to cut down his
evergreen-trees, apparently because they were suspected of being “proud.”
A woman inclined to the same sect cultivated no flowers. Yet it is
surprising how showily the members allow their unbaptized children to
dress, in which they are a great contrast to the Amish. It is the same
New Mennonites who have so rigid a ban in the church of which I have
spoken in the text. I have spoken of a father who did not come to the
family table. A member of the church was kind enough to explain to me the
cause. He gave way to a selfish spirit, found fault unnecessarily. The
wife bore it a long time, and then complained to the meeting, whereupon
he did not show a penitent spirit; he was not willing to humble himself
before her. So they continued to eat apart, to be separate. Our Old
Mennonites confess their faults to each other in an open meeting of the
members. If the same rule prevails among the New Mennonites, we can see
that it would not be at all grateful to the pride of “the natural man” to
apologize thus to a meeting of which the wife was a part.
As regards another sect, the River Brethren, an acquaintance tells me
that he was expelled from them for voting at elections; but still some
of the brethren will vote. But against him there were two other charges,
namely, of having a melodeon in his house and having his property insured.
Another division of the Mennonites are the Amish, who are very simple
in dress and habits, very recluse. I once called on a plain old Amish
farmer in moderate circumstances. His clothing was long worn, but clean
and well mended, and his bent form, silver beard and hair commanded
regard. A neighbor was with him whom he called Chrissly, the nickname of
Christian. In conversation I spoke of one of my relatives as a lawyer,
and I saw that this had an immediate effect. The neighbor remarked that
when Judge Jasper Yeates was growing old, he said that lawyers are like
woollen yarn, they will stretch. The old man added, “I guess they must
tell rather more than the truth when they _blead_.”
I said to the old man, “You all vote?”
“Yes; there’s some of them a little conscientious; but if they are, they
can just leave it alone. It may be I’m dumb; but I just think we must
have government,—we have Scripture for it,—and if the good people—what
I call the tame people—stays away and leaves it all to the rowdies, how
would it be? We must _bray_ for the government; do all we can. We mustn’t
go to pole-raisings. It oughtn’t to be, but sometimes they will, you
know.”
“Do any of your young men learn trades?” I asked.
“Yes; some are carpenters or cabinet-makers.”
“But you would rather have them farmers; why do you like that best?”
“I think if a man’s a _Gristian_, that’s the best thing he can undertake.”
* * * * *
I have been told of an Amish farmer who was sitting at table with several
young men who had lately joined the meeting, having been baptized. One
of these was his hired man called Yoney (a nickname for Jonathan). The
Amish here do not in general wear suspenders, and the old man, addressing
Yoney, said, “_Was hasht du verschproke in der Gemeh?_” (What did you
promise in meeting?) The young man looked at his clothes, and the elder
pointed out the suspenders.
Yoney answered that he was allowed to wear the clothes that he already
had until they were worn out.
“These look like new ones.”
“They were my best ones,” he answered, “and I have just begun to wear
them every day.”
A girl who has lived among the Amish has told me that they are obliged to
give to beggars or “stragglers,” or they would be turned out of meeting.
She does not know indeed that they are obliged to give to those who are
able to work; but she did not believe that she ever saw them turn any
away.
The impression prevails concerning the Amish that they endeavor to fulfil
the saying, “Give to him that asketh of thee, and from him that would
borrow of thee turn not thou away.” When I turn my mind to these plain
people, I sometimes recall the trailing arbutus, which is found partly
buried under the leaves and clinging close to the surface of the ground,
but which when drawn up displays, though sometimes disfigured with dead,
brown leaves, such a delicate form and tint, and exhales so sweet a
perfume.
And I also have recalled Pope’s _Temple of Fame_:
“Next came the smallest tribe I yet had seen,
Plain was their dress and modest was their mien;
‘Great idol of mankind, we neither claim
The praise of merit, nor aspire to fame!
But safe in deserts from the applause of men
Would die unheard of, as we lived unseen.’
...
‘And live there men who slight immortal Fame,
Who then with incense shall adore our name?’”
Yet our Amish are not a highly-educated people. Some years ago I inquired
of a neighbor (who did not speak English fluently) on the subject of
education. He said that they were not opposed to school-learning, but to
high learning. “To send children to school from ten to twenty-one, we
would think was opposed to Holy Scripture. There are things taught in
school that don’t agree with Holy Scripture.”
I asked whether he thought it was wrong to teach that the earth goes
round the sun. “I don’t know anything about it; but I am not in favor of
teaching geography and grammar in the schools: it’s worldly wisdom.”
* * * * *
All these Baptist sects have an unpaid ministry. Dr. H., of Bucks County,
had a patient who was a Mennonite preacher, and the doctor refused to
receive payment, saying that his father had taught him never to take pay
from ministers of the gospel. The preacher looked sober and worried, but
left quietly, and not long after he came bringing oats and corn for the
doctor’s horse. Afterwards he would bring flour or buckwheat-meal and
choice bits about butchering time. Thus he seems, without entering into
argument, to have relieved conscientious scruples about taking pay for
preaching.
* * * * *
The ceremonial of these plain German sects is not formal and stately,
like that of the Romish Church. A Moravian of Bethlehem was amused
with one of their ministers, who, in ordaining a preacher, said, “_Nau
kannscht du taufe, und nau kannscht du copulire_.” (Now you can baptize,
and now you can marry.) Then turning to a brother, “_Hab ich net ebbes
vergesse? Oh, ya; nau kannscht du auch beim Abendmahl diene_.” (Haven’t I
forgotten something? Oh, yes; now too you can serve in the Supper.)
Perhaps I would better translate the foregoing, “Thou can serve in the
Supper,” for our Pennsylvania Germans generally use the pronouns thee and
thou.
* * * * *
The Mennonites have not a great yearly meeting like that of the Dunkers.
In 1874 a correspondent of one of our Lancaster papers spoke of a
national meeting held in Illinois by the Dunkers. He said, “They had
abundant provision for the comfort of the brethren. The tent held ten
thousand people. Eighty beeves were on the ground for steaks and roasts,
and one baker had orders for eleven thousand loaves of bread.” This year
I see a statement that the national Conference was held in Indiana,
and that twenty thousand people were on the ground. Dr. Seidensticker
(_Century Magazine_, December, 1881) states the number of the Dunkers in
the United States at about two hundred thousand, with nearly two thousand
ministers, none of whom receives a salary. They pay more attention to
education than the Mennonites, having now three collegiate institutes.
* * * * *
Mennonites are still found in Europe; in Holland, Prussia, Switzerland,
the Palatinate, etc. They are sometimes distinguished in Germany into
Heftler and Knöpfler, or Hook men and Button men; whence it seems that
one of the distinctions here is widespread and of former origin. In 1881
I visited a family in the Palatinate, where I was shown a black satin
waistcoat which the father had once worn, with hooks and eyes down the
front; but none of our Amish here would wear anything so showy as a black
satin waistcoat.
In the same year, 1881, a Mennonite preacher in the Palatinate gave me a
list of many of the European communities, with names of their officers,
such as preachers, deacons, etc. Many of the same names are found in
Lancaster County, though not generally spelled in the same way. Such are
Frantz, Lichti, Landes, Lehmann, Bachmann, Oesch, Bähr and Bär, Zercher,
Krehbiel, Neff, Binkele, Muselmann, Brubacher, Staehly, Wickert. The
family of Stauffer, in my own immediate neighborhood, has possessed for
several generations the given names John and Christian. On the European
list I find two Christian Stauffers, and one marked Johann Stauffer II.
I met in the Palatinate one who had travelled in Switzerland, and who had
seen Mennonites there. All that he met there were farmers, who sold milk
when near towns, or made butter and cheese when at a distance. They were
mostly Amish. One Amish family, who still wore hooks and eyes, were named
Stauffer. Other families whom he knew or heard of were named Wenger,
Schwartz, Rettiger, etc.
I find in the volume just mentioned a little description of a Mennonite
congregation near Tilsit, in Prussia, which shows how closely
agricultural the people are. There are altogether about eight hundred
(five hundred and twenty being baptized). Seven hundred and seventy live
in the country, in town thirty. Fifteen belong to the mercantile class,
to mechanics twenty-four, to laborers seventy. The rest own or rent land
(_sind Grundbesitzer und Rentier_).
From this volume, some of the Russian Mennonites appear to have adopted
river-baptism. One body of Russians went to Taschkant in Middle Asia,
and seem to have been quite unfortunate, as most of us would expect
non-resistants to be among those nearly barbarians. And these emigrants
were extremists, refusing obedience to worldly authorities; they were
unwilling to plant forests in lieu of military service in Russia; the
office of preacher they considered a human institution, and called
themselves the spouse of the Lord. (_Brautgemeinde des Herrn._)
* * * * *
I have received a copy of the Family Almanac for 1882, published by a
Mennonite company in Indiana, which bears on the cover a little engraving
of the sword being beaten into the ploughshare, and the motto above,
“Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace, good will toward men.”
Within the almanac, among other matter, is the well-known engraving
of a man surrounded by the twelve signs of the zodiac, and headed
thus, “Anatomy of Man’s Body as said to be governed by the Twelve
Constellations.” I find the words _said to be_ significant,—perhaps
the introduction of some scrupulous person. On the same page is the
statement, “Jupiter is the ruling planet this year.”
A meeting calendar at the close of the almanac gives forty-two
meeting-houses in Lancaster County, and twenty-two others in this State.
Also eleven in Indiana, one in Michigan, and seventeen in Virginia.
There are many Mennonites in Ohio, but this list does not speak of them.
Those meeting-houses mentioned make nearly one hundred; but probably the
list contains none of the New or Reformed Mennonites, also none of the
Amish, who almost invariably meet in private houses. A peculiarity of
the Mennonite meetings in the list just spoken of is the long interval
between meetings, which is mostly two or four weeks, and in three cases
eight weeks.
* * * * *
In the article in the text called Schwenkfelders a careful observer will
note a discrepancy. The author speaks of their holding the Spirit above
the Scriptures; but also quotes Schwenkfeld as speaking in substance of
“the gifts of grace revealed by the Father; yet so that this revelation
should unite with the witness of the Scriptures.” The author has not read
Schwenkfeld’s works, but quotes from different sources.
Before closing these remarks on the plainer sects, I may add that they
are all evangelical, at least there are no Socinian “Menists” here as
in Holland in the time of William Penn. The Dunkers do not believe in
eternal perdition.
Further as regards one of these plainer sects, I may ask, Are they
degenerating physically? This must be the tendency, it would seem, in all
small religious bodies, limited in marriage to their own membership; but
this may be compensated for by simplicity and purity of life and freedom
from agitation and pecuniary distress.
THE PEOPLE CONTRASTED.
It will be seen that there are among the Pennsylvania Germans two classes
who may be compared or contrasted. The one party may be called the people
of Lancaster and Lebanon, the Baptist and peace; the other, the people of
Berks, Lehigh, and Northampton, the Reformed and Lutheran party. There
are, however, many Reformed and Lutherans in the former division, but
extremely few of the peace people in the latter. In Bucks and Montgomery
on the east, Cumberland and other counties on the west, the different
classes are mingled with many “English.” I have already pointed out that
many of the peace people are of Swiss origin; of the other division,
many or most appear to have been Palatines, and perhaps French refugees.
I have already pointed out also how these two parties differ, the most
astonishing difference being that of politics. During the civil war the
one party opposed the government, which the other sustained. I find a
surprising instance in my notes: A worthy Schwenkfelder told me of places
in the northern part of Montgomery where party spirit seemed to have run
riot, where vendue-criers would use such language as this: one held up
an old scythe, and, as if to enhance its merits, said that it would do
to cut old Lincoln’s head off. The great contrast, however, in politics
between the two districts alluded to may of course have had some
other origin than the sectarian differences of the people. It must be
remembered, however, in Germany, that for a long period the Reformed and
Lutheran were state churches; and these other bodies that existed there
were dissenters.
In language I have pointed out small differences. In holidays I have
shown how Lancaster and Lebanon keep Halloween, in a manner unknown to
the eastern counties. In the three “Dutch” counties of the east we have
the rabbit myth more extensive than here in Lancaster. While those three
have great agricultural county fairs, Lancaster has held none since
before the war. I attribute this in a great measure to the opposition of
our Baptist farmers to horse-racing and its concomitants.
A friend gives me another small point of difference. In Lancaster, at
Christmas-time, is sold a cake called _Motzebom_, which is not seen in
Eastern Pennsylvania. This, he adds, is from the Italian _marzepane_, or
bread of St. Mark, which came from Italy into Germany; in England called
marchpain.
MISCELLANEOUS.
Said a young man to us, “My daddy won’t sit in no rocking-chair. He has
a crutch agin’ a rocking-chair.” It appears that the same objection has
been felt by other Pennsylvania Germans. Wollenweber gives us a farmer
talking to his children in the spring, who says especially that none of
the girls is to sit in a rocking-chair on a working-day. In sounding the
praises of Womelsdorf, Berks County, the same author tells us that the
women are never seen sitting in a rocking-chair.
* * * * *
We may sometimes judge of a person’s character by hearing the arguments
used to induce him to act. Thus does Wollenweber endeavor to induce the
people of Womelsdorf to erect a monument to Conrad Weiser, who is buried
near the town, and who was a distinguished German pioneer. Wollenweber
encourages them to raise a subscription. Certainly, he says, the man who
owns the place would not object to having a beautiful monument on his
farm; and thousands would go to see it; so that the railroad company, the
turnpike company, and all the tavern-keepers in the neighborhood would
make a good thing of it. “Alas!” he adds, “most of the people who live
round there do not know how to prize the treasure they possess.”
* * * * *
These are rural similes used by Wollenweber, whose little volume is “in
the idiom and manner of speech of the Pennsylvania Germans.” It tells of
girls who want to be English (who profess to talk English), but when some
one from town talks to them, they stand like a hen who has dropped an
egg. Again, we read that Weiser remonstrated with Stiegel on account of
his extravagance, etc.; but he might as well have talked to a dead calf.
* * * * *
Perhaps the best article in the collection (which is indeed of very
unequal merit) is the story of the dreadful noise that was heard just
before daylight in Lancaster County, near Berks. The people went to
Squire Reinhold’s to talk about it, and the squire, who was very high
learned, thought it must be the train of the wild huntsman, presaging
war, pestilence, and scarcity. He had a German book that told about it.
One stout young fellow, however, had a mind to see for himself; and he
took with him an old shoemaker, who had fought in the Buckshot war, and
who was fearfully full of courage when he had emptied a pint of whiskey,
but whom anybody could chase away when he was sober. (The Buckshot war
was a bloodless affair at Harrisburg, in 1838.)
This pair went to watch, and heard nothing for two or three nights,
but at last about three in the morning a noise was heard as if every
storm-wind had broken loose. The shoemaker was so frightened that he sank
down at the foot of a tree and buried his head in the fallen leaves. But
the young man discovered that the noise was caused by an immense flock of
wild pigeons.
* * * * *
It has been hinted in the text that the Pennsylvania Germans are not
refined. One of their preachers has told me of their being a gross,
unrefined people, and of his being often obliged to see things that he
would rather not. Another preacher gave me this anecdote: A man, speaking
of his son, said, “I would rather have lost my best horse as Jake. He was
such a fellow to work.”
* * * * *
Of those who are yoked together in life and do not pull together, the
“Dutch” of Berks and Lehigh say, “_Der ehne keht chee un der onnere keht
haw_.” (One gees and the other haws.) It is applied also to others who do
not agree, and is heard also thus, “_Ehnce will chee, oonce anner will
ho_.”
* * * * *
Although our “Pennsylvania Dutch” are of undoubted German origin, yet
in common speech they almost always speak of themselves as Dutch, which
sounds much more like _Deutsch_ than German does; and it is not a great
length of time since Germans were so called. I think that it was in Miss
Aiken’s life of Elizabeth that I found the following. One of the suitors
to the queen was brother to the emperor of Austria. The Earl of Sussex
wrote to Elizabeth, “His highness, besides his natural language of Dutch,
speaketh very well Spanish and Italian.”
* * * * *
The following are from newspapers of different dates:
In 1869 a literary society in Lancaster County discussed the question,
Resolved, that wealth exerts a greater influence than knowledge. The
decision was in favor of the affirmative.
In 1872 a lyceum in the same county debated the subject that wealth has a
greater influence on the people in general than education. The decision
was in favor of education, “contrary to expectation.”
In 1879, in another literary society in our county, this referred
question was answered, Is laziness a habit, a disease, or a sin? If we
only had the answer!
At a lyceum in Berks County in 1882 was discussed this subject, Resolved,
that ambition is a greater evil than intemperance. The judges decided in
favor of the affirmative; the house afterwards in the negative.
* * * * *
The following seems to be from a report in the Reading _Eagle_: Samuel
J. and his wife returned from their wedding trip on Monday evening, when
they were serenaded early by a band, and later Butcher arrived before
the bride’s house with the si-gike, followed by about one hundred little
boys. After making the welkin ring for about one hour, Samuel handed
over a V, and the band left in high glee.
At my own home I have heard the sound of these rough serenades, borne
over the fields in notes by distance made less harsh. The instruments are
pots and pans beaten, and a horse-fiddle, made by putting rosin on edges
of a box, and drawing a rail over them. In my own neighborhood I hear
that this rough play is going out of fashion as musical bands are coming
in.
In the south of England I saw an aged pair who had received a rough
serenade on account of conjugal disturbances.
A friend, born in the Palatinate, tells me that rough serenades were
formerly practised there, and called _Katzen_-musik (cat music), or
charivari. They were introduced on the occasion of disproportionate
marriages. Thus,—
“_Eine alte Frau und ein junger Mann_
_Die müsse Charivari han._”
“An old wife and a young husband must have a serenade.”
* * * * *
In Berks County a young publisher told me that when visiting the country
and asking his subscribers how they liked his paper, he received answer
that it was “a very nice paper for the cupboard.” Being a large-sized
paper, it was a good one to spread upon shelves to keep them clean.
Lancaster County men connected with the press have had similar
experiences. One canvassing for a paper to be published in a small town
came across an old man and his wife tying covers on pots of apple-butter,
and showed them a specimen copy. He was answered, “_Ich verlang’s net.
Es macht net vier Happe-deckel_.” (I don’t want it. It won’t make four
pot-covers.)
When the _Lancaster County Farmer_ was started it was in small pamphlet
form. A person in the office showed it to a man, who took hold of it,
opened it, and looked at the other side, but believed he would not take
it: it was almost too small to tie apple-butter crocks with.
A man came into the office of the Lancaster _Express_, Republican,
and wished to “pay his paper.” I will call his post-office Blackburn.
Considerable time was spent in looking over the list of the weekly paper
and trying to find his name, and then he was asked whether it was not
the daily. No, he did not think it was. And was he sure that he got it
from Blackburn Post-Office “Yes.”
“Well, maybe it’s the _Intelligencer_.”
“I guess maybe it is; it’s a Democrat paper.”
* * * * *
I have spoken of old apple-butter. The following is condensed from a
Lancaster paper of 1874: “A gentleman handed us a few days since a bottle
of apple-butter made in 1820, being fifty-three years old last fall.
It is still good, and retains its original flavor. It was part of the
‘housestire’ of Mrs. R. of this county after her marriage.” (_Haus steur_
is the house-furnishing. Apple-butter kept so long dries away to a very
small bulk, but can be renewed by boiling it with water.)
* * * * *
At a Quaker settlement in Lancaster County, nearly extinct among the
“Dutch,” a father urged his son to activity thus: “Let me see if thee’ll
go on and help me like a little Dutch boy would do, or whether thee’ll
linger and loiter about.” When the boy had got into college he told of
his neighbors’ saying, “Too much eddication, you know, makes a man lazy.”
A neighboring farmer was inquiring for a person to help him in haying and
harvest, and the lad spoke for himself, saying that some people thought
he was lazy, but that he could work and was willing to work. “Still,
you’re a little lazy,” answered the farmer.
* * * * *
Riding one evening we met an Amish farmer on horseback driving a very
clean sow. We stopped, and I asked whether he had a certain book which
contains a notice of the Amish. He answered that he did not have many
books.
“My Bible and Testament’s enough for me to read;” then, recollecting
himself, “and the Martyr-Book, I have that.”
* * * * *
“Does Mr. Kennel live here?” inquired a stranger of an Amish farmer.
“Joe Kennel lives here. I’m the man.”
* * * * *
Mr. R. has told me that in 1853, at the age of six, he went to public
school in this county. He had just learned to read, and was put into a
class in the Testament. They read four to six times a day. It took them
about three months to accomplish the Testament, and then the teacher put
them into the Bible, which they completed, Mr. R. says, before he was
eight years old, but under a succeeding teacher.
“We hadn’t many books in those days,” says Mr. R.; “I used to read the
weekly _Tribune_ down to the names of the Kansas settlers.”
* * * * *
The custom of barring out the teacher at Christmas appears not yet to be
extinct in Lancaster County.
The scholars demand a Christmas gift, but are not always successful. One
teacher near here walked calmly home, and allowed the scholars to open
the door at their leisure.
An acquaintance, born in Northampton County, tells me that at his native
place the teacher was locked out not at Christmas, but on Shrove-Tuesday,
and merely for sport.
* * * * *
That peculiarity of some Germans by which they pronounce Goble like Kopel
is also found in Pennsylvania. A certain carpenter could not tell me
whether his son’s name was Beck or Peck. And an “English” boy supposed
that a certain man had a hare-lip, as he heard him spoken of as Cutlip,
but his name was Gottlieb.
* * * * *
A neighboring farmer came to our house with his little boy, about five
years old. I handed the little fellow a penny, and he began to pull his
father, who was talking.
“He gives it to you, does he?” I asked.
“Yes, to put into his box. He’s got two full. I’ll have to steal them
some day, I guess,” winking at me.
“That’s the way you teach them to save?” said I.
“Yes, keep them till he gets big. Buy a horse and buggy with them, he
says.”
Then, with paternal pleasure, “He tells his mother he don’t want no
hilly land.” Strange for a family of Swiss descent? Their ancestors had
enough hills in Switzerland. How they enjoy this level limestone land!
One of my acquaintances thinks that the reason these people or this class
got the rich limestone land was that they were not afraid of the labor of
cutting down the heavy timber which grew on it.
* * * * *
I have just told how the little fellow was saving his pennies to “buy
a horse and buggy,”—the great pride of our farmer boy’s heart. On a
neighboring farm to ours lived the grandfather, who had his own plain
carriage, the father with another, and two sons, aged about twenty-one,
each with a buggy. This must be the great extravagance of our young
farmers now. But having buggies they can take the girls to ride; and they
can sometimes take others too. The other day a lad kindly took me up; an
Amish boy, in a plain buggy, driving a pretty good horse. As our Amish
so often drive in wagons, covered with light-colored oil-cloth, I made
some remark about the buggy, and the lad answered that it was his. He is
fourteen years old.
On the other hand, I have heard of a Miss K., who was considered a
great catch, being thought rich by the young “Dutch fellows.” Among the
numerous young men who came to see her was one who drove two horses. Her
father asked him what business he was in.
“Not in any just now.”
“Then I don’t see how you can keep two horses;” which remark was fully
understood as putting an end to the young man’s suit. He needn’t come
there no more!
The mania for a driving-team accounts for the occasional disappearance of
harness when left unguarded.
* * * * *
A lawyer in Lancaster describes a peculiarity of our people. In most
places, he says, a man comes in, tells you what he wants, and perhaps
retains you in his case. But here there is first a conversation on
diverse subjects.
Another says that the country people expect you to hear an account of
their ailings and those of their friends and the state of the crops
before proceeding further.
A neighbor coming to our house to get a horse and vehicle, talked perhaps
half an hour, as if on a friendly call, before she told her errand.
* * * * *
It is hard for some of our Pennsylvania Germans to write a letter in
English. I wrote once to a preacher, who got the ticket-agent at the
railroad to answer. The following was sent by a workingman:
“Dear A B Your man have pacts that Roof has left some stuff mite I have
them to pact my slate roof the leeke I sought the might spile so I mite
youse it as well as let the leek away ensur soon. Yours C D.”
Which may be interpreted thus: “Your man has patched that roof, and has
left some stuff. Might I have it to patch my slate-roof,—the leak? I
thought it might spoil, so I might use it as well as let it leak away.
Answer soon.”
* * * * *
A young “English” girl was visiting a “Dutch” one, and the father of the
latter, a substantial farmer, was kindly going to take the visitor part
way home. The girls stayed talking above until the voice of the farmer
was heard at the foot of the stairs, “Staytsch!” He was no more to be
trifled with than the stage-driver.
Once when absent from home he bought a plaster cast of Canova’s Three
Graces. Such things are not seen in “Dutch” farm-houses, and ere long the
Three Graces were provided with petticoats of pink and blue tissue-paper.
* * * * *
An expression that is very offensive to our Pennsylvania Germans, when
applied to them by “English” folks, is “dumb Dutch.” Dumb is of course
the German _dumm_, stupid, and it is familiarly used by our Pennsylvania
Germans themselves. One of my friends said that she thought she could
learn to use a sewing-machine,—“People as dumb as me has learned to use
them.”
* * * * *
A Lancaster gentleman gave me this little anecdote:
Old Mrs. H., anxious to see a baptism by immersion, proposed to her hired
girl, Susan, to go across the fields to the place where there was to be
baptism in the creek. Waymaking they were to cross the same creek by a
log, but Mrs. H. fell in to her waist. Wading back to the bank, Susan
standing alarmed, Mrs. H. said, quietly and quickly, “_Suss, mir hens
yetst g’seh; yetst welle mir hame geh_;” or, “Susy, we’ve seen it now;
now let’s go home.”
* * * * *
A lawyer, Mr. W., who taught in Schuylkill County about fifteen or twenty
years ago, has given me some of his recollections.
He said that among the mines in Schuylkill the population is English,
that is, American, Welsh, Scotch, and Irish, but in the valleys there are
“Dutch” farmers, mostly Lutherans, he thinks.
“The farmers lived well in the valleys of Schuylkill County; no danger of
freezing in winter between two feather-beds;” and Mr. W. liked the fried
_pawn-haus_, although he found it rather rich.
“In that county I had some of the pleasantest times. I was there as a
teacher, and they immediately appropriated me. I was not obliged to
wait for the formality of an introduction in the German community. I
could see, however, a tendency to mistrust the man of Yankee origin,
and to combine against him; the young men fearing lest the teacher
should cut them out with the girls. I was invited to go one evening on a
sleighing-party. There were an equal number of young men and girls, and
at a village we took in two fiddlers. We drove several miles to a stone
tavern or farm-house (for the tavern-keeper is generally a farmer). The
fiddlers sat in the window-seats, formed by the thick stone walls; and
the dance was lively until the small hours. The dancers made a business
of it, and went to work with a will. The dances were called ‘straight
eights,’ forward and back, and mostly shuffles. Although at a tavern,
none got drunk. Coming home, the driver increased the fun by upsetting
the party in the snow.
“I taught public school, and on account of not speaking German I had much
difficulty with the younger scholars, who, being under the care of their
mothers, seldom heard the English language. The home talk was always
in ‘Dutch,’ as they called it, though the fathers, when transacting
business, were able to speak English.
“Even the larger pupils were not able to understand all of their lessons
in English. Some of the farmers were rich. The ‘Dutch’ farmers were
universally Democrats.” So says Mr. W.
* * * * *
Another lawyer, named H. (of Pennsylvania German origin), has given
me some of his recollections of Berks County. Berks is that county
concerning which it has been a standing joke that its people still voted
for Andrew Jackson,—a well-worn joke.
“It must have been a select party,” says Mr. H., “that W. was at, if none
of them got drunk.”
“The great dancing tunes in Berks are Fisher’s Hornpipe, Washington’s
Grand March, Charlie over the Water, Yankee Doodle, Hail Columbia, and We
won’t go Home till Morning.”
“The walls in the stone houses in Berks are generally two feet thick,
built like forts, with plenty of room to sit in the window-seats, but
usually the landlord had a long bar-room table, on which he put chairs
for the fiddlers. About every third dance they must have a drink, which
frequent potations sometimes brought them to the floor, unable to
distinguish sounds.” “The dancing they indulge in in Berks,” says Mr. H.,
“is not the fashionable kind, but is more exhausting than mauling rails
in August, or thrashing rye with a flail. The figures are called out by
some skilful person; the dances are called straight fours or hoe-downs,
the dancers being arranged in four rows, in a sort of double column on
each side. After the inside couples have danced and all have changed
places, the former are allowed to rest while the outside couples dance.”
“The battalion (Pennsylvania Dutch, _Badolya_?) is an annual day of joy
and festivity in Berks County. The annual training, which gave name
to the day, has long been given up, but still just before hay-making
the landlords of the country towns, such as Kutztown or Hamburg,
will advertise that they will hold the annual battalion (without any
soldiers). The peanut-venders, the men with flying-horses, and the others
who expect to reap the harvest, come during the night before, and by six
in the morning everything is ready, and about that hour the farmers begin
to come in, wives, sons, daughters, hired men, and maids, even little
children and quite small babies.
“The farmers patronize the landlords by dining and drinking. You can get
a good dinner at Kutztown for less money than in any other town I know.
As for drinking, bars have even been set up upon the second floor where
the dancing took place.
“The old folks amuse themselves by talking together, looking on and
seeing how well their sons and daughters can dance, the old men drinking
a little whiskey, several times repeated, and perhaps treating their
wives to some sarsaparilla. By evening the old folks will be at home; but
the daughters, who could hardly expect the young men to walk home with
them as long as the sun was shining, stay later, carrying gingerbread and
pea-nuts home in their handkerchiefs.
“Roving gamblers also visit the battalion; and many an unwary youth has
lost all his money, earned by hard work, and, after that was gone, has
striven to better his fortune, but unsuccessfully, by giving up his
watch.”
The remark of the last speaker, that they still have the _badolya_, or
annual training, in Berks without any soldiers, reminds me that they
still have in Germany the _Kirch-weih_, church consecration, or saint’s
day, without going to any church at all, but dance and are merry after
harvest.
* * * * *
I was told some years back of farmers in Berks “worth from thirty to
eighty thousand dollars who never bring wheat bread to the table except
at Christmas and New Year’s. This is from their great economy and desire
to sell the wheat.”
Mrs. R., of Lehigh County, tells me that at her father’s they baked wheat
bread on Saturday, for Sunday, but during the week they ate rye.
When her brother-in-law returned from a visit to Ohio, he said, “_Daraus
in Ohio, ’s is so schane. Sie essen laute waytzbrod_;” or, “Out in Ohio
it is so fine. They eat altogether wheat bread.”
* * * * *
There is a part of the city of Lancaster which is called Germany. Here
natives of that country buy house-lots, and send their children out to
beg until they find they have a secure footing. Nor does the average
citizen disapprove of this proceeding; although he is dissatisfied if a
woman who owns two brick houses sends to the soup-house for a free lunch.
I was amused one day in Lancaster by a boy’s asking, “Won’t you give me
a penny to save?” A pretty little girl, comfortably dressed and speaking
German, came into one of the newspaper offices for help, the family
having been unfortunate. When some one gave her a penny, she took from
her pocket a purse and put her money away.
* * * * *
Three great waves of emigration, it may be said, early settled
Pennsylvania. The Quakers settled in the southeast. I have travelled
among Friends in several localities, but I never saw any other community
so strongly Quaker as Chester County.
The German immigration mostly lay outside of this, on the north and west.
West of Chester County lies Lancaster, settled in a great measure by
German Baptists (Mennonites), and which is probably one of the strongest
Baptist populations in the world. Farther west the Scotch-Irish element
is very strong. In the west of the State I was surprised by hearing a
physician (I will call his name McCalmont) say that the Scotch-Irish
had been the making of Pennsylvania. It is this class, doubtless, who
have caused the region around Pittsburgh to be called the backbone of
Presbyterianism.
* * * * *
This volume does not endeavor to describe the manners and ways of living
of all Pennsylvania Germans, but only of the majority. People of wealth
and education resemble each other in most civilized lands. And although
the Pennsylvania Germans are principally devoted to agriculture, yet
about twenty per cent., as I estimate, have gone into cities and into
other employments. Among those who have aided less or more in the
publication of this volume are ministers, lawyers, physicians, editors,
bankers, merchants, and teachers of Pennsylvania German origin. Many
persons of note in Pennsylvania have been of German descent, from
Peter Muhlenberg, a Lutheran preacher, who commanded a regiment in the
Revolution, to a number of governors of this State,—Snyder, Hiester,
Shulze, Wolf, Ritner, Shunk, and Hartranft. Governor Hartranft’s
ancestor, then called Hertteranfft, came in with the Schwenkfelders in
1734.
To these distinguished Pennsylvania Germans I may add Dr. Gross, the
eminent surgeon. The German blood is also found in a great number of
families in our country. It is stated that Simon Cameron is of Scottish
descent on the father’s side; and on the mother’s is descended from
Conrad Pfoutz. The Hon. Jeremiah S. Black and William D. Howells, the
well-known author, have told me that they are partly of Pennsylvania
German origin.
THE END.
FOOTNOTES
[1] An acquaintance, who lives in Bucks County, tells me that his father,
a Mennonite preacher, voted “pretty much always.”
[2] The rule against judgment bonds is not universal.
[3] For another estimate, see Appendix.
[4] Kohl-slaw (_i.e._, kohl-salat or cabbage-salad) is shredded cabbage,
dressed with vinegar, etc. A rich dressing is sometimes made of milk or
cream, egg, vinegar, etc. It may be eaten either as warm slaw or cold
slaw.
[5] Some account of Peltz-nickel in Germany will be found in the Appendix.
[6] Written about 1868.
[7] Amish is pronounced _Ommish_, the _a_ being very broad, like _aw_.
This article was first published some years ago.
[8] I learn, 1882, that the Amish feet-washing is public.
[9] Our German Baptists are more decidedly non-resistant than the
Quakers. Some of them refuse to vote for civil officers.
The term Anabaptist is from the Greek, and signifies one who baptizes
again. All Baptists baptize anew those who were baptized in infancy.
The term Anabaptist, in the present essay, is used indifferently with
Baptist, and, in a degree, with Mennonite.
[10] Of the heretics executed by Alva in the Spanish Netherlands, a large
proportion were Anabaptists.—_Encyclopædia Americana._
[11] Zschokke, in his History of Switzerland, accuses the Anabaptists of
causing great trouble and scandal. Some account of the furious or warlike
Anabaptists of Holland may be found in Appleton’s Cyclopædia.
[12] This must not be understood as aid in bearing arms.
[13] One of Menno’s brothers is said to have been connected with the
Anabaptists of Münster, those who took up arms, etc. Of these, whose
course was so very different from the lives of our pacific Baptists
in this country. Menno may have received some, after their defeat, to
come under the peaceable rule. There are in the Netherlands, says a
recent authority, 40,000 Mennonites. They are a true, pure Netherlandish
appearance, which is older than the Reformation, and therefore must not
be identified with the Protestantism of the sixteenth century.
Menno does not merit to be called the father of the Netherlandish
Mennonites, but rather the first shepherd of the scattered sheep,—the
founder of their church community.
The ground-thought from which Menno proceeded was not, as with Luther,
justification by faith, or, as with the Swiss Reformers, the absolute
dependence of the sinner upon God, in the work of salvation. The holy
Christian life, in opposition to worldliness, was the point whence Menno
proceeded, and to which he always returned. In the Romish church we see
ruling the spirit of Peter; in the Reformed Evangelical the spirit of
Paul; in Menno we see arise again James the Just, the brother of the Lord.
See articles _Menno_ and _Mennonites_, and _Holland_, in Herzog’s
“Real-Encyclopädie,” Stuttgart and Hamburg, 1858.
Many of the Mennonites of Holland at the present day seem to have
wandered far from the teachings of Menno, and to be very different from
the simple Mennonite communities of Pennsylvania.
[14] The burying of Menno in his garden can be explained by the great
secrecy which in times of persecution attended the actions of the
persecuted sects. The family graveyards of Lancaster County, located upon
farms, may be in some degree traditional, from times of persecution, when
Baptists had no churches, but met in secret.
[15] To the writer it is a question of some interest how far George Fox,
the founder of Quakerism, was acquainted with the lives, sufferings, and
writings of the Anabaptists.
The common people of England may readily have obtained some knowledge of
the Baptists from the number that were cruelly put to death. In 1534,
Henry VIII. commanded foreigners who had been baptized in infancy, and
had been rebaptized, to leave the realm in twelve days, on pain of death.
It seems that certain Dutch Baptists braved the threatened punishment;
for twenty-six were, in different places, and at different dates, burned
within a few years. Under Edward VI., many Baptists suffered extreme
punishment, Cranmer and Latimer, Ridley and John Rogers, either approving
or actually assisting as inquisitors. See “The Baptists; Who they are,
and What they have done,” by George B. Taylor, D.D.
The year 1534, in which Henry VIII. issued the proclamation alluded
to, was the time of the Anabaptist occupation of Münster. The feelings
of Henry towards the Peasants’ War and the Münster kingdom doubtless
resembled those of his successor, in 1798, towards the French
revolutionists,—but George III. did not put any one to death by fire.
Since the above was written has been published Barclay’s “Inner Life of
the Religious Societies of the Commonwealth,” London, 1876. This author
speaks of George Fox as having promulgated opinions and founded churches
closely approximating to the Mennonite churches in Holland. He further
says George Fox tells us that he had an uncle in London who was a Baptist.
[16] Hans (or John) Landis is the name of the sufferer just spoken of.
Several Landises are mentioned in the martyrologies, and the name is very
common in Lancaster County at this time. John Landis is remarkably so.
In quoting from the Martyr-book I employ the English version, “Martyr’s
Mirror.” I have lately had an opportunity of seeing an old German copy,
from the press of the Brotherhood at Ephrata, about 1750. I find that it
is differently arranged from the modern English version, and I suspect
there are other variations.
[17] From Schaffhausen came some of the Stauffer family, as I have read.
The Stauffers are numerous in our county. For some family traditions, see
the close of this article.
[18] In the duchy of Cleves, the town of Crefeld, some fifty or sixty
years later, gave refuge to the Dunkers. It appears also to have harbored
some of the French Protestant refugees at the revocation of the Edict of
Nantes. See “Ephrata.”
[19] They were probably conscientiously opposed to the death penalty.
[20] Martyr’s Mirror.
[21] The troops of the empire of Germany, or of Germany and Spain
combined. See Voltaire’s “Age of Louis XIV.”
[22] “Age of Louis XIV.” The following is testimony for the Mennonites:
“In the words of the Dutch embassador (Van Beuning) to Monsieur de
Turenne: ‘The Mennonites are good people, and the most commodious to a
state of any in the world; partly because they do not aspire to places
of dignity; partly because they edify the community by the simplicity of
their manners, and application to arts and industry; and partly because
we fear no rebellion from a sect who make it an article of their faith
never to bear arms.’ The said industry and frugality they carried with
them to Pennsylvania, and thereby are become very wealthy.”—MORGAN
EDWARDS.
[23] Several towns and townships in southeastern Pennsylvania bear record
of the Palatinate, etc. In Lancaster County we have Strasburg, doubtless
named for that city in Alsace, and both town and township of Manheim.
Adjoining counties have Heidelbergs. The Swiss Palatines do not seem to
have preserved enough affection for the land of their origin to bestow
Swiss names upon our Lancaster County towns. What wonder?
[24] “This year of which I am now writing must ever be remembered as the
most fatal to the Protestant religion. In February a king of England
declared himself a papist. In June, Charles, the Elector Palatine, dying
without issue, the electoral dignity went to the house of Newburgh, a
most bigoted popish family. In October the King of France recalled and
vacated the edict of Nantes.”—_Burnet’s History of his Own Time._
[25] This was twenty-eight years after the founding of Penn’s colony.
Several years earlier, or in 1701, some Mennonites bought land in
Germantown, and in 1708 built a church (or meeting-house). For this
information I am obliged to Dr. Seidensticker, of the University of
Pennsylvania.
“In the year 1708 about fifty Palatines, who were Lutherans and were
ruined, came over to England. Queen Anne allowed them a shilling a day,
and took care to have them transported to the plantations; and from these
circumstances there arose a general disposition among all the poor of
that country to come over. They came to Holland in great bodies: the
Anabaptists there were particularly helpful to them, both in subsisting
those in Holland and in transporting them to England. Great numbers of
these were sent to Ireland, but most of them to the plantations in North
America, where it is believed their industry will quickly turn to a good
account.”—See Burnet’s “Own Time.” I am told that of those thus sent
to Ireland many afterwards came to America; of such was Philip Embury,
who, being converted in Ireland, came to New York, and was the first to
introduce Methodism on the continent. He and his family were from the
Palatinate.
Mention has just been made of Lutherans going to England from the
Palatinate. I infer that many who fled thence were of the Reformed
Church. The French Huguenots would in Germany probably join the Reformed
Church?
[26] Barclay’s “Religious Societies of the Commonwealth.” London, 1876.
[27] Rupp.
[28] Ibid.
[29] The question has been discussed, what did the Germans select the
limestone lands, and the Scotch-Irish take those less fruitful? Different
hints upon this subject may be found in Day’s Historical Collections of
Pennsylvania. Under the head of Lancaster County he says that a number of
Scotch-Irish, in consequence of the limestone land being liable to frost
and heavily wooded, seated themselves (1763) along the northern line of
the counties of Chester and Lancaster. It seems that the Germans did not
fear the labor of clearing off heavy timber.
A gentleman of Lancaster County says that ninety in one hundred of the
regular members of the Mennonite churches are farmers, and that they
follow the limestone land as the needle follows the pole.
[30] The Pequea Creek (pronounced Peckʹway) waters some of the finest
land in the county, if not the very finest. “The Piquaws had their
wigwams scattered along the banks of the Pequea.”
[31] Not always as at present spelled. The present Kendig appears as
Kindeck, Breneman as Preniman, Baumgardner as Bumgarner, Eby as Abye.
These were probably English efforts at spelling German names. Rupp says
that he was indebted to Abraham Meylin, of West Lampeter Township, for a
copy of the act. There appear to have been among the Palatines who came
into our county some Huguenot families; but, from intermarrying with the
Germans, and speaking the dialect, they are considered “Dutch.” The name
of the Bushong family is said to have been Beauchamp.
[32] This mention of the Switzers’ wagons reminds me of the great
Conestoga wagons, which, before the construction of railroads, conveyed
the produce of the interior to Philadelphia. With their long bodies
roofed with white canvas, they went along almost, I might say, like
moving houses. They were drawn by six powerful horses, at times furnished
with trappings and bells; and the wagoner’s trade was one of importance.
[33] A test-oath, or oath of abjuration, seems to have been in force at
one time in Pennsylvania, concerning the Roman Catholics. (See Rupp’s
History of Berks and Lebanon.) Must we not attribute this act to the
royal home government rather than to William Penn?
[34] “I fear this volume will be deemed a heap of dry records, without
a sufficient number of anecdotes to give them a relish; this is owing
to the peace and liberty which the Baptists have ever enjoyed in
Pennsylvania. In other provinces they have had their troubles, which
will make their history interesting to every reader.”—MORGAN EDWARDS:
Advertisement [or preface] to “Materials towards a History of the
Baptists in Pennsylvania, both British and German.” 1770.
[35] Day says that there was policy in the order above given; that the
Irish were warlike, and could defend the frontier. It was not long after
the above date (in 1763) that the “Paxton Boys” made a raid down to
Lancaster and massacred the remnant of the Conestoga Indians in the jail
of this town.
[36] The Amish seem to have originated in Europe, about the year 1700,
when Jacob Amen, a Swiss preacher, set up, or returned to, the more
severe rule, distasteful to brethren in Alsace, etc., and enforced the
ban of excommunication upon some or all of those who disagreed with him.
Appleton’s Cyclopædia calls him Amman, and says that the Amish rose in
1693, in Alsace. A small pamphlet upon this subject has been published at
Elkhart, Indiana, and is for sale at the office of the _Herald of Truth_.
[37] See Herzog.
[38] The German word _leute_, people, is here pronounced _lite_.
[39] Traditionary stories exist in our county concerning the Swiss
origin, etc., of certain families. I have heard one concerning the Engles
and one of the Stauffers. A member of the Johns family has also told me
of their Swiss origin, and of their name being formerly written Tschantz.
It is probable that other traditionary stories concerning Swiss families
could now be collected, if some one would exert himself to do it
before their custodians “fall asleep.” But let those who gather these
stories beware of the “fine writer,” lest he add what he considers
embellishments, and make the narratives improbable.
The Stauffer traditions were mentioned to me by a venerable member of
the family, one who has kindly lent me his aid and sympathy in some
of my records of the “Pennsylvania Dutch.” John Stauffer is now a
great-grandfather, and he calculates that it was, at the nearest, his
own great-great-grandfather who, with his mother and his three brothers,
came to this country, his ancestors being of Swiss origin. “The mother,”
says my neighbor (in substance), “weighed three hundred, and the sons
made a wagon, all of wood, and drawed her to the Rhine. When they got to
Philadelphia, they put their mother into the wagon and drawed her up here
to Warwick township. There they settled on a pretty spring; that is what
our people like.”
The reader of this little story may remember the “pious Æneas,” who “from
the flames of Troy, upon his shoulders,” the old Anchises bore. [John
Stauffer is now dead, 1882.]
The tradition of the Engle family was narrated to me by two of its
members. Mr. Henry M. Engle has felt some difficulty in reconciling the
tradition with the fact of the family’s having been in this country only
about one hundred years, and with his idea that the Swiss persecution
must have ceased before that period. But we have seen that some Baptist
families tarried in the Palatinate, etc., before coming here, and a
circumstance like the imprisonment of one of their women would be
remembered among them for a long time.
Tradition says that it was the grandmother’s mother or grandmother of
Henry M. Engle and Jacob M. Engle, who was a prisoner in Switzerland for
her faith. The turnkey’s wife sympathized with the prisoner, because she
knew that Annie had children at home. So she said to her, in the Swiss
dialect, “Annie, if I were you, I would go away once.” (“Annie, wann i
die wär, i det mohl geh.”—“Annie, wenn ich dich wäre, ich thut einmal
gehen.”)
She therefore set Annie to washing clothes, and, turning her back upon
her, gave her opportunity to escape.
Annie’s husband was not a Baptist; nevertheless, he was so friendly as
to prepare a hiding-place for her, into which she could go down, if
the persecutors came, by means of a trap-door; and she was never taken
prisoner again.
[40] The _Herald of Truth_, a Mennonite paper of this country, under the
date of July, 1873, contains a “Letter of Authority,” beginning, “We, the
Bishops and Directors of the entire body of the Swiss Mennonites in the
colonies of Kotusufka, in the district (county or canton) of Schitomir,
state of Volkinien, Russia.”
This Letter of Authority concerns the proposed migration above alluded
to. Of the six names signed thereto, one at least appears to belong also
to this county of Lancaster, where it is now sometimes written Graybill;
in the Russian letter Krehbiehl. A similar name is found among the
Schwenckfelders, who were of Silesian origin.
[41] See the article “Ephrata,” in this volume.
[42] See article “Ephrata” in this volume.
[43] Our “Dutch”—all of them, I believe—use the singular pronoun “du,”
_thou_.
[44] A friend tells me that he once heard a discourse from a celebrated
Dunker preacher, named Sarah Reiter. She was allowed to preach, it seems,
by a liberal construction of Paul’s celebrated edict, because she was
unmarried. Even when afterward married, by a more liberal construction
still, the liberty to preach was not forbidden her. Possibly it was
assumed that her _husband at home_ was not able to answer all her
questions upon spiritual matters. She removed to Ohio.
In the Encyclopædia Americana the following are given as propositions
of some of the former Anabaptists: “Impiety prevails everywhere. It is
therefore necessary that a new family of holy persons should be founded,
enjoying without distinction of sex the gift of prophecy, and skill
to interpret divine revelations. Hence they need no learning, for the
internal word is more than the outward expression.”
At this time, however, while our German Baptists still believe in an
unpaid, untaught ministry, none of them, I think, hold to the doctrine
that the gift of prophecy or preaching is without distinction of sex. In
this respect, George Fox seems to have agreed with the early Anabaptists
just mentioned.
[45] See the questions in full,—1 Corinthians, chap. vi.
[46] See Hazard’s Register, vol. v. C. L. F. Endress, D.D., preached
twelve years in Trinity (Lutheran) Church, Lancaster. To the learned Dr.
Seidensticker, of Philadelphia, and to Mr. I. D. Rupp, I am indebted for
assistance.
[47] A new movement in German theology arose in the second half of the
seventeenth century, through Spener, the founder of Pietism. The central
principle of Pietism was that Christianity was first of all life, and
that the strongest proof of the truth of its doctrines was to be found
in the religious experience of the believing subject. The principles of
the Pietists were in the main shared by the Moravians. (See American
Cyclopædia, article _German Theology_.) Compare this statement of the
main principle of Pietism with this of the Anabaptists, whom the mass of
our Dunkers so much resemble: “The opinions common to the Anabaptists are
founded on the principle that Christ’s kingdom on earth, or the church,
is a visible society of pious and holy persons, with none of those
institutions which human sagacity has devised for the ungodly.” (See
American Cyclopædia, article _Anabaptists_.)
[48] They took for themselves the name of Brethren, says an article
in Rupp’s “Religious Denominations.” The Dunkers in our county call
themselves Brethren,—“Old Brethren,” “River Brethren,” etc. Whether the
Ephrata Dunkers took the same name, I cannot say.
[49] Speaking of a certain Seventh-Day Baptist, an “Old Mennonite” writer
says that he was “doubtless unaware that the Lord Christ is also Lord of
the sabbath, and that in him no day, except for sake of common law, is to
be observed above another.” See _Der Waffenlose Waechter_ (or _Unarmed
Watchman_), Jan. 1873.
[50] In the time of the Millerite excitement above alluded to, many
prepared ascension robes. One of my acquaintances went to the roof of
his house, where, in his robe, he could look for the coming of Christ,
and whence he was prepared immediately to ascend. More recently, namely,
in August of 1873, I recollect meeting with a person who told me that he
writes for Advent papers. He was himself a _Time-ist_, thinking that “the
second coming of the Lord will take place this year.”
[51] “Afterward, she held to edification for many years, in the
sister-convent, the office of a sub-prioress, under the name of Marcella.
Finally, in her age, she was induced by her son to return to her
husband,—although another motive was the severe manner of life in the
encampment, which she could no longer bear.”—_Chronicon Ephratense_, p.
45.
[52] Are these the married women just spoken of, who had become single?
[53] These remarkable men seem to deserve especial notice. In Rupp’s
History of Lancaster County it is stated that they were from Germany, and
had been brought up Catholics. Israel Eckerlin (Brother Onesimus) became
prior of the brother-house at Ephrata. Peter Miller, in an original
letter, complains that he obliged them to meddle with worldly things
further than their obligations permitted; and that when money came in it
was put out at interest, “contrary to our principles.”
They could not, however, have been very rich, for when in 1745 a bell
arrived in Philadelphia, from England, which had been ordered by
Eckerlin, and which cost eighty pounds, they knew not how to pay for it.
The name of Onesimus (or Eckerlin) had been placed upon the bell. When
the news of its arrival was received, a council was held in the presence
of the spiritual father, Beissel, and it was concluded to break the bell
to pieces and bury it in the earth. The next morning, however, the father
appeared in the council, and said that he had reflected that as the
brothers were poor, the bell should be pardoned. It therefore was sold,
and was placed upon the Lutheran church in Lancaster, where it was long
in use. Afterwards it was sold to a fire company, and is now on the tower
of the house of the Washington Company. It bears a Latin inscription with
the name of the “reverend man,” Onesimus.
Miller says that the prior (Eckerlin) conceived a notion to make himself
independent of Beissel, and was stripped of all his dignities.
The Eckerlins appear to have gone into the wilderness, and encamped on
a creek flowing into the Monongahela, in Pennsylvania, to which stream
they gave the name of Dunkard Creek, which it still bears. They afterward
seem to have removed to Dunkards’ Bottom, on Cheat River, which they made
their permanent residence. After many vicissitudes, Miller tells us that
Eckerlin and his brother were taken prisoners by Mohawks, and sold to
Quebec, whence they were transported to France, “where, after our prior
had received the tonsure and become a friar of their church, they both
died.” The Ephrata Chronicle says (chap. xxiii.) that the prior went
_out of time_ twenty years before Beissel. The latter died in 1768. By
the former reckoning, the prior went out of time in 1748, or about three
years after the difficulty about the bell at Ephrata.
[54] The reader is referred to an article alluded to in the preceding
essay, namely, Dr. Seidensticker’s “A Colonial Monastery,” in _The
Century_ magazine for December, 1881. Dr. S. is a professor in the
University of Pennsylvania.
[55] The Tulpehocken Creek is a tributary of the Schuylkill, which rises
in Lebanon County, and empties at Reading, in Berks County.
[56] In Rupp’s “Thirty Thousand Names” of immigrants to Pennsylvania
will be found, under date of August 29, 1730, the names of Palatines
with their families, imported in the ship “Thistle” of Glasgow, from
Rotterdam, last from Cowes. Among these occurs Peter Müller, whom by a
note Rupp connects with the Peter Miller of the text. As to the name John
Peter, as given by Andrews, it is surprising to see how many of these
immigrants bear the names of John, Hans, Johan, Johann, and Johannes,
prefixed to other names. I count twenty in a column of thirty-four.
[57] Mr. Andrews, from whom I quote, was a graduate of Harvard, who
seems to have come to Philadelphia in 1698, and to have preached in an
Independent or Presbyterian church, or in both.
[58] The Conestogas were a small tribe ... consisting in all of some
dozen or twenty families, who dwelt a few miles below Lancaster. They
sent messengers with corn, venison, and skins, to welcome William Penn.
When the whites began to settle around them, Penn assigned them a
residence on the manor of Conestoga. (Day’s Historical Collections.)
[59] When this letter was written, Miller was about eighty years old. He
doubtless spoke German during the sixty years that he lived at Ephrata,
as well as before that time. It will be observed that he does not write
English elegantly.
[60] In the year 1740, says Fahnestock, there were thirty-six single
brethren in the cloisters, and thirty-five sisters; and at one time the
society, including the members living in the neighborhood, numbered
nearly three hundred.
Rev. C. Endress says that some were anxious to retain the solitary life,
and some (it appears) were opposed to giving to Beissel the title of
Father. Sangmeister left the society and retired to Virginia (whence,
however, he returned to Ephrata). “His book,” says the same writer, “is
much tainted with bitterness, and undertakes to cast a dark shade upon
the whole establishment.”
[61] Larger accommodations were afterward built in the meadow below; a
sister-house, called Saron, a brother-house, named Bethania, etc. Most of
these are still standing, I believe, in 1882; but the former buildings on
the hill long since disappeared.
[62] The Ephrata Chronicle speaks nearly in this manner of that of the
sisters:
Their dress was ordered, like that of the brethren, so that little was
to be seen of the disagreeable human figure (_von dem verdriesslichen
Bild das durch die Sünd ist offenbar worden_). They wore caps like the
brethren, but not pointed ones. While at work these caps or cowls hung
down their backs; but when they saw anybody, they drew them over their
heads, so that but little could be seen of their faces. But the principal
token of their spiritual betrothal was a great veil, which in front
covered them altogether, and behind down to the girdle. Roman Catholics
who saw this garment said that it resembled the habit of the scapular.
[63] The Chronicle tells us that once, in Beissel’s absence, a costly
feather bed was brought into his sleeping-room. He made use of it one
night, but sent it away afterward,—and not even in dying could be brought
to give up the sleeping-bench (_die Schlafbanck_).
[64] In “Carey’s Museum” for 1789, will be found a letter from a British
officer to the editor of the _Edinburgh Magazine_, whence it appears
that at that time, 1786, a rug was laid upon the sleeping-bench. The
writer says that each brother had a cell, with a closet adjoining; that
the smallness of the rooms was very disagreeable, and that they were not
clean. The churches were clean and neat, but perfectly unadorned, except
by some German texts. The house “occupied by the nuns” was uniformly
clean, and the cells were in excellent order. (Some of the statements of
this writer appear very loose.)
[65] At Ephrata, in the winter of 1872, I was told that Miller was once
met, as he was taking a load of paper from the mill to the press, by
a certain man named Widman. This Widman, according to tradition, had
been a vestryman in Miller’s former church. “Is this the way they treat
you,” said Widman, “harnessing you up to a wheelbarrow?” and he spat in
Miller’s face.
Allusion will be made hereafter to the traditionary tale of Miller and
Widman.
[66] Of one of the collections of hymns published at Ephrata, Fahnestock
says that four hundred and forty-one were written by Beissel,
seventy-three by the brethren in the cloister, one hundred by the single
sisters, and one hundred and twelve by the out-door members. Endress
speaks in unfavorable terms of the literary merits of some of the Ephrata
hymns.
[67] “Materials towards a History of the American Baptists.” 1770.
[68] Dr. Fahnestock resided for a while in the latter part of his life in
the sister-house, at Ephrata. Here Mr. Rupp, the historian, visited him.
Rev. Mr. Shrigley, librarian of the Pennsylvania Historical Society, who
visited Ephrata, has spoken to me of Fahnestock’s venerable appearance.
[69] In after-years they seem to have been much troubled by litigation.
Dr. Fahnestock says that they considered contention with arms, and
at law, unchristian; but that they unfortunately had to defend
themselves often in courts of justice. To set an example of forbearance
and Christian meekness, they suffered themselves for a long time
to be plundered, until forbearance was no longer a virtue. He says
(Hazard’s Register, 1835) that the society is just escaping from heavy
embarrassments which they incurred in defending themselves from the
aggressions of their neighbors. The British officer, whose statement was
published as early as 1789, speaks of Peter Miller as often engaged in
litigation.
In a recent work (Belcher’s History of Religious Denominations, 1854),
the Seventh-Day Baptists at Ephrata are said to possess about one hundred
and forty acres.
[70] Morgan Edwards, in speaking of the recluses at Ephrata, says that
they took the vow of celibacy. But, as so many of our German Baptists are
opposed to oaths, I presume that they did not. “Teach, by example, that a
promise is truly an oath,” says a late Pennsylvania paper.
[71] Somewhat altered from the original.
[72] A writer in the Chronicle speaks of being at one of the count’s
conferences, where there were Mennonites, Separatists, and Baptists.
But when he came home, he told the _vorsteher_ that he regarded the
count’s conference as a snare to bring simple awakened souls again into
infant-baptism and church-going. Then they held a council, and resolved
to have a yearly conference of their own.
The above expression—infant-baptism and church-going—sounds so much
like the account of the Baptist or Anabaptist persecutions narrated in
the Martyr-book, that we might almost conclude that the Dunkers had a
direct connection with the Anabaptists, instead of originating among the
Pietists. But it will be remembered that the Ephrata Dunkers had printed
an edition of the great Martyr-book, and it is most probable that some of
them were familiar with it. Still, there may have been among the Pietists
some who were or had been Baptists.
[73] Near the close of this sketch mention is made of “Hoeckers a
Creveld.” Perhaps Ludwig belonged to the same family.
[74] Paxton township is now in Dauphin County. The Paxton church was
three miles east of Harrisburg.
[75] The Ephrata Chronicle says that, as the enemy approached (the
Indians came within thirteen miles of Ephrata), many persons sought
refuge in the cloister, with those who were themselves in need of
protection. As reports of murders reached Ephrata day after day, the
celibates (_Einsamen_) became despondent, and even the leader turned
pale,—a thing that had never been witnessed before. When danger was
so imminent, the fathers proposed to take the sisters away on wagons
to a safer place. It was then that Beissel received by night a divine
revelation to the effect that no Einsamer should perish by the hands of
the Indians.
Accordingly they remained at their station, and it really turned out
as Beissel had predicted. The people who took refuge in the monastery
probably stayed at Ephrata, not with a view of finding protection behind
the wooden walls of the cloister, but for the sake of shelter and
support. The statement that the government sent a company of soldiers
for the protection of Ephrata seems to be verified by the mention in the
Chronicle of _Rothröcke_ or Redcoats.
[76] The Mennonites and Quakers were peaceably disposed towards the
Indians, but the Presbyterians from the north of Ireland, who had settled
at Paxton, felt a deadly animosity against them, and, as Day says,
against the peaceful Moravians and Quakers, who wished to protect the
Indians, at the expense, as the Paxton men thought, of the lives of the
settlers. The Paxton rangers were commanded by the Presbyterian minister,
the Rev. Colonel Elder, who seems to have opposed the massacre of the
Indians at Lancaster by the “Paxton boys.” Day says that no historian
ought to excuse or justify the murders at Lancaster and Conestoga, and
adds that they must ever remain dark and bloody spots in our provincial
history.
[77] See Carey’s “American Museum.”
[78] An insignificant hill overlooking the meadow where the brother- and
sister-houses now stand.
[79] A remarkable statement.
[80] Compare this inflated language with Miller’s letter, as quoted.
[81] The different modes of spelling what appears to be the same name
will not surprise those who are familiar with our Pennsylvania German
names.
[82] It may be observed how nearly this description of the chapel agrees
with that given by the British officer of the one he visited here some
eighty-five years ago.
[83] Fahnestock says that, like some dilapidated castles, Ephrata yet
contains many habitable and comfortable apartments. The brother- and
sister-houses, etc., form but a small part of the modern village of
Ephrata. He wrote some time ago.
[84] See article “Francis Daniel Pastorius,” by Dr. Seidensticker, in the
_Penn Monthly_, January and February, 1872.
[85] The name Hacker, still heard at Ephrata, is doubtless the same as
the above.
[86] _Schneeberger_, or people of Snow Hill?
[87] Mr. Endress tells us that with many of the single brethren and
sisters at Ephrata, the mystical idea of the union with Christ was
evidently used to gratify one of the strongest natural affections of the
human heart. “The Redeemer was their bridegroom or bride.... He was the
little infant they carried under their hearts, the dear little lamb they
dandled on their laps.”
He adds that this at least was found much more among the single than
among those whose affections were consecrated in a conjugal life. “The
powers of human nature would evince their authority.” “According to
Sangmeister, some sank under the unceasing struggle.” See Hazard’s
Register, 1830.
[88] Upon this subject of the New Testament as a creed, etc., all or
nearly all our German Baptist sects seem to unite.
[89] This article now appears nearly as it was published in the second
edition of this work, issued several years ago.
[90] The general use of the lot was abrogated in 1817. Although marriage
by lot is no longer obligatory, yet a Moravian gentleman has told me that
this manner of decision is still resorted to,—and frequently in Europe.
Bishops are usually appointed by lot.
[91] The _lease system_, so called, was abolished in 1844. The Moravian
communities abroad, especially upon the continent of Europe, are close
communities, no one being allowed to buy of their lands who is not a
member of the Moravian Church. They retain more plainness of dress in
Saxony and Prussia, and even in Great Britain, than prevails in America.
There the women all wear caps in religious services.
[92] The heavy expense entailed by enterprises so great does not fall
entirely upon the Church. The Mission Report of 1872, in speaking of
Australia, mentions that the missionaries are cheered by the sympathy
and aid of Christians of different denominations; and adds that the
mission has sustained a loss in the death of the Rev. Mr. Mackie, of the
Presbyterian Church, in Melbourne. The _Moravian Manual_ also speaks of
missions that are self-supporting, and of missionaries who labor, like
Paul, for their own support.
[93] Its use is taught it seems even to barbarians, for the Mission
Report, in speaking of an Esquimaux church, says, “The corner-stone was
solemnly laid, when the native trombone players discoursed sweet music.”
[94] In the following from the litany, I observed an inconvenience:
_Preacher._—“By thy glorious resurrection and ascension,
By thy sitting at the right hand of God.”
_Congregation._—“Bless and comfort us, gracious Lord and God.”
[95] The frequent repetition of the word love-feast has caused it to
be often shortened in conversation, it being pronounced by some as if
written _luff-east_.
[96] To the Rev. W. C. Reichel, author of several historical works, I am
indebted for a correction in the article “The Dunker Love-feast.”
[97] Tombstones are placed on the newly-made graves, old tombstones are
cleaned, etc. These stones are “breast-stones,” not of large size, and
lie flat upon the graves,—in the Moravian manner.
[98] I am quite at a loss to know why the colored eggs, purple, red, and
yellow, in use among the Moravians (as among other Germans), should here
have been called rabbits’ eggs, and the idea been held out that the eggs
were of different colors because different rabbits brought them.
(This note was published in the second edition. Other remarks on the
subject of the Easter rabbit and eggs will be found in the Appendix.)
[99] A lady in Bethlehem told me that she had expected a man to help her
put down carpet, who had failed to appear. About nine the next morning
she met him upon the street somewhat intoxicated and friendly and
communicative. “Oh, Mrs. ⸺,” said he, “I couldn’t come yesterday. It was
my _bursday_.” Whence we may infer that the celebration of birthdays has
spread in the community.
[100] The bell upon Nazareth Hall is still rung at a quarter before
twelve, daily.
[101] The brethren’s house was thus given up in 1812, some time before
the date above assigned.
[102] An enthusiastic friend says, “It is a well-known and abundantly
substantiated fact that fewer unhappy marriages were known among the
Moravians than among the same number of people in any other denomination
of Christians while the lot was in practice.” If so, let us burn our
romances.
[103] This perhaps occurred during Zinzendorf’s banishment from Saxony.
See note at close of this article.
[104] This building, Ephrata, was once a “nursery,” where as many as
fifty-six young children were placed at one time. Some were removed from
their mothers at as early an age as eighteen months, and placed under the
common charge. See Transactions of Moravian Historical Society, 1857-58.
[105] A friend adds: “These Christmas dialogues are still to be heard in
Moravian towns, in their parochial schools.”
[106] The tendency to pronounce _s_ like _sh_ will be observed.
[107] A friend says, “Schmaus” is a vulgar term,—use “Fest.”
[108] The corpse is sent to the corpse-house by some families, to this
day.
[109] Another person says, that if a man had no proposal to make, he
left it to the authorities to suggest a woman; but the authorities never
forced a woman upon him against his will.
[110] A lady whom I met at Nazareth spoke of the visits that she used to
make in the widow-house, when they went at one, had vesper of coffee and
sugar-cake at two, and left at five.
[111] Upon this passage, a friend makes the following remark: “Not
regular occupants, but Moravian missionaries or strangers who might
arrive in large bodies; twenty, I think, would be a large number.”
[112] _Ayfrahtaw_ I heard this word pronounced.
[113] There were two log houses, says a friend.
[114] They not only receive tuition here, but board and clothing, and a
similar privilege is extended to the sons of preachers.
[115] During the period of the anti-slavery agitation, preceding the war,
the Moravians as a body did not take an anti-slavery stand. Their members
were allowed to hold slaves, like those of almost all the other sects in
this country. Their European brethren did not agree with them on this
subject.
[116] A recent writer tells us that the upper, middle, and lower parts of
Montgomery County, the lower end of Berks, and the south corner of Lehigh
contain the only settlement of Schwenkfelders in the wide world. He adds
that it is no misnomer to call these people the Pennsylvania German
Quakers. It will be seen, however, that they are more ancient than George
Fox.
[117] _Phlox subulata._
[118] This feminine termination has not disappeared from the dialect. Mr.
Rauch speaks of “de olt Lawbucksy,” which is rendered, old Mrs. Lawbucks.
[119] The decline in the severity of the cap seems to have reached its
lowest point among the Moravians, where but few women in this country
wear caps in church. See “Bethlehem and the Moravians.”
[120] At Flourtown, or Chestnut Hill, the English language is used, and
there is no instruction in German.
[121] See article “Ephrata.”
[122] It appears that there was also extemporaneous prayer during the
exercises.
[123] Why is not Schwenkfeld spoken of by the title _von Ossing_? We read
of Ulrich von Hütten, German scholar and reformer.
[124] In using the name Schwenkfeld, I have abbreviated it a little,
giving it as it is in the New American Cyclopædia, which calls him,
however, Von Schwenkfeld. The Cyclopædia, in speaking of his writings,
some ninety treatises, says that they are regarded as one of the most
valuable sources of the history of the Reformation.
[125] A copy of this volume has been deposited for reference in the
library of the German Society, Philadelphia.
[126] That portion of Silesia which was the home of the Schwenkfelders
lies east of Saxony, the home of Count Zinzendorf. It, or the greater
part of it, was conquered by Frederick the Great, and added to Prussia.
[127] The clergy, _die Gelehrten_.
[128] _Erläuterung._—Schwenkfeld appears to have abstained from the
sacraments for a great part of his life,—from the outward forms, at
least, if we may add the expression.
[129] The three folios before spoken of in this article were published
within ten years after his death, and it seems possible that the place of
printing was omitted on account of the opposition to his works.
[130] In the New American Cyclopædia Schwenkfeld is said to have differed
from Luther and others upon the deification of the body Christ. In the
latter part of this essay this point is spoken of again.
[131] Ulm, a town in Würtemberg, on the left bank of the Danube. It was
long an imperial free city.
[132] This title was probably not in former times their chosen name.
In a little inartistic aria, near the close of the _Erläuterung_, they
are twice called _die Stillen_, or the quiet ones. Looking in a German
dictionary for this word, I find “_die Stillen_” is rendered Quakers.
In the same aria they are called _die Friedlichen_, or the peaceful
ones. One of Schwenkfeld’s volumes, a collection, states that they were
gathered and put in order by _the fellow-confessors and lovers of the
glories and truth of Jesus Christ_.
[133] As in the principality of Lower Silesia Lutheran preachers had been
installed in nearly all the offices, many of the common people who had
accepted Schwenkfeld’s teachings stood back in stillness, not being able
conscientiously to agree with these teachers. This was very offensive to
the parsons, and they soon made use of their high dignity against tender
consciences to force such persons to their means of grace,—to make them
come to the baptismal font, to the pulpit, and the altar.—_Schwenkfeld’s
Erläuterung_, chap. iv. The Schwenkfelders express the opinion that the
action of the Lutheran clergy, in calling attention to them, frequently
caused their persecution by the Catholic authorities.
[134] Digging trenches for military defence, and working the galleys or
great boats of the Mediterranean.
[135] They do not seem to have been very profitable as soldiers. One man
can lead a horse to water, but several cannot make him drink.
[136] _Herrschaft._ The narrative is condensed from the _Erläuterung_, or
Explanation.
[137] Mention is made of the time when the destroyer came upon the
destroyer because his measure was full,—namely, the Thirty Years’ War,
and the banishment of the Lutherans from the imperial dominions.
[138] See _Erläuterung_, or Explanation. The passage is slightly abridged.
[139] Hence we may infer that the Schwenkfelders forbade marriages with
those not of their own persuasion. During the period of their troubles
it seems that marriage by the church was at times refused them, no doubt
from their refusing the sacrament. Maimed funeral rites were also among
the persecutions of which they complained. In speaking thus of their
decline, they may, however, overestimate their numbers in former times.
The following characteristic sketch may be introduced here nearly in
the words of the original: The two pastors in Harpersdorf having been
called to a new church, there came as pastor Herr John Samuel Neander
(the pastor Neander who died in July 1759). He was by nature a very
fiery man, so that he hardly knew how to govern his passions; by birth
a Brandenburger, from Frankfort on the Oder. When he was installed,
the Herr Superintendent in Liegnitz brought before him that he was a
stranger, and therefore he might not know how it was in Harpersdorf, that
there was a people there, who had already lived there about two hundred
years, called Schwenkfelders. Therefore he would give him good advice,
that he should leave these people in peace; preceding pastors had tried
it enough, and had accomplished nothing by force. But if he thought he
could not endure these people, he should say so, and another would be put
into the place.
But Herr Neander promised everything good, and did not keep to it. For
soon after entering upon his office he gave out that he had sworn to bury
none of the Schwenkfelders as before practised, and this he began to
carry out. See _Erläuterung_, chap. v.
[140] The aria already alluded to says,—
“Throw their dead away, like foul corruption,
The cow-path is too good; don’t tread upon the grass;
The father shall not follow the body of his child,
Nor the wife accompany her husband to the house of death.”
The word that I have translated cattle-path, etc., is _viehweg_. A note
upon this verse of the aria says, “1722. Three hundred persons lie upon
the cow-paths at Harpersdorf and Langendorff.” If so many were buried
during the time of the Catholic mission, these people must have been
numerous.
[141] Zinzendorf’s estate of Berthelsdorf was, it seems, near the town of
Gorlitz.
[142] By agriculture? rather than in the town of Gorlitz.
[143] See “Bethlehem and the Moravians.”
[144] The word translated gingerbread is _Pfeffer-kuchen_, or
pepper-cakes. Pepper-nuts are now made in Lancaster County,—a delicate
cake, as I have seen them, somewhat resembling jumbles. If plainer they
would be like the New England cookies. Cooky comes from the German
_kuchen_?
In Allentown, a young gentleman tells me that the people of Lehigh
County, all through, eat Schwenkfelder-cake. “Our mothers made them
for us. They are a kind of vesper-cake, or rusk baked in a loaf.” In
Allentown the name is sometimes pronounced Schwinkfelder.
[145] No one should confound these emigrants from the Palatinate with
the Palatines for whom William Penn desires the friendship of the
Indians. See “Swiss Exiles,” in this volume. The numerous refugees from
the Palatinate probably came from different motives; some for religious
freedom, and some to earn their bread. Many German emigrants were
redemptionists,—_i.e._, they sold their time to pay for their voyage. Of
this class, we learn, was an ancestor of the late John Covode.
[146] Mr. Weiser tells us, in speaking of the Schwenkfelders, that
on a late occasion, having heard that the tombs of their ancestors,
near Liegnitz and Gorlitz, were fast being desecrated, and the earth,
with their very dust, carried away for road-making purposes, their
Pennsylvania posterity collected a handsome sum and forwarded it to the
authorities, with a view of purchasing the grounds, and having them set
apart and enclosed as the burying-ground of the Silesian Schwenkfelders.
It is not believed, however, he adds, that their moneys were appropriated
to the laudable end which they had in view.
This narrative might apply to those Silesians who were buried upon the
cow-paths (Mr. Weiser says, taken to the carrion pit or bone commons),
but does it apply to them after they had taken refuge at Gorlitz?
[147] It has been estimated that ninety-five in one hundred of the
Schwenkfelders are farmers.
[148] In the Rules and Ordinances of the Schwenkfelder community may be
found this passage: “Yet a Christian places no holiness in wearing the
oldest fashioned clothes; he also takes care not quickly to ape all new
fashions, much less does he make it his business to bring up new ones.”
[149] Mr. Weiser speaks as if the singing was in the dialect. The
following is a copy of some lines which were sung at their meeting-house
when I attended, from which the student of German may observe the quality
of the language, and the theologian may notice, as it seems to me, two or
three of their peculiar doctrines:
“Jehovah, Vater, Sohn, und Geist!
O Segens Bronn, der ewig fleuszt!
Durchfleusz Herz, Sinn, und Wandel wohl;
Mach uns dein’s Lob’s und Segens voll!”
Jehovah, Father, Son, and Spirit! Oh, spring of blessing, forever
flowing! Flow through heart, thought, and life; make us full of thy
praise and blessing!
[150] Wheat bread is now used. At a Schwenkfelder house I ate
apple-butter, sweet, because made from sweet apples, and seasoned with
fennel, of which the taste resembles anise.
[151] It may be observed that I have used Mr. Weiser’s language.
[152] Before public schools were established the Schwenkfelders had a
fund for the education of their poorer members.
[153] “Which these ordered back into our fund, to supply the wants of the
poor, when we should arrive at Philadelphia.”
[154] It is probable that baptism will be introduced, but only optionally.
[155] Mr. Weiser tells us that a mother whose adult daughter entered the
Reformed Church, by baptism, earnestly protested against the performing
of the sacrament over her, on the ground that “prayers were had for their
child in the meeting-house.”
[156] All Quakers do not teach the inferiority of the written word. Mr.
Weiser says, “In general terms it may be said that Caspar Schwenkfeld
has been the George Fox of Silesia, or the veritable George Fox, perhaps
somewhat educated and sublimated.”
Although some of the doctrines taught by George Fox seem to have been
given before him by Schwenkfeld, yet were these not previously taught
among the Anabaptists, and possibly among the Waldenses?
It has been said that the better classes of Anabaptists claimed a descent
from the Waldenses, the Wickliffites, and the Hussites, who had struggled
for a church separated from the world and distinguished by the holiness
of its members.
[157] A note says, “No one can deny that at last all books must perish,
but the word of the Lord endureth forever.”
[158] On his death-bed Schwenkfeld declared that he believed that all
in the Old and New Testament was profitable for salvation to the elect;
that he was certain that his own writings, if read impartially, and after
prayer, agreed with Holy Scripture, but he must acknowledge to the praise
of God that they proceeded more from gracious revelation.
[159] See the _Erläuterung_, or Explanation, chap. x. These passages in
general are greatly abbreviated, or are picked out, I may say.
[160] _Erläuterung_, chap. xi.
[161] The passage alluded to is doubtless this: “Behold, I stand at the
door, and knock: if any man hear my voice, and open the door, I will come
in to him, and will sup with him, and he with me.”
[162] The thoughtful reader may perhaps find something in this answer
to contrast with these passages from the decrees of the late Ecumenical
Council at Rome:
“If any one shall say that human sciences ought to be pursued in such
a spirit of freedom that any one may be allowed to hold as true their
assertions, even when opposed to revealed doctrine, and that such
assertions may not be condemned by the church, let him be _anathema_. If
any one shall say that at any time it may come to pass, in the progress
of science, that the doctrines set forth by the church must be taken in
another sense than that in which the church has ever received and yet
receives them, let him be _anathema_.” Quoted from a report of a dogmatic
decree on Catholic faith, confirmed 1870.
[163] Ausführliche Geschichte Kaspar v. Schwenkfelds, etc.
[164] Kadelbach tells us of George Mattern, a teacher in Silesia, who
inclined to the opinions of Schwenkfeld, and who migrated to Holland, and
afterward to England, where he joined the Quakers. He wrote a letter with
this expression: “Dear father, thou must not be surprised that I thee and
thou thee. _Dich. dutze._”
[165] This letter is dated 1875. It was late in 1873 that I heard of
baptism as having been administered among them.
[166] I believe the paper is discontinued, 1882.
[167] I received permission to use the name of Mr. Mahony, the
manufacturer. His brother wrote “The Bells of Shandon.” The other names
used are substitutes.
[168] Lewis’s Topographical Dictionary, County Cork.
[169] One was erected a few years ago at Manchester, and I was told there
that the Queen and Prince of Wales had not visited the town since.
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