Chapter VII

_My uncle’s influence.--The influence of the tavern.--State of
society forty years ago.--Liquor opposed to education.--The
church and the tavern.--The country schoolhouse.--Books used
in the school.--A few words about myself._

I pass over a space of several years in my history, and come to the period when I was about fifteen. Up to this time, I had made little progress in education, compared with what is done at the present day. I could indeed read and write, and I knew something of arithmetic, but my advance beyond this was inconsiderable. A brief detail of certain circumstances will show the reason of this.

In the first place, my uncle had no very high estimation of what he called _larnin_; he was himself a man of action, and believed that books render people dull and stupid, rather than efficient in the business of life. He was therefore opposed to education in general, and particularly so in my case; and not only was his opinion equivalent to law with respect to me, but it was of great force in the village, on account of his character and position.

He kept the village tavern, which in those days of rum and punch was an institution of great power and authority. It was common, at the period of which I speak, for the church or meeting-house and tavern to stand side by side; but if one day in the week, sobriety and temperance were preached in the former, hard drinking and licentiousness were deeply practised in the latter during the other six. The tavern, therefore, not only counteracted the good effect of the preacher, but it went farther, and in many cases corrupted the whole mass of society. The members of the church thought it no scandal to make regular visits to the bar-room at eleven o’clock in the forenoon, and at four P. M.; the deacon always kept his jugs well filled, and the minister took his toddy or his tansy bitters, in open day, and without reproach.

In such a state of society as this, the tavern-keeper was usually the most influential man in the village, and if he kept good liquors, he was irresistible. Now my uncle was a prince of a tavern-keeper for these jolly days. He was, in fact, what we call a whole-souled fellow: generous, honest, and frank-hearted. His full, ruddy countenance bespoke all this; and his cheerful, hearty voice carried conviction of it to every listener. Beside, his tavern was freely and generously kept: it was liberally supplied with good beds, and every other luxury or comfort common to those days. As I have said before, it was situated upon the great road, then travelled by the mail stages between Boston and New York. The establishment was of ample extent, consisting of a pile of wooden buildings of various and irregular architecture--all painted a deep red. There was near it a large barn with extensive cow-houses, a corn-crib, a smoke-house, and a pig-sty, arranged solely with a view to ease of communication with the house, and consequently all drawn closely around it. The general effect, when viewed at a distance, was that of two large jugs surrounded with several smaller ones.

Before this heap of edifices swung the tavern sign, with a picture of a barn-yard cock on one side, and a bull upon the other, as I have told you before: and though the artist that painted it was only a common house-dauber, and though the pictures were of humble pretensions when compared with the productions of Raphael, still, few specimens of the fine arts have ever had more admirers than the cock and bull of my uncle’s sign. How many a toper has looked upon it when approaching the tavern with his feverish lip, as the emblem and assurance of the rum that was soon to feed the fire kindled in his throat; how many a jolly fellow, staggering from the inn, has seen that sign reeling against the sky, and mixing grotesquely with the dreamy images of his fancy!

If we add to this description, that in the street, and nearly in front of the tavern, was a wood-pile about ten feet high, and covering three or four square rods of ground; that on one side was a litter of harrows, carts and ploughs, and on the other a general assortment of wagons, old sleighs, broken stages, and a rickety vehicle resembling a modern chaise without a top; and if we sprinkle between all these articles a good supply of geese and pigs, we shall have a pretty fair account of the famous Cock and Bull tavern that flourished in Salem nearly forty years ago.

The proprietor of such an establishment could not, in those days, but be a man of influence; and the free manners and habits of my uncle tended to increase the power that his position gave him. He drank liberally himself, and vindicated his practice by saying that good liquor was one of the gifts of providence, and it was no sin--indeed it was rather a duty--to indulge in providential gifts freely. All this made him a favorite, particularly with a set of hard drinkers who thronged the bar-room, especially of a wet day and on winter evenings.

As I have said, my uncle was opposed to education, and as he grew older and drank deeper, his prejudice against it seemed to increase; and though I cannot easily account for the fact, still every drunkard in the place was an enemy to all improvements in the school. When a town-meeting took place, these persons were invaribly in opposition to every scheme, the design of which was to promote the cause of education, and this party was usually headed by my uncle. And it is not a little curious that the tavern party also had its influence in the church, for my uncle was a member of it, and many of his bar-room cronies also. They were so numerous as to cast a heavy vote, and therefore they exercised a good deal of power here. As in respect to the school, so in the house of worship, they were for spending as little money as possible, and for reducing its power and influence in society to the lowest possible scale. They even held the minister in check, and though he saw the evil tendency of intemperance in the village, he had not nerve enough to attack it, except in a very soft and mild way, which probably served to increase the vice at which he aimed; for vice always thrives when holy men condemn it gently.

Now I have said that my uncle was a kind-hearted, generous man, by nature; how then could he be so narrow-minded in respect to education and religion? The answer to this question is easy. He was addicted to the free use of liquors, which not only tends to destroy the body, but to ruin all the nobler parts of the mind. As he came more and more under the influence of ardent spirits, he grew narrow-minded, sottish and selfish. And this is one of the great evils of taking ardent spirits. The use of them always tends to break down the mind; to take away from us those noble feelings and lofty thoughts, which are the glory of man; in short, to sink us lower and lower toward the brute creation. A determined drunkard is usually a great part of the time but little elevated above a beast.

Now I have been particular about this part of my story, for I wished to show you the natural influence of the habits of my uncle, and their operation upon my own fortunes. I have yet a sadder story to tell, as to the effect of the village tavern, not only upon myself, but upon my uncle, and several others. That must be reserved for some of the sad pages through which my tale will lead you. For the present, I only point out the fact, that a man who encourages the sale of liquors is usually unfriendly to the education and improvement of mankind; that his position tends to make him fear the effect of light and wish for darkness; that hard drinking will ruin even a generous and noble mind and heart; and that the habit of dealing in liquor is one to be feared, as it induces a man to take narrow, selfish, and low views of human nature and human society. It appears to me that a trade which thrives when men turn drunkards, and which fails when men grow temperate, is a trade which is apt to injure the mind and soul of one who follows it. Even my noble-hearted and generous uncle fell under such sinister influences.

But to return to the school. I have already described the situation of the house. The building itself was of wood, about fifteen feet square, plastered within, and covered with benches without backs, which were constructed by thrusting sticks, for legs, through auger holes in a plank. On one side, against the wall, was a long table, serving as a desk for the writers.

The chimney was of rough stone, and the fire-place was of the same material. But what it lacked in grace of finish, was made up in size. I believe that it was at least ten feet wide, and five in depth, and the flue was so perpendicular and ample, that the rain and snow fell down to the bottom, without the risk of striking the sides. In summer, the school was kept by a woman, who charged the town a dollar a week, boarding herself; in winter it was kept by a man, who was paid five dollars a month and found. Here about seventy children, of all sizes, were assembled during this latter portion of the year; the place and manner of treatment being arranged as much as possible on the principle that a schoolhouse is a penitentiary, where the more suffering, the more improvement.

I have read of despots and seen prisons, but there are few of the former more tyrannical than the birch-despot of former days, or of the latter, more gloomy than the old-fashioned schoolhouse, under the tyrant to which it was usually committed.

I must enter into a few details. The fuel for the school consisted of wood, and was brought in winter, load by load, as it was wanted; though it occasionally happened that we got entirely out, and the school was kept without fire if the master could endure the cold, or dismissed if the weather chanced to be too severe to be borne. The wood was green oak, hickory, or maple, and when the fire could be induced to blaze between the sticks, there was a most notable hissing and frying, and a plentiful exudation of sap at each end of them.

The wood was cut into lengths of about five feet, by the scholars, each of the larger boys taking his turn at this, and at making the fire in the morning. This latter was a task that demanded great strength and patience; for, in the first place, there must be a back-log, five feet in length, and at least fifteen inches in diameter; then a top-stick about two-thirds as big; and then a forestick of similar dimensions. It required some strength to move these logs to their places; and after the frame of the work was built, the gathering of chips, and the blowing, the wooing, the courting that were necessary to make the revolting flame take hold of the wet fuel, demanded a degree of exertion, and an endurance of patience, well calculated to ripen and harden youth for the stern endurances of manhood.

The school began at nine in the morning, and it was rare that the fire gave out any heat so early as this; nor could it have been of much consequence had it done so, for the school-room was almost as open as a sieve, letting in the bitter blast at every window and door, and through a thousand cracks in the thin plastering of the walls. Never have I seen such a miserable set of blue-nosed, chattering, suffering creatures as were these children, for the first hour after the opening of school, on a cold winter morning. Under such circumstances, what could they do? Nothing, and they were expected to do nothing.

The books in use were Webster’s Spelling Book, Dilworth’s Arithmetic, Webster’s Second and Third Part, the New Testament, and Dwight’s Geography. These were all, and the best scholars of the seminary never penetrated more than half through this mass of science. There was no such thing as a history, a grammar, or a map in the school. These are mysteries reserved for more modern days.

Such was the state of things--such the condition of the school, where I received my education, the only education that I ever enjoyed, except such as I have since found in study by myself, and amid the active pursuits of life. But let me not blame the schoolhouse alone; I was myself in fault, for even the poor advantages afforded me there, I wilfully neglected; partly because I was fond of amusing myself and impatient of application; partly because I thought myself worth ten thousand dollars, and fancied that I was above the necessity of instruction; and partly because my uncle and his bar-room friends were always sneering at men of education, and praising men of spirit and action--those who could drive a stage skilfully, or beat in pitching cents, or bear off the palm in a wrestling-match, or perchance carry the largest quantity of liquor under the waistcoat.

Such being the course of circumstances that surrounded me at the age of fifteen, it will not be surprising if my story should at last lead to some painful facts; but my succeeding chapters will show.

(_To be continued._)

The Artists’ Cruise.

About the first of August, 1840, an excursion was set on foot, by five young men of Boston, for recreation and amusement--one full of interest and excitement, conducive equally to health and pleasure. The plan was this--to embark in a small pleasure-boat called the _Phantom_, built and owned by one of the company, who was also well skilled in nautical affairs, and proceed by easy distances along the coast as far “down East” as time or inclination would admit--letting the events and adventures of the day determine the movements of the next.

The company consisted of young artists--lovers of nature--ready to appreciate all the new and beautiful points that might meet the eye. The boat was hauled up at Phillip’s beach, Lynn, to which place the party proceeded, and fitted her out with all the conveniences and comforts proper for the cruise. Everything being ready, they sailed on the first of the week, with a fair southwest wind, passed Marblehead and Salem gaily, and stretched onward for Cape Ann. As night came on they were becalmed, but it was very clear, and the moon shone gloriously, as they moved, creeping lazily along, catching a slight puff at intervals. The musical portion of the company contrived to make the time pass pleasantly away in singing certain old airs which chimed in with the feeling and situation of the company. At last the breeze came again, and about ten at night they found themselves in the little cove before the quiet town of Gloucester. Here they cast anchor; and so much pleased were they, that they stayed the next day and enjoyed the pleasure of a ramble along the rocky shores, fishing for perch, &c. They found an excellent host at the Gloucester hotel, where they passed the next night. I cannot do better than to tell the rest of the story in the words of these adventurers.

“With a bright sun, a fresh breeze, and a calm sea, we left Gloucester and shaped our course around Cape Ann for the Isles of Shoals, a group which lie at the farther extremity of Ipswich bay, across which we merrily steered, embracing the opportunity of initiating the inexperienced in the duties of amateur seamanship. In a few hours we ran in between the rocky isles, which, as we gradually neared them, seemed to rise from out the waves. Anchoring in the midst of a fleet of fishing boats, we prepared our supper, which was soon despatched with much mirth, owing to the primitive simplicity of our arrangements. We passed the night at our anchorage, after witnessing the effect of a magnificent thunder-storm, and spent the morning in strolling among the rocks along the shore, and amusing ourselves with the characteristic traits of the islanders whom we met; their isolated position, and constant devotion to the single occupation of catching and curing fish, appearing to interpose a bar to their advancement in any other qualification. From the Isles of Shoals we had the next day a fair run to Wood Island, and anchored in Winter harbor, near the mouth of Saco river--a place of considerable importance at the time of the last war, owing to the exertions of an enterprising merchant by the name of Cutts. During the war the British entered the harbor and wantonly sawed through the keel of three of the largest class of merchant vessels, then in progress of building, and whose remains are still to be seen. We had plenty of fowling, fishing, and sporting apparatus, and we here had ample opportunity for exercising our skill as sportsmen--plover, curlew, sand-birds, &c. being abundant. In this manner we passed the time until the afternoon of the next day, when we left for Portland.

“Favored with a fine breeze, we dashed merrily over the waves, which had now begun to be tipped with foam, and, under the influence of the freshening wind, had assumed a size that, in comparison with our miniature bark, might have been termed mountain-high; but there was no danger, for our craft was as buoyant on the sea as one of its own bubbles. The weather had gradually been growing “dirty,” as seamen call it, and we raced into the harbor of Portland with a small squadron of coasting vessels, all crowding for shelter. The wind during the night blew a gale from the southeast, which however did not prevent us from sleeping soundly. Our appetites having assumed a remarkable punctuality since leaving Boston, reminded us early of breakfast, and, in spite of wind and rain, we resolved upon cooking a quantity of birds shot the day previous. Having formed an imperfect shelter by means of a spare sail, a fire was kindled, coffee made, birds broiled, and our meal concluded amid a rain so drenching as to be quite a curiosity in its way. Each person bent over his dish to prevent the food being fairly washed away, and covered his mug of coffee to avoid excessive dilution, and used many other notable expedients suited to the occasion, which will certainly not be forgotten if never again practised. It was most emphatically a washing-day with us, though not accompanied with the ill-humor generally reputed to exist upon those occasions.

“The storm and its effects being over, we received a visit from the proprietors of the elegant pleasure-boat, Water Lily, who very kindly invited us to accompany them to Diamond cove, a romantic spot in one of the many beautiful islands that so thickly stud Casco bay--a place much frequented by parties of pleasure from the city of Portland. We left the harbor with a fine breeze, our pennants streaming gallantly. We were soon upon the fishing-grounds, anchored, and for a moment all was bustle and excitement, each hoping to be the first to pull a ‘mammoth’ from the deep. Success crowned our efforts, and a boat was despatched with the treasure to the cove, to be there converted into a savory chowder; while we again anchored near the rocks of one of the smaller islands, where fortune favored us, and we soon had a goodly store of perch for the fry.

“The sun was just sinking as we entered the cove, and the gray shadows of twilight were fast gathering under the grove of fine old oaks that crowned the shore. Soon the woods resounded with the shouts and merry laughter of the party. Misty twilight yielded to the brilliant rays of the full moon, which, streaming through the openings of the forest, touched here and there, lighting up the picturesque and moss-grown trunks with almost magical effect. The word was given, and each one searched for his armful of brush to light us at our feast, and soon it crackled and blazed away, lighting up a scene almost beyond description. The party numbered about fifteen or twenty, including the Phantom’s crew, and were scattered about in all the various groups and postures that inclination or fancy might suggest, each with his plate and spoon, or for the want of them a clam-shell and box-cover, doing such justice to the feast as an appetite sharpened by fasting, salubrious sea-breeze and wholesome exercise would induce. Not the least important feature of the scene was the picturesque costume assumed by our “Phantoms;” it consisting of white pants, Guernsey frocks, belts, knives, and small Greek caps tight to the head. Above us hung the blest canopy of glowing foliage thrown out from those old oaks; each mass, each leaf was touched and pencilled with a vivid line of light, whose brightness might compare with that of sparkling gems. The more distant groups were relieved from the dim and shadowy background by a subdued and broad half-light. Fainter and fainter grew the light, till all was lost in the deep and gloomy shadows of the forest.

“Amid this fairy-like scenery all was mirth, jollity, fun, and frolic; not a moment passed unenjoyed. At ten o’clock our party broke up, and we returned to our boats. We here parted with our kind friends, who were soon on their way to Portland. We seized our flutes, and breathed forth a farewell with all the pathos we were masters of. This was soon answered by a smart salute from a cannon, which awoke the echoes of the cove. Three cheers were given and returned, and all was still.

“The next was a beautiful day, and it being Sunday, we remained at anchor in the cove, enjoying the silence and repose of nature in that lovely and sequestered spot. The succeeding morning being fine, we started with a light southerly wind, which carried us slowly along among the islands of Casco, and gave us a fine opportunity to observe all their beauties. The scene was continually changing--new islands opening upon us almost every moment. Before evening we had made the little harbor called Small Point, where we remained that night. The succeeding day we doubled cape Small Point and made the mouth of the Kennebec, which we entered with a fine breeze, that carried us briskly up to Bath, where we spent the remainder of the day. Having taken a pilot, we continued up the river with a fair wind and tide, which took us as far as Hallowell. Considerable curiosity was here excited, in consequence of our having come so far in so small a boat, it being thought a rather hazardous enterprise. In the morning a council was held, and we determined to return; accordingly this and the succeeding day were spent in getting back to Bath. We did but little more than float with the tide, in consequence of its being so calm. The scenery of the Kennebec has been so often and minutely described, that it is best to pass over it without comment.

At Bath we were treated with all the attention and kindness we could wish for. The succeeding day we beat down the river, and doubled the point, encountering a head sea, which tossed us about, to the great detriment of our culinary apparatus. We again anchored and passed the night at Small Point. We proceeded the next day, by a difficult and somewhat dangerous channel, between ledges and islands as far as Haskell’s Island, and anchored in the cove. Continuing our course the next day, we stopped at Portland, saw our friends of the Water Lily, and proceeded as far as Winter harbor, where we arrived at twelve o’clock at night. We continued here a day to take advantage of the fine shooting, and had very good luck. We went as far the next day as York, where we anchored, cooked our birds, and, with the help of good appetites, made a glorious supper.

“Leaving the town of Old York, we rowed slowly out of the small river which forms its harbor, accompanied by numerous fishing-boats, which came in the evening previous. It was a dead calm, and continued so about two hours. The time passed however without the usual tedium attendant upon the want of wind, it being employed in the preparation and discussion of a hearty breakfast. The wind came at last, a light breeze and ahead, and we soon exchanged the swinging and rolling motion of the glassy ground-swell for the regular rise and fall and cheerful dash of the ripple against the bow, and the music of the breaking bubbles as they whirled away in the wake. With all our canvass set, we stretched slowly along the narrow coast of New Hampshire.

“Passing the harbor of Portsmouth, with its lighthouse built upon a ledge so low that the tide sweeps over its foundation, as is the case with the famous Eddystone, at nightfall we were off the mouth of Merrimac river, yet some fifteen or twenty miles from our destined port. A few clouds that had collected about dark now dispersed, and the stars shone clear and beautiful from the heavens, while the beacon lights blazed in rival brightness from the shore. About two in the morning we approached the entrance of our port, which is situated near the mouth of a small river which intersects Cape Ann, and which, like most rivers, has a bar at its mouth. After passing the lighthouse, being within half a mile of our anchorage, the wind fell suddenly, and the rapid current swept us aground upon the highest part of the bar, where the receding tide soon left us high and dry upon the sand. Being stopped thus abruptly, we gazed about in search of some means to ‘define our position,’ which measure was presently vetoed by the rolling in of so thick a fog that in ten minutes everything in sight could have been touched with a boat-hook. Finding sight unavailing at this juncture, we resorted to sound, and commenced firing signal guns, which were heard and answered from the shore, and in a short time assistance arrived in the person of the keeper of the lighthouse, who informed us that we should not float again for six hours. Day broke upon us in this position, and having plenty of time, we despatched two ashore for provisions in the pilot’s skiff, and in a short time the sand-bar presented a singular appearance, our baggage of all kinds being strewed about upon the sand, and in close fellowship with cooking utensils, loose sails, spare baskets, boxes, rigging, &c. &c.; for we had entirely unladed the boat, for the purpose of washing and cleansing the inside from the effects of an unlucky basket of charcoal, which had been upset in the confusion consequent upon our endeavors to get into deeper water. Upon the return of our purveyors all hands displayed great activity in providing and eating breakfast. The fog still encompassed us, so that we enjoyed all the uproar and fun of the meal in our own way, as our apparent horizon was hardly more extensive than a common room. It was a memorable breakfast, that seemed much like a day’s eating condensed into a single meal, the whole being much enlivened by the cheerfulness and local anecdotes of our old friend from the lighthouse, to whom we were indebted for sundry excellent hints touching the best method of extricating vessels in difficult and dangerous situations. The tide rose very rapidly, and all the temporary embarrassments of our situation vanished with our footprints in the sand. The mounting sun soon burned up the fog, which in dispersing produced its usual singular and fantastic effects upon the rugged and precipitous shores that lay on each side; and retaining the services of our old friend as pilot, we ran through the river, which is about four miles long, and connected with the harbor of Gloucester by a short canal, through which we passed, and spent another pleasant day in that town previous to starting for Boston; which place we had left just three weeks before. We arrived there the next day, meeting with nothing worthy of particular notice in the course of it.

“Such is a brief outline of our excursion, from which we returned much invigorated in mind and body. A thousand little incidents occurred, serving to enhance the pleasure of the trip, which it would be impossible to condense into so small a space as is here allotted us. We had finer opportunities of obtaining picturesque sketches of our New England coast scenery, than could be obtained by any other method. One of our company made a sketch of our mischance upon the bar, and an engraving of it is presented to the reader. We had a good opportunity of observing the peculiar traits that characterize the hardy race that inhabit our rough and rock-bound coast, and always found them a freehearted, hospitable people, ever ready to yield any assistance we might need. We were obliged to submit to many little inconveniences, it is true, which, had they not been voluntary, or had they come under other than the then existing circumstances, would have been deemed hardships; but there was so much excitement, so much novelty, such an endless variety of new objects from day to day to attract and interest us, that we were a thousand times repaid for all our petty privations.”

* * * * *

PROVERB.--A person who is suspicious, ought to be suspected.

Travels, Adventures, and Experiences
of Thomas Trotter.