Part 4 (1/2)
A journey being so great an affair, the traveller was of course a marked man, and his arrival at an ordinary was the signal for the gathering of all who could crowd in to hear of his adventures, and also to hear the public and private news of which he might be the bearer. ”I have heard Dr.
Franklin relate with great pleasantry,” said one of his friends, ”that in travelling when he was young, the first step he took for his tranquillity and to obtain immediate attention at the inns, was to antic.i.p.ate inquiry, by saying: 'My name is Benjamin Franklin. I was born at Boston, am a printer by profession, am travelling to Philadelphia, shall have to return at such a time, and have no news. Now what can you give me for dinner?'”
This curiosity was rather peculiar to New England. The Southerner, while perhaps as anxious to hear the news, was more restrained in asking questions. That good breeding and tact which were a Cavalier inheritance, taught him to wait decorously for his news as for his food. A foreigner in the last century, in travelling through the South, came upon a party of Virginians smoking and drinking together on a veranda. He reports that on his ascending the steps to the piazza, every countenance seemed to say, 'This man has a double claim to our attention, for he is a stranger in the place!' In a moment, there was room made for him to sit down; a new bowl was called for, and every one who addressed him did it with a smile of conciliation; but no man asked him whence he had come or whither he was going.
All foreigners bear the same testimony to this universal courtesy, which smoothed rough roads and made travelling enjoyable, in spite of its difficulties and dangers. When I realize what those difficulties were, I am surprised at the willingness with which journeys were undertaken. I read of Was.h.i.+ngton setting out on a mission to Major-General s.h.i.+rley in Boston, and riding the whole distance of five hundred miles on horseback in the depth of winter, escorted only by a few servants; yet little is made of his experiences. Women, too, were quite accustomed to riding on long expeditions. An octogenarian described to Irving the horseback journeys of his mother in her scarlet cloth riding-habit. ”Young ladies from the country,” he said, ”used to come to the b.a.l.l.s at Annapolis, riding, with their hoops arranged _fore and aft_ like lateen sails; and after dancing all night, would ride home again in the morning.”
Annapolis, before the Revolution, was a centre of gayety. Its rich families came up to town for the season each Fall, and in the Spring moved back to their country-houses with their various belongings. The family coach which was used to transport these possessions was a curious affair to modern eyes. It was colored generally a light yellow, with smart facings. The body was of mahogany, with Venetian windows on each side, projecting lamps, and a high seat upon which coachman and footman climbed at starting.
As this old coach lumbered up and down the streets of Annapolis, its occupants no doubt fancied that they had reached the final limit of speed and comfort in travel, and they looked back with scorn and pity on the primitive conveyances of their ancestors, just as posterity will doubtless look back from their balloons and electric motors on our steam engines. In one of Jefferson's early letters we chance upon a curious prophecy. Being about to make a visit, he asks to be met by his friend's ”periagua,” as a canoe was called, and suggests that some day a boat may be made, which shall row itself.
After all, I question whether there was not more pleasure in travel in those days, before boats rowed themselves, and when horses were made of flesh and blood instead of iron and steam; when the rider ambled along, noting each tree and shrub, pausing to exchange greetings with every wayfarer, and stopping by night beneath some hospitable roof to make merry over the cup of sack or the gla.s.s of ”quince drink” prepared for his refreshment. If the traveller was of a surly and unsocial nature, he was indeed to be pitied; since, for him who would not accept his neighbor's hospitality, there remained only the roadside tavern or ”ordinary,” and woe to him who was compelled to test its welcome! The universal practice of keeping open-house made the inns poorer in quality, and the contempt of the community for one who would receive money for the entertainment of guests, kept men of repute out of the business.
A Maryland statute, in 1674, resolves ”that noe Person in that Province shall have a Licence to keep Ordinary for the future but th{t} he shall give Bond to his Excellency with good Sureties that he shall keep foure good ffeather beds for the Entertainment of Customers.” In any place where the county court is held, he is directed to keep ”eight ffeather or fflock beds at the least, and ffurniture suitable.” The charges of the ordinary-keeper are fixed by law. He is allowed to charge ten pounds of tobacco per meal ”for dyet,” ten pounds ”for small beare,” and four ”for lodging _in a bed with sheets_.”
While the traveller was loitering on the road, enjoying hospitality or enduring ordinaries, those he left at home were in ignorance of his whereabouts; and it was only after days or weeks of anxious waiting, that they could hope to hear of his safe arrival at his destination. Meanwhile rumor, which always thrives in proportion to ignorance, might make their lives miserable by reports of a riderless horse seen galloping into some village, of storms and gales, or of trees cras.h.i.+ng across the lonely roads. In the absence of the post and the telegraph, this spreading of false news became so troublesome that an act was pa.s.sed in Maryland declaring that, ”Whereas many Idle and Bussie-headed people doe forge and divulge falce Rumors and Reports,” it is enacted that they be either fined or ”receive such corporall punishment, not extending to life or member, as to the Iustices of that court shall seeme meete.”
It was long before the idea of a postal service under government control dawned upon the Colonies. Throughout almost the whole of the seventeenth century letters were sent by the hand of the chance traveller. Maryland directed that in the case of public state-papers the sheriff of one county should carry them to the sheriff of the next, and so on to their goal; but private letters had no such official care.
An old Virginia statute commanded that ”all letters superscribed _for the publique service_, should be immediately conveyed from plantation to plantation to the place and person directed, under the penalty of one hogshead of tobacco for each default.”
Another law, bearing date 1661, orders that ”when there is any person in the family where the letters come, as can write, such person is required to endorse the day and houre he received them, that the neglect or contempt of any person stopping them may be the better knowne and punished accordingly.”
A letter in those days merited the attention it received, for it represented a vast deal of labor and expense. Paper was a costly luxury, as we may infer from those old yellow pages crossed and re-crossed with writing, and the tiny cramped hand in which the old sermons are written.
In 1680, I find Colonel William Fitzhugh ordering from London ”two large Paper-Books, one to contain about fourteen or fifteen quires of paper, the other about ten quires, and one other small one.”
The paper was left blank on one side, and so folded that it formed its own envelope. It was fastened with a seal whose taste and elegance was a matter of pride with the writer. The style was formal, as became the dignity of a person who knew how to write. In those times people did not write letters; they indited epistles. A communication sent across the ocean, in 1614, is addressed ”To y{e} Truly Honorable & Right Worthy Knight, S{r} Thomas Smith,” and is signed: ”At Y{r} Command To Be Disposed of.”
Love-letters shared the formality of the time, and were written with a stateliness and elaboration of compliment which suggest a minuet on paper.
Family letters are often in the form of a journal, and cover a period of months. They cost both labor and money but they were worth their price.
Cheap postage has made cheap writing. We no longer compose; we only scribble.
In 1693, Thomas Neale was appointed by royal patent, ”postmaster-general of Virginia and _all other parts of North America_.” The House of Burgesses pa.s.sed an Act declaring that if post-offices were established in every county, Neale should receive threepence for every letter not exceeding one sheet, or to or from any place not exceeding four score English miles distance.
In 1706, letters were forwarded eight times a year from Philadelphia to the Potomac, and afterward as far as Williamsburg, with the proviso that the post-rider should not start for Philadelphia till he had received enough letters to pay the expenses of the trip.
[Ill.u.s.tration]
The average day's journey for a postman covered a distance of some forty miles in Summer, and over good roads; but, when the heavy Autumn rains washed out great gullies in his path or the Winter storms beat him back, he was lucky if he accomplished half that distance. His letters were subject to so many accidents, that it is a wonder they ever reached the persons to whom they were addressed. It was not till the post-office pa.s.sed into Franklin's energetic and methodical hands that it was made regular and trustworthy.
The estimate of the common post in early days is curiously ill.u.s.trated by an episode which occurred in Virginia. The hero was one Mr. Daniel Park, ”who,” says the chronicle, ”to all the other accomplishments that make a complete sparkish gentleman, has added one upon which he infinitely values himself; that is, a quick resentment of every, the least thing, that looks like an affront or injury.”
One September morning, when the Governor of Maryland was breakfasting with Mr. Commissary Blair at Middle Plantation, Colonel Park marched in upon them, having a sword about him, much longer than what he commonly travelled with, and which he had caused to be ground sharp in the point that morning. Addressing himself to the Governor of Maryland, he burst out: ”Captain Nicholson, did you receive a letter that I sent you from New York?”
”Yes,” answered Nicholson, ”I received it.”
”And was it done like a gentleman,” fumed the fiery colonel, ”to send that letter by the hand of a common post, to be read by everybody in Virginia?
I look upon it as an affront, and expect satisfaction!”
Fancy the number of affairs of honor that this ”complete young sparkish gentleman” would have on hand if he lived in the present year of grace and resented every letter sent him by _the common post_!
There is something which strikes us as infinitely diverting in his suggestion that everybody in Virginia would be interested in his letter.