Category Archives: 19th century history

19th century stereotype?

I’ll admit when I began looking into the 19th century, I had preconceived stereotypes–high-collared, long-sleeved, Victorian era prudes, bombastic orators,  a stalwart naïveté about religion, medicine, America, etc., and in general, a less frenetic pace of life. Frequently, however, my 21st century superiority has been caught up short. When the Englishwoman Isabella Bird visited Canada and the States in 1854, she made the following observations, which strike me as eerily insightful about us today:

“While we admire and wonder at the vast material progress of Western Canada and the North-western States of the Union [Ohio, Illinois, Indiana, Kentucky], considerations fraught with alarm will force themselves upon us. We think that great progress is being made in England, but, without having travelled in America, it is scarcely possible to believe what the Anglo-Saxon race is performing upon a new soil. In America we do not meet with factory operatives, seamstresses, or clerks overworked and underpaid, toiling their lives away in order to keep body and soul together, but we have people of all classes who could obtain competence and often affluence by moderate exertions, working harder than slaves–sacrificing home enjoyments, pleasure, and health itself to the one desire of the acquisition of wealth. Daring speculations fail; the struggle in unnatural competition with men of large capital, or dishonourable dealings, wears out at last the overtasked frame–life is spent in a whirl–death summons them, and finds them unprepared. Everybody who has any settled business is overworked. Voices of men crying for relaxation are heard from every quarter, yet none dare to pause in this race which they so madly run, in which happiness and mental and bodily health are among the least of their considerations. All are spurred on by the real or imaginary necessities of their position, driven along their headlong course by avarice, ambition, or eager competition.” (p.222, My First Travels in North America)

I envy Bird her rigorous meanderings, which included a visit to Niagara Falls, an experience she describes in great, harrowing detail. At age eighteen, according to the Introduction ot First Travels, she had a spinal tumor surgically removed, an operation that was only partly successful, “so her young adulthood was punctuated by long periods in which she would have to spend entire mornings in a semi-recumbent position. Perhaps her doctor realized that many of her physical and emotional problems stemmed from an extraordinary intelligence and a strong personality at odds with a stultifying social enviornment; in any event, he prescribed an extended ocean voyage. In 1854 Isabella’s father gave her £100 and permission to travel as long as the money lasted. She chose to travel to North America and made it last for almost six months.”

The book jacket claims she was “a woman ahead of her time.” Perhaps. Or is this another stereotype to be rethought? To my mind, the countless thousands–many of them women–who emigrated from Europe, leaving hearth and home for places and lives unknown, speak otherwise.

How did we live?

“How did we live without cell phones?”

Recently, I’ve heard this question a lot, regarding the Hurricane Sandy disaster in New York City, managing schedules and whatnot. The question reminds me of when I was a child, listening with awe to my grandmother recite all the things that had not been invented when she was little: automobiles, airplanes, TVs. She seemed hyper-aware of the passage of time, all the changes she had witnessed over her long life (she died in 1987, at age 96).

After her death we uncovered a family scrapbook dating back to the 1800’s rife with German newsclippings I might one day manage to decipher. Pasted to one page was the following clipping. The year is not noted–I’m guessing it was circa 1950.

The Rheinpfalz ladder wagon

A couple of years ago on the way to the Bewartstein Castle (near Erlenbach in the southern Palatinate forest), my cousin and guide Matthias got excited at the sight of this wagon sitting in a meadow by the side of the road.

“Oh look, it’s an old Leiterwagen,” he said, careening the Opel over to the shoulder. “I want you to see it. It was once very common in our region. The design is very clever– it can be used as one wagon with four wheels, or pulled apart into two separate drays. When it wasn’t in use, they would collapse it for easy storage.”

This Leiterwagen appears to be from the 19th century. Note the iron tires, iron fittings and chains, no doubt pounded into place by the village blacksmith. These wagons could haul hay or timber. With boards fitted over the side ladders, they hauled manure to the fields. This one is more elaborate for its covered top — most were left open to the air. The sleekness of the design was important for fitting the wagons down narrow village streets.

and grape rows.

At my relatives’ house in Freinsheim, they still keep their Leiterwagen, mainly as ornamentation.

In the New World, economy of space was not so important, so ladder wagons did not come into vogue. It seems the heavy-duty drays, Prairie Schooners, even the massive Conestogas (precursors to semi-trucks) were the wagons of choice.  At the Colonial Williamsburg web site, I came across this slide show about early American wagons.

A Civil War find

Who on earth? In a box of my aunt’s belongings, I found a copy of a one page letter written during the Civil War:

Chattanooga, Tennessee, jan. 1st, 1864

Dear Brother I take pen in hand to answer your letter witch come to hands on Christmas and I was glad indeed to here from someone and to here that you was all well I am well at present and I hope that these few lines ma find you all in the same state of health well Brother it will be three weaks nes Sunday since I rote home and I will tell you the reson why I did not rite ofner on the 18th of last month our Regt had to go out in frunt to gard a Bridge on the Chickamauga Creek and we did not take eny paper with ous and so we did not get to rite Enny a while we wose there and we wose not releaved until yesterday morning witch we … [end of letter]

P.S. I got the Huntingdon American News paper of dec 23rd I sane that tha is a Leatter in the paper Advertists fore Leather it is in the Huntingdon Post office

I have no idea “witch” ancestor wrote this letter, but I love it — the vernacular, the phonetic spellings. I have at least one Pennsylvania ancestor who worked for the Confederate Army, but this does not appear to be him. The Union Army suffered a bad defeat at West Chickamauga Creek in September of 1863, but by December 18, if the writer of the letter was guarding a bridge over Chickamauga Creek, he was doing so once the Union Army had regained that ground. Since the writer refers to Huntingdon, my guess is he probably came from that area, somewhere near Johnstown, PA, whence quite a few of my ancestors hail.

Cleveland and the Ohio Canal

The Ohio Canal, also known as the Ohio and Erie Canal, which ran between the mouth of the Cuyahoga River in Cleveland south and east to Akron, Ohio, was a main shipping lane from the 1830s until 1861 (when the much faster railroads took over).

In a letter sent to Freinsheim, Germany by Cleveland German immigrant John Rapparlie, dated 1847, gives instructions for the route many took in that era:
“In case you should travel to America, start your way early in spring and don’t do a ship contract at home in between and wait until you get to Havre (France). Then you can get a way fast and cheaper. When you arrive in New York, don’t make contracts farther than from station to station, namely from Havre to New York, from there to Albany, from there to Buffalo, from there to Cleveland. Later just ask for John Rapparlie.”

I presume John Rapparlie, Cleveland wagon-maker, was referring to travel by the Erie Canal across New York State, which opened in 1825. Rapparlie must have been no stranger to canal travel — the Ohio and Erie Canal wended its way practically from his doorstep on the corner of Michigan and Seneca streets in downtown Cleveland.

On a recent visit to Cleveland, I especially enjoyed my stop at the Leonard Krieger CanalWay Center, part of the Cleveland Metroparks system. The visitor center there, accessed via Cuyahoga Heights (just off I-77), has well-done historic interpretive displays and hiking paths right along the old canal. One striking fact about the 308-mile waterway is that it was hand-dug almost entirely by German and Irish immigrants.

Below are a few photos I took while at the CanalWay Center, which include a smattering of information about this brief, transformational moment in Cleveland’s past:

The flyer for Tufts & Parks Commissioning House gives a glimpse into how John D. Rockefeller Sr. got his start in Cleveland. Rockefeller’s first job was in the commissioning house of Clarke, Gardner & Co., a similar establishment to Tufts & Parks, a jumping off point for the shipment of goods to and from Ohio’s interior.

“Like” Isabella Bird

“I am looking for books about women of courage in the 19th century,” I tell Roger Page of Island Books.

“Have you heard of Isabella Bird?” he asks.

I had not. Reading her book My First Travels in North America, I must agree that Isabella L. Bird (1831-1904) is a woman of courage and tenacity. On this first adventure of many, she traveled alone with little fear. She kept up her enthusiasm even after being nearly drowned in a storm on Lake Ontario–a wave swept her overboard, then another came along and swept her back onto the boat. And so on.

Her colorful descriptions are offered through the lens of a traveling Englishwoman who keeps her entertained wits about her. In the “Introduction,” Clarence C. Strowbridge phrases it thus: “Isabella’s book is one of the very best there is for giving an accurate, vivid picture of life in rural and urban areas of the northeastern part of the United States and eastern Canada in the mid 1850s.”

Personally, what I like best is Bird’s conversational tone. The book was compiled after her return based on notes and letters she wrote to her sister during her travels. For the researcher of history, historic accounts of this era are typically dry as dust. But the writing on these pages feels three-dimensional, conjuring clear images and experiences.

It’s not the first time I’ve felt refreshed by the perspective of a woman in the man’s world of the 19th century. I am the archivist for a 159-year-old church, and our “History of Woman’s Work,” a female account of our church history, stands in vivid relief to the history written by the men. The offical history of a pastor’s term of service notes that under the Rev. I. Dillon rallied the Ladies Aid to pay the church mortgage in full. The women’s account reads thus:

The church had a mortgage. Where to get the money was placed before Ladies Aid. Lumber in huge beams was being sent to San Francisco as well as salted salmon in good barrels, and any woman not doing her own bakery was denominated as shiftless. So, how could these church women make enough to clear the mortgage? … One woman with promoter’s vision said, as she addressed the chair: “Let’s have an excursion.” [So the Ladies Aid decided to organize a tour from San Francisco to the northwest.] … the excursionists came, looked and admired the huge trees that stood far up the hillsides of Seattle and loved Victoria, a quaint replica of an English town. When income and expenses were settled the Ladies Aid Society had
$900.00 net, which was promptly used to clear the mortgage on the white church.

—Mrs. Lulu Hall, History of Woman’s Work Vol. I

Talk to me, Lulu and Isabella. I’m all ears.

Oh, the calliope

Reading David Yost’s “The Carousel Thief” in The Cincinnati Review‘s Summer 2012 issue (*great* story), I came across the word “calliope” again, triggering a vague memory from my research about life in Ohio in the 19th century. The reference occurs in Yost’s story thus:

She glanced around the carousel house with distaste, and for a moment I saw what she probably saw: her friends pacing the orange polyester carpet, staring out at the maples and sweetgums of Washington Park as the calliope played and they snacked on caviar and quail brains or whatever rich people serve to other rich people to impress them.

In context, you get the idea of what “calliope” signifies — not the Greek muse of epic poetry, but that flutey, jangling music that accompanies rides on historic carousels. In the 21st century, to our refined ears that sound is enough to make one cringe, but in the mid-19th century, the music of the calliope was a brand new wonder, a triumphal herald of the modern steam age.

Circa 1858, this 44-pipe Calliope announced the arrival of the Nixon & Kemp Circus in town. The instrument could be heard for ten to twelve miles, was drawn by a team of 40 horses, and cost a fortune ($18,000) to build. It also cost a fortune in upkeep (all those horses to stable and feed, for one thing) so the Calliope was not practical in the long run. But while it lasted, making its circuit through Ohio and other of the U.S.’s 31 states, it created quite a sensation.

Tobacco tales

This summer, we lost the iconic historical novelist Gore Vidal. During my research, I have appreciated his books on the 19th century, but, upon learning of his death, remembered I had not yet picked up Vidal’s Lincoln, a novel highly recommended to me by a writer friend, not only for its excellent writing and complexity, but because one of the main narrators is Salmon Portland Chase, former governor of Ohio.

It is a thick book, not only in page count, but in political and subversive machinations among key personalities of the Lincoln era. Reading it has jogged my memory on a number of subjects. Regarding the emancipation of slaves, for instance, I was reminded again it was an act instituted for less than altruistic reasons. Vidal underscored this point with his inclusion of information that the entire presidential cabinet felt the right thing to do, once the slaves were freed, would be to send the “Africans” back to Africa, or Granada, or some place. The only cabinet member against the idea was Chase, then Secretary of the Treasury, as he thought it would cost too much. It was all guesswork, as Lincoln learned when he asked for support for such an endeavor from freed black men. The powers that be really had no idea what they were doing.

Another minor detail that pinged my memory banks had to do with tobacco. For the better part of the nineteenth century, cigarettes did not exist. The use of tobacco consisted of pipes, cigars, snuff and chew. At the time, no doubt inhaling and the less harsh smoke from cigarettes seemed a marked improvement over the nasty practice of chewing and spitting.

“Chase looked about his half-furnished office and was half-pleased. The pearl-gray carpet of his first days as Secretary had long since been drowned in tobacco juice; and removed.” (p. 594, Lincoln, Gore Vidal)

The passage reminded me of something I’d read in Dickens, as he was describing the habit of tobacco chewing in the U.S. Capital in his American Notes.

In the White House, as just about everywhere he went in America, Dickens was appalled at the American male passion for chewing tobacco. He gives this account of a visit to the Capital (sic) building:

“Both Houses are handsomely carpeted; but the state to which these carpets are reduced by the universal disregard of the spittoon with which every honourable member is accommodated, and the extraordinary improvements on the pattern which are squirted and dabbled upon it in every direction, do not admit of being described. I will merely observe, that I strongly recommend all strangers not to look at the floor; and if they happen to drop anything, though it be their purse, not to pick it up with an ungloved hand on any account.”

(quoted from David Perdue’s Charles Dickens Page.)

It makes sense that the popularity of tobacco would be so ubiquitous. The cash crop, native to the Americas, once a cure for toothache and a symbol of peace, drove much of what followed — global trade, slavery, war. At Kouroo Contexture, I discovered an excellent compilation of “everything they could find on the subject” of tobacco, a.k.a. the Sot Weed, in history.

Olympic storytelling, Boyle and Milton

When the Opening Ceremonies of the 2012 Olympics began, I was anticipating something along the lines of the show at Beijing, the digital floor and screens, the synchronicity of the performers, glitz and glam.

What’s with all the lawns? I wondered as Danny Boyle’s “Pandemonium” opened. What transpired was quintessential storytelling.

Based on Milton’s “Paradise Lost,” Boyle orchestrated for over 40 million viewers a creation story of sorts–of hell.

Boyle told his performers “you are creating Hell”. But he also emphasised that the Industrial Revolution was a key moment in history, giving birth to democratic movements, such as that of the Suffragettes and the demand for universal health care.

He told them: “It was monstrous but it changed lives. People, including myself, can read and write thanks to it. The workers of the Industrial Revolution built the cities that are now the settings for every Games.”

[DNA Daily News and Analysis]

I admit I loved it — from the cigar-smoking men in top hats to the sledge-wielding ironworkers in the mutant masks — especially because it did not hide from us the ugliness of our transformation. (Well, until we got to Daniel Craig and the Queen, at which point we put our rose-colored sunglasses back on.)

And based on the research I’ve been doing for my book, I’m with Boyle on the Industrial Revolution being key. It has changed everything. Without electricity, without gasoline, without our machines and technology, we would not have the slightest idea how to survive.

In the spirit of storytelling irony, I could not help but notice throughout “Pandemonium” the sense of total control — of the 1,000 actors, the sets, technical effects and timing — the opposite of what has been happening in the 21st century, the ever-expanding chaos as we humans propel ourselves blindly toward self-destruction.

do they only stand
By ignorance, is that their happy state,
The proof of their obedience and their faith?

John Milton, “Paradise Lost”

Unknowingly contributed

I stopped by an estate sale yesterday and, as always, rummaged through the box of books. Usually by Saturday afternoon all the treasures are long gone. But this 1876 copy of The Deerslayer by James Fenimore Cooper, with its crumbling spine, lay overlooked. The seller wanted fifty cents.

Chronologically the first in the series of Cooper’s five “Leather-Stocking Tales,” The Deerslayer was published last, in 1841. What I love about this 1876 edition is that Susan Fenimore Cooper, the author’s daughter, holds the copyright and supplies her own “Introduction” about the history, the geography, flora and fauna of the Lake Otsego region. According to Quotidiana, “Susan Fenimore Cooper is remembered as America’s first female nature writer,” best known for her nature journal Rural Hours. She also worked for female suffrage, wrote articles for magazines, helped her father edit his books, and was so essential to his life he disapproved her several suitors and she never married.

Browsing through her “Introduction,” I found the following:

“In the year 1709 a large party of Protestant Germans from the Palatinate, fleeing from the effects of religious persecution, and the poverty brought upon Rhenish Germany by the wars of Louis XIV., emigrated to America under the patronage of Queen Anne. Some three thousand crossed the Atlantic at this period. Many of these settled in Pennsylvania, others on the Hudson, others at the German Flats on the Mohawk. A colony of several hundred of these worthy industrious people settled on the banks of the Schoharie [New York] in 1711. … Natty [hero of “The Leather-Stocking Tales”] and Hurry Harry are supposed to have approached [Lake Otsego] from the little colony on the Schoharie, founded thirty years earlier by the ‘Palatines,’ as they were called.

“There was a village of the Mohegans on the Schoharie, at the foot of a hill called by them ‘Mohegonter,’ or ‘the falling away of the Mohegan Hill.’ These Mohegans came, it is said, originally from the eastward, beyond the Hudson. The clan is reported to have numbered some three hundred warrieors when the Germans arrived among them. A tortoise and a serpent were the tokens of this clan. documents, chiefly sales of land to the Germans, still exist bearing their signatures in this shape.”

There is much more, about how her father decided to write The Deerslayer, about the end of her father’s days in Cooperstown, NY. Not to mention my delight at stumbling upon such a treasure.