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CHAPTER IX

THE SOUTH COUNTY. 1758-1787

The name of King’s County was changed to Washington during the Revolution, but it has generally been known by the familiar term we have given it. The characteristics of the region changed as slavery went out. As the estates lessened, the patrician owners were succeeded by farmers employing fewer laborers, and their habits were more in accord with other parts of the colony and state. We must take up and describe Rowland Robinson,¹ for the story of his daughter, the “Unfortunate Hannah.” He was a type of the old landholders, “constitutionally irritable, rash and unyielding” by one account. In Mr. Isaac P. Hazard’s² rose-colored glass, he was “a noble, generous-spirited man by nature, passionate, but not vindictive.” All agree that the daughter was “the most perfect model of beauty.” She was known in Philadelphia and throughout the colonies. One of her suitors, Dr. William Bowen, was most enthusiastic in his description. “Her figure was graceful and dignified, her complexion fair and beautiful and her manner urbane and captivating; that she rode with ease and elegance.” Doctor Bowen proffered his affection, but the beauty was already engaged. The refusal came with “such suavity and tenderness, united with personal respect,” that the disappointed suitor was consoled.

The favored swain was Peter Simons, of Newport, who

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was a music-master at the dancing school, where they met. Notwithstanding the most violent opposition from Mr. Robinson, they eloped and were married about 1760 in Providence, where they settled, living in very poor circumstances. The neglect and dissipation of the husband, and possibly the uneasy conscience of the bride, made her ill. She was assisted by her mother, who finally persuaded the passionate, but affectionate, father to have her conveyed in a litter to his home in Narragansett. It was too late, and she died on the night of her arrival.

This was purely an old-fashioned romance, with all the elements needed by Miss Porter for a ravishing tale. A century ago, sympathy was altogether with the “Unfortunate Hannah.” As the shadows lengthen, the high lights are not so strong on the figures of the lovers, and bring the father into more favorable perspective. The outcome of the worthless character of Simons proved that the sensible father was correct in estimating the youth. Doubtless, Robinson’s conduct was passionate and unreasoning; that was the way of the time. He was putting forth all his powers to save his daughter from a fate which was literally “unfortunate.”

The excellent care of the Hazard family has preserved the account books of College Tom, kept in 1750 to 1790, with their invaluable records of Narragansett life in the middle of the century. He was son³ of the large landholder, Robert Hazard, graduating at Yale College, and lived the life of a planter, gradually merging into that of a farmer. He charged farm produce to his debtors

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and also small articles obtained in trade,⁴ as shoe buckles, skeins of thread, a thimble, etc. Evidently the proprietor procured these things in the markets around the Bay, and they served in discharging his obligations, instead of money or currency, which was scarce. Some entries are equivalent to the exchanges in modern banking. John Mash was debtor for 30s. in cash, paid to Thomas Sweet, blacksmith; it was due from John Nichols to said Sweet and from John Mash to said Nichols. A charge to his brother-in-law carries a “Felt Hatt for Dick at £1. Casteel Sope, Handkerchiefs at 14s. Callominco at 18s. Sugar, Indigo and salt.” Thomas Hazard at Newport was debtor for £55., to be paid in three months “on Swop between Two Horses.” Prices were generally in Old Tenor, though occasionally specified in Lawful Money.

George Ireish bought a famous Narragansett “Natural pacing Horse, dark coloured with some White in his face,” at fifty-five silver Spanish milled dollars. The transaction reveals a curious course of trade and indirect balancing of values.⁵ “I am to take 1 hoggshead of molasses, 1 barrell of Sugar at £70. old Tenor per Hundred, the Molasses at the value of 36/- old Tenor, a Doller being considered at the Value of Eight Pounds old Tenor the Remainder in Tea at y^e Rate of eight Pounds old Ten^r, and in Indigo at the Rate of Twelve Pounds, old Tenor; to have one half of y^e remainder in Tea, & the other in Indigo.” If they lived a simple life in the olden time the simplicity did not extend to the ways of trade and the adjustment of values.

Tea appeared in the first accounts, 1750, at £3.4s., 1766 at £8. O. T., and chocolate comes in 1754 at fourteen shillings a pound. In 1771 Powel Helme was

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charged for Keeping the Coddington horse seven weeks and six days in summer at one pound of chocolate per week. Mr. Heinle was credited by “thy instructg” young Robert Hazard in the art of navigation at 5s. 6d.

Each homestead manufactured most articles needed for use in the family. The most important process was in carding, combing, spinning and weaving. There is hardly any mention of carding in these accounts, but combing occurs frequently. Valentine Ridge is credited with combing “at my house 40 lbs. of wool” and “at thy house 33¾ lbs. wool.” The comber was probably son of Master Ridge, the Irish schoolmaster at Tower Hill, of strong character and “courtly bearing.” Miss Hazard thinks “there was no apparent descent in the social scale from a physician to a weaver, or a schoolmaster to a wool comber.”⁶ This hardly corresponds with the present writer’s observation, which has been that there was distinction between those who employed and those who were workers. Landholders, clergymen, physicians and lawyers made the upper ranks. Teachers were between-classes; they were not ranked in a profession, as they are to-day.

Ridge received 14s. per lb. O. T. for combing the “worsted.” It was spun on a “woolen wheel.” Both worsted and linen were spun at six shillings O. T. per skein in 1761. James Carpenter spun both linen and tow yarn, and wove the latter into diaper; but generally the yarn was spun by one and woven by another person. In 1753 linen was woven at seven shillings and ticking at the same price. The latter was needed for feather beds, the greatest comfort of the eighteenth century, and too common to be a luxury. Half Duroy is mentioned, a modification of corduroy, probably. Gardner, “ye weaver

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at Tower Hill,” and two others were employed by Thomas Hazard from 1756 to 1760. They were charged with wool at twenty shillings O. T. per pound, “to be paid for in weaving; Tow at 3s. 6d. Flanning 3s. Wonted at 5s. and other cloths at the same rate.” Benedict Oatley was skillful, for he could weave striped cloth and made one piece “Chex.” An entry is for dyeing, scouring, pressing and shearing one piece of “Sarge” and for scouring and fulling one piece of “Cersey.” The blue colors were dyed in indigo.

Martin Reed, “a remarkable man,”⁷ left an orphan, served an apprenticeship of fourteen years at weaving (probably in Newport) until he was twenty-one. With one quarter’s schooling, he read all the books accessible on his art, until he had mastered it. He married Mary Dixon, a diaper weaver, and began living in a simple way with the plainest furniture and a single loom. He succeeded so well that he soon became the manufacturer for all the principal families around. This shows that the division of labor was begun. He became a member of St. Paul’s Church under Mr. Fayerweather and always led the singing. In the Revolution and afterward, while the parish had no rector, he read the service in the church and at funerals.

There were numerous hand weavers for plain cloth, but Reed was the most skilled, being the only one who could weave calimanco. Wool and flax were constantly manufactured; some linen was spun by the weaver, James Carpenter, in 1768, at eight shillings and woven into diaper at ten shillings per yard. In 1761 “linnen yarn” is recorded at six shillings the skein. Astress Crandall was a famous spinner for all kinds of work. She spun “card-work” as well as worsted; and there is an entry

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for “spinning, doubling and dressing 1 skain of stocking worsted three double.” The dressings seem to have consisted in boiling and washing the yarn. Stockings are seldom mentioned; a pair in 1756 cost 35 shillings and a “Linning Handkerchief” 22 shillings.

It shows how nearly self-furnishing and consuming Hazard’s estate was that his largest sale of wool was only 100 lbs. at 14½d.; though he kept a good flock of sheep.

Andrew Nichols, the tailor, was frequently employed, and his wife Eunice was a “tailoress.” He was a good Friend, and bought the “Principles & Precepts of y^e Christian Religion &ct. at 10s. Old Ten = 4^d½.” In 1769 his account credited with £139. O. T. showed a balance due Nichols of only 11s. 8^d½. Thomas Hazard’s one hand nearly washed the other, so to speak.

The shoeing of horses and oxen was a constant necessity, and the blacksmith was an important character throughout early New England. Shoeing the family was likewise an intimate necessity. The leather used was tanned near home, in one instance the skins being “dressed to y^e halves”; but generally the share of the tanner was one-third. All sorts of skins—even including a skunk’s—were converted into leather. In 1768 John Sherman made twelve pairs of shoes for £24. and apparently did all the work of the family. For that year his bill, including some Women’s Hats, amounted to £75. O. T. Often the shoemaker went about from house to house, and this custom continued well into the nineteenth century.

In 1750-1755 hay was £20. per load, and a pair of oxen £130. In 1765 beef was 4s. 6d. per pound. Milk was one shilling a quart in 1752 and some time after. Butter was 5s. 6d. in 1750 and 7s. the next year. Cheese was the important product, and in 1754 3627 lbs. were made at 3s., amounting to £545.17.

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An interesting entry occurs in 1773, when a load of “cole” was carted from the Ministerial Farm. Nova Scotia coal was then used in Boston, and probably this came in at the South Ferry or at Robert Hazard’s wharf on Boston Neck. Mr. Hazard’s chaise is mentioned in 1779 and it was said to be the first in the county.

Our settlers derived one of the largest factors in their living from the native Narragansetts. Indian corn was and is a most important element in the agriculture of this district. The rich soil along the ocean shore affords a good support for this excellent food. On Broad Rock farm near Peace Dale, which was a part of College Tom’s estate, there were recently to be seen two of the Indian caches⁸ for storing it. They were small hollows in the ground, some three feet long, two feet wide, and one foot deep, roughly lined with stone. When the tribe was driven into Massachusetts in the time of Philip’s War, they came and carried away these deposits for subsistence. Several modes of cooking were inherited with the precious cereal. Shepherd Tom Hazard, in his Johnny Cake Papers, is most enthusiastic in his accounts of the old colonial bread. The corn must be ground by fine-grained stones, which would make “flat” meal instead of “round.” The meal should be made into dough and spread on the middle board of a red oak barrel head. Only walnut coals were worthy, and the crust as it browned should be basted with cream. Hasty pudding and “them porridge” were viands from the same source.

College Tom had a few slaves. His father, Robert, dying in 1762, by tradition, left 24. It does not appear that the slaveowners took many apprentices, though they had some. Priamus, a negro boy, came to Mr. Hazard at six years and lived out a term of apprenticeship

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until of age, either with this employer or in the immediate neighborhood. He took another, Oliver Smith, at eight years from his mistress, “for his Bringing up until he may have an advantageous opportunity to go apprentice.” There are scarce any traces of Indian labor, though we know they were often employed. There are many curious contracts for labor of the better class, which should work between the black slave and the white master. In 1763 Henry Hill agreed to “Labour at Husbandry” for ten months and was to receive £400. O. T.⁹ In his account he was charged 34s. for half a quire of paper, and 10s. “Paid Fox the scribe”; a function seldom recognized in colonial life. Another husbandman was to make shoes in wet weather; and still another to “labor at carpentry” when the skies were not propitious.

The admirable domestic system of labor was further reinforced in 1762 by Jacob Barney—mark the Irish name. He was to work four months at journey-work in hatting, and to teach “my son Tommy” the trade, together with another lad. He was to receive the common wages, by the hat, and to be found his board for instruction of the lads. Hats sold at £40. in 1763, and this must have been a thrifty saving. John Dye, “y^e gardner,” was a superior laborer, receiving £3.0.5. a day in 1764.

In such a household female labor is scarcely less important than that of the male. Their work was even more carefully planned and parceled out than that of the men. Martha Nichols—the surname of the tailor—had 20s. for “making 1 gound.” “Sempstry” was done by Joanna Dugglass, single woman, in 1764, for eleven

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weeks at 72s. per week. Quilting was as important a process in household manufacture, and for overseeing at “the bee” otherwise she received 18s. per day. Sometimes a bee lasted ten days. Mary Chase, for “housewifery, spinning, etc.,” had 50s. O. T. for the summer and 40s. for the winter season. Amy Shearman had one pound in cash to pay for “making her Bonet.” A woman was charged £8. in cash to “go to Tower Hill.” In this case she was to have the pleasure of “shopping” instead of the mere solace of a book entry.

Going to Tower Hill¹⁰ meant to trade with James Helme, and most transactions with the women were recorded in cross entries on College Tom’s books. Tower Hill was the emporium and department store where the wants of the community were satisfied. James Helme was “a gentleman of mild and urbane manners, of estimable character and of considerable wealth,” in the words of Updike.¹¹ He was an example of the all-around men of fair abilities, who in conjunction with the landholders carried on a community like this of Narragansett. In 1767 he was elected by the legislature to be chief justice of the Superior Court of the colony.

Lowes Jakeways, spinster, is recorded in an outing of

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another sort than the desiderated shopping at Tower Hill. She was charged with 20s. cash “when she went to the New Light meeting” in 1756. We have referred to the Great Awakening in the forties, which profoundly moved King’s Cousty. The numerous sects, so vexatious to Dr. MacSparran, were stimulated anew and they affected the orderly circles of the Friends. One was excluded from membership in 1748 because he suffered the Friends’ meeting “to be disturbed & broken up by the afores^d Wild & Ranting people, which meeting was in his own house.”¹² Twenty years later the sect was active and another Friend was expelled, having joined the New Lights, and “pretended to Justifie himself in being Dipt^d in outward water.” Many cultivated and socially gifted families were in the communion of St. Paul’s Church with Doctor MacSparran, as we have seen. The majority of the substantial citizens were Quakers, and their staid habits were a powerful influence in the community until the middle of the nineteenth century.

The labor of slaves administered by such judicious economy as has been described, makes a prosperous community. The course of affairs on College Tom’s homestead was a good example of semi-patriarchal principles worked out in a community of strong individual men and women. There was the underlying force of slave labor, the organizing power of the Society of Friends, the thrifty economy of the best householder anywhere; all combined to promote a well-balanced family life. It is easy to perceive the reasons why South Kingstown became the most wealthy town in the state at the time of the Revolution.

The first brass fender was mentioned in the mid-century, costing £18.; and the largest value in pewter was £87. Gold beads strung into necklaces were gradually being

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worn. The usual minute care of the poor was carefully worked out; as well as provisions for regulating apprenticeship in both sexes. There was a complicated outfit for a barber’s shop in 1756, with five blocks on which to make wigs; and including three “hetches to hetchel hair.” The artist must have been well employed, for he left a personal estate of £1142.16. In 1758 a large bible had come to £15. in the money of the time. A negro man at £1000., a woman at £800., indicate the fluctuating pound in paper. Two “stone boles” at 30s., a stone pickle pot at 15s., a teapot at same price, and at the same three “stone sassers and dishes” show the increasing use of common white porcelain, along with the more luxurious China ware.

Jeffrey Hazard¹³ in 1759 had a large number of cattle, sheep and swine, with a great breeding stock of horse kind. A “stone horse” at $400.; with 37 mares, 3 colts, 3 geldings at £2010. His own “riding beast” with saddle and bridle stood at £300. His wardrobe cost £268. He had twelve negroes—four as high as £1000. each. A large amount was charged in book account £13,188., and he held notes of hand for £5110. The total personal estate, £57,403., was the largest of the period. Everything indicates the increase of active capital, though values are complicated, owing to the fluctuating currency.

To go out of the world has never been easy, whatever the conditions of life—barbaric or civilized. Peter Ginnings, December 19, 1758, passed through the prevalent difficulties. The friendly nurse furnished two quarts “rhum y^e night he dyed” at £2.10. Then he charged £4.10. for “my cost and trouble to invite his friends and others at his Death and Buriel.”

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We may note the changes of value in standard feather beds, in the case of Wm. Congdon in 1762. Wearing clothes costing £84. and a new beaver hat at £40., he had one feather bed and furniture at £345., two do. at £300. each, another at £200. and again at £160., again £190. and a trundle bed and bedding £180. The negro’s bed and blankets cost £30., a single blanket £6.10. In the table and kitchen service we find £105., in silver £97., in pewter £16., in earthen ware £4., in stone £25., in brass with a warming pan £6. He had two woollen wheels, one horse and three cows. In this moderate estate of £3443. there was comfort, but not luxury.

Benjamin Holway,¹⁴ “Cordwainer’s,” affairs in 1762 show something of the incipient division of labor. With his stock of leather he had 70 pairs women’s shoes at £288., with 242 pairs double channel pumps at £1331. He must have employed slaves, as he had one negro at the high value of £1500. and a boy at £900. Only two horses, one cow and two hogs in a personal estate of £6119. His wardrobe stood at £120.

Perhaps the best-dressed couple were Robert Brown, who expended in clothing £303., and his more luxurious helpmate, who had appropriated £358. There was only £63. in silver plate, but a gold necklace at £45. In £96. worth of pewter were included 12 hard metal plates. A large farming outfit had an item of £56. in eight bushels of wheat. The worthy pair were entitled to their small luxuries, for their personal estate amounted to £29,416.

As we have noted in Doctor MacSparran’s farming, there was a small quantity of wheat grown on most places, probably for use in the family.

In 1762 the record makes 100 Spanish milled dollars equal to £600. Old Tenor bills. A tape loom occurs

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worth 5s. and a China punch bowl at £30. Benjamin Babcock had the unusual volume, a “Gazzaite Tear,” at £8.10., with other books at £11. Possibly a sailor, for he had a Callender and Compass at £8.15.

In 1767 Susannah Hazard, widow of Richard, mounts the record with a wardrobe of £714. The husband had been content with £110. A high case of drawers cost £100. The Madam’s riding mare, saddle, pillion, and a young mare were valued at £480. The personal estate was moderate, £5806., with £8. O. T. rated at 1 Spanish milled dollar.

Slaves were often £1100. and £1200., with girls at £800. in 1770. John Gardner, with £250. in clothing, rode a horse costing £600., including saddle and bridle. He was well supplied with silver plate at £952., which embraced 8 porringers, a “teapot and milk.” In addition a large tankard was appraised at £256. and a smaller one at £224. A clock £200., China and earthen ware in the closet £72., Table Linen £71. He had a large stock of cattle and sheep and four slaves. His personal estate was £71,002 O. T.

After Doctor MacSparran’s death, regular services at St. Paul’s Church were long suspended. Rev. Samuel Fayerweather, sent out from England, administered the sacrament in 1761, with only 12 participants. In the following year he preached to a congregation of 100. His preaching must have commended itself, for in the autumn of 1761 he served in the pulpit at King’s Chapel, Boston, with Governor Bernard for an auditor. He was the pastor of St. Paul’s until 1774.

George Rome (Room), “a Gentleman of Estate from Old England,” afterward a noted Tory, was literally an alien character in our colonial life. Coming to Newport in 1761 as agent for Hopkins and Haley, he represented

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many British houses. He secured much real estate in dealing with debtors and about 1766 possessed himself of Henry Collins’ farm at Boston Neck. We have noticed¹⁵ this Newport magnate, who deserved a better fate than to be sold out by Rome under assignment. Mr. Rome appears on the Narragansett church records, as he spent his winters in Newport and his summers at Boston Neck, where he had 700 acres. His bachelor quarters were in a large mansion house, the equipment of which was far beyond the life of Narragansett, and yet further exaggerated by local tradition. But in fact,¹⁶ as actually appeared a generation ago, there was a vast fireplace in the kitchen, where a man could walk in with his hat on. Cord-wood was burned without interfering with the back oven-door on one side of the fire, or the favorite ingleseat on the other side. Along the kitchen and in rear were a number of small plastered bedrooms for slaves. There was a large annex in rear of the main building.

The garden was famous. A stately avenue of buttonwoods led to the mansion through fish-ponds, and through flowers in the formal arrangements of the time. A box-tree fifteen feet high and more than thirty feet around exists to-day, as it was removed by Mr. Perry to the grounds of the John Brown house in Providence.¹⁷

In this enchanted dwelling-place, the host gathered guests, not only from Newport and Narragansett, but from far-away Boston. He asked Colonel Stewart and another at Christmas “to celebrate the festivities of the season with me in Narragansett woods? A covey of partridges or bevy of quails will be entertainment for the Colonel and me, while the pike and perch pond amuse

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you.” The brew of punch was famous, and it was served at very extravagant entertainments. Ladies often enlivened the society of the place.

Mr. Rome’s interests, as well as inclinations, caused him to become a bitter Tory. We cite below¹⁸ from his opinions expressed in a letter written from the Narragansett villa December 22, 1767. In the agitations concerning the Stamp Act, he was very conspicuous. For opposition to the charter and other misdemeanors, he was imprisoned in 1775. After release, fearing further prosecution, he fled on board the British man-of-war Rose. His estates were confiscated with those of other Tories.

Block Island, home of the Manissean tribe, always affected the mainland and South County. It early attracted attention as a fishing station, being settled in 1662 and a harbor begun in 1670. Their distinctive boats were a remarkable production. From the keel rose stem and stern posts at an angle of 45°; the bow and stern were nearly alike and the sides of lapstreak cedar. Open with no deck, the two masts carried narrow tapering sails. Having no shrouds or stays, the masts bent with peculiar elasticity as the storm-winds strained every fiber of the structure. One has never been swamped in the open sea. In the largest waves running as “three

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brothers,” the steersman generally waits for the last, and from its high crest usually lands in safety. The family apparel was carried in a band-box, “a Block Island trunk,” and when they reached home they feasted on a “Block Island turkey,” i. e., Codfish. The fishing was a great resource, and as the boat filled, they threw out the pebble-ballast. The best fisherman was “high-hook.” The hardy masters of these boats were literally masters of the sea.

The ocean likewise furnished seaweed and fish to fertilize the fields, as was the custom on the mainland. Large swamps afforded peat, commonly called tug, which they began to burn in 1721, and used for their only fuel for a century.

The island was a most exposed point in the Revolutionary War, and the colony was obliged to remove the sheep and cattle, to prevent the enemy from appropriating them. The authorities paid £534. 9. 6. for 1908 sheep and lambs; the number of cattle taken was not recorded.

The “Palatine Light,” seen for at least three-quarters of a century, affected the main shore as well as the island; a curious romance, it was treated by Whittier in his poem bearing the same name. Doctor Aaron C. Willey, a competent observer, wrote a scientific account¹⁹ of the phenomenon in 1811. “ This curious irradiation rises from the ocean near the northern part of the island. Its appearance is nothing different from a blaze of fire; whether it actually touches the water or hovers over it is uncertain. It beams with various magnitudes, when large (as a ship with canvas spread) it displays either a pyramidical form or three constant streams, often in a constant state of mutation. The duration is not commonly more than two or three minutes. . . . This lucid

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meteor has long been known by the name of the Palatine light. By the ignorant and superstitious it is thought to be supernatural. Its appellation originated from that of a ship called the Palatine, which was designedly cast away at this place, in the beginning of the last century, in order to conceal, as tradition reports, the inhuman treatment and murder of some of its unfortunate passengers. From this time, it is said, the Palatine light appeared, and there are many who believe it to be a ship of fire, to which their fantastic and distempered imaginations figure masts, ropes and flowing sails.”

Mr. Livermore,²⁰ writing in 1876, denies the burning of the vessel, claiming that the Dutch ship Palatine touched at the island about 1752, leaving Kattern, a negro woman, who married there and was a so-called witch, fortune-teller and opium-eater; adding in her way to the hazy mists of tradition and the actual appearance of the Palatine Light. Besides, there were landed some logs of lignum vitæ. Certainly this timber was actual, for the present writer has within reach of his hand, his grandmother’s mortar and kitchen rolling pin made from the Palatine relics. The actual phenomenon of the light was remarkable, and it was strange that the cause, as well as the effect, disappeared entirely early in the nineteenth century.

In 1765 Mr. Fayerweather went over to Westerly to serve at the marriage of Dr. Joshua Babcock’s daughter. Let us study the Doctor, an example of the men gifted with almost universal capacity—the makers of these United States. His father, Captain James Babcock, of Westerly, died in 1736-7, owning 2000 acres of land, horses, slaves and stock in proportion. Joshua, born 1707, dying in 1783, was said to be the first native of

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Westerly to practice medicine there. He graduated at Yale College, completing his medical education in Boston and in England. Notwithstanding his extensive practice he opened at Westerly one of the largest retail stores. In 1747 he was an associate justice in the Superior Court of Rhode Island, and for three or more years, between 1749 and 1764, he was chief justice.²¹ He represented his native town in the General Assembly for more than forty years. Knowing many prominent men from New London to Boston, especially Doctor Franklin, he entertained them in the old mansion, where the box-trees still line the approach to the hospitable door. Being Major General of the militia in 1776, he entertained General Washington. He was an ardent patriot in that stirring time, pushing the cause of his country in every way.

Dr. Levi Wheaton lived in his family in 1779 as a medical student and as preceptor to his grandchildren. Dr. Wheaton’s reminiscences are exceedingly interesting. At the age of seventy-two, Dr. Babcock was vigorous in mind and body, mounting his horse sixteen hands high from the ground. Methodical in his habits, he spent an early hour on the farm, then took breakfast of bread and milk, with apple-pie or fruit. He disdained coffee, saying, this porringer and spoon has furnished my breakfast for forty years. For dinner at an excellent table, he partook of one dish only, whether fish, flesh or fowl. He drank cider commonly, and a glass of good wine. At tea he drank “exactly three cups.” It was customary to entertain handsomely at supper, but whatever he gave to guests, for himself he took bread and milk.

Weekly, he had prayer for the family and read a chapter from the Bible. Noticing that the reading was not in common English, the young doctor looked into the

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Bible and found that it was in Greek text. Heterodox theology was creeping in. The Doctor was a professed Christian, but Wheaton found in his library, Clarke on the Trinity, “which cost him a Bishopric,” and Foster’s sermons, “which lost him fellowship with orthodox Baptists.” These works were greatly admired by Dr. Babcock; whatever his inner opinions, “his moral character was irreproachable, and he was an honest man.”

Dr. Franklin was his friendly correspondent and visited him on his yearly visits to Boston. Dr. Babcock told a story well and had many anecdotes of Franklin. Mrs. Babcock—superior in that time of superior women—asked the philosopher if he would have his bed warmed. “No, Madam, thank’ee, but if you will have a little cold water sprinkled on the sheets I have no objection.” Folly goes with philosophers as well as with common men.

Physician, man of business, jurist and patriot, the family cares of this representative American went far beyond those of most men. Wheaton found him surrounded by some fifteen grandchildren, whose education he was superintending as minutely as he had done in the case of his own children.

Colonel Babcock—“Handsome Harry,” his eldest son—born in 1736, took his graduating degree at Yale College at the age of sixteen.²² At eighteen he was made Captain of a company in the Rhode Island contingent against the French in 1756. In the campaign against Ticonderoga, 1758, he was promoted to be colonel of our regiment. Leading 500 men, he had 110 killed and wounded, and received a musket ball in his knee. Altogether he served five campaigns in the old French war “with great reputation.” In the Revolution, a staunch patriot, he Was appointed to the command at Newport in 1776.

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He had learned artillery at Woolwich in England, and drove off the British man-of-war Rose with an eighteen-pounder, fired by his own hand from the open beach. A severe illness in the winter incapacitated him from further service. A practicing lawyer, he was most eloquent when he spoke before the General Assembly. Some fifteen years earlier he had spent a year in England and was most hospitably received. Tradition commonly ran that, when presented at Court, instead of kissing the Queen’s hand, he saluted the royal cheek, and “the liberty was not resented.” This myth at least shows how popular the handsome Colonel was.

The record of St. Paul’s Church, March 31, 1771, when Mr. Fayerweather baptized Elisha, son of Benj. Nasons, “the Gossips” being Mr. Rovyer, Mrs. Jefferson and the Grand Father, enables us to note this interesting term. “It’s old Saxon meaning was for sponsors or sureties at baptism.”²³ At these christenings, there were often presented the “apostles’ spoons,” nowadays in great demand for mementos.

The record of St. Paul’s April 16, 1772,²⁴ is worth observing, both for the essential matter, and for its evidence of Royalist and Tory sentiment among the Narragansett Anglicans. Mr. Updike²⁵ says the substantial fact of the regicide’s residence at Pettiquamscutt was never questioned until Dr. Stiles raised the doubt. The

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careful Arnold²⁶ leans toward the tradition. Dr. Goodwin²⁷ says the romantic tradition is not strictly authenticated, “yet the persistence with which it has been believed seems to point to an element of truth in the story.”

The colonies had been drifting away from the mother country; the action of Philadelphia and Boston, culminating in the “Tea Party” at the latter place, brought the incipient rebellion to a head. In 1774 the towns of Rhode Island, beginning at Westerly, where ex-Governor Samuel Ward led the patriots, held meetings condemning the import of tea and rallying all citizens to a common cause against Great Britain. The resolution of Middletown was one of the best, “We will heartily unite with our American Brethren in supporting the inhabitants of this Continent in all their just rights and privileges; and we do disown any right in the Parliament of Great Britain to tax America.” In September all the towns contributed liberally, sending 860 sheep, 13 oxen, and £417. in money for the relief of Boston. In 1776 the British fleet made a descent on Point Judith, taking off a number of sheep and cattle. Some prominent persons, suspected of being Tories, were charged with connivance and were arrested.²⁸ The committee of safety often had to look into such matters. South Kingston asked Governor Cooke for additional guard for the coast.

Doctor MacSparran’s criticism of Narragansett as the natural producing ground of sects and sectarians received some support in the career of the noted Jemima Wilkinson. She was born in Cumberland, R. I., in 1752, and was related to David Wilkinson, one of the greatest geniuses in mechanics in all America. But her stamping

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ground and field of greatest success was in North and South Kingstown. In early womanhood she became religious and studious, reading the Bible closely. In 1776 she was seriously ill, and after a trance she awoke, claiming to have been to heaven and to have became a new Christ on earth. Her own family were converted to be disciples. She traveled throughout the state and in adjoining districts, holding large meetings, which she addressed in a very eloquent and persuasive manner. She claimed to work miracles. When she failed, as in attempting to raise the dead, it was for lack of faith in the lookers-on. Three or four meeting-houses were built for her.²⁹

On horseback, especially, her appearance was very imposing. Of fine form, fair complexion, with florid cheeks, dark and brilliant eyes, her auburn hair falling on her shoulders in three full ringlets, her voice sounding clear and harmonious; if not a prophetess, she was at least a natural orator of great power. Her dress was rich, but plain, in a style entirely her own; a white beaver hat, sides turned down, a full, light drab mantle; a unique underdress and cravat around her neck.

The greatest dupe of this imposing creature was one whom you would least expect to be so credulous. William Potter was chief justice of the county court, with a large estate easterly from the present village of Kingston. For Jemima and her followers, he built an addition to his “already spacious mansion,”³⁰ containing fourteen rooms. She dwelt here six years, controlling master, household, and the income of the good property. Like other impostors, she separated husbands and wives, while children left their parents. She induced many to sell their estates and with Judge Potter and some fifty families

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she migrated to the Genesee country. She seems to have been a shrewd manager in affairs, but Judge Potter finally lost his property. Her enemies attacked her at all points, but her moral character was irreproachable. In 1818 she made a will signing herself “the person once called Jemima Wilkinson, but since 1777 called the Public Universal Friend.” Neither she nor her family had any connection with the Society of Friends.

Naturally, we have dwelt on the deficiencies and impositions of her character and career. There is another side. There must have been something great in her, though she prostituted it in the career of adventure. Sometimes she must have touched the best in her hearers, or she would not have had so many innocent followers. Every generation has spiritual hunger of its own, which often satisfies itself with unworthy objects.

The War of the Revolution brought many troubles to the non-resistant Quakers so largely represented in the South County. “College Tom “³¹ expressed himself in the record against “Carnal War and Fightings.” The paper currency “issued Expressly for carrying on war” was discussed in the public meetings of the Friends. “The money itself became a difficulty to a tender conscience.” It were to inquire too curiously to ask how far conscience, Tory predilection, and fear of losing property in the war-like struggles were intermingled in the Quaker mind.

In 1786 the Assembly issued £100,000 in paper, to be a legal tender, and with all sorts of forcing acts to compel creditors to receive it. Providence, Newport, Westerly and Bristol opposed in vain.³² Toward the agitation of these questions, South Kingstown furnished one of the

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worst demagogues civilization has ever known. Jonathan J. Hazard was a staunch patriot in the struggle against Great Britain. He represented Rhode Island in the Confederated Congress. He was a natural orator, ready, subtle and ingenious in debate; the “idol of the country interest, manager of the State, in fact, the political dictator in Rhode Island until his course in the Constitutional Convention”³³ ruined him. In economic matters, he was fairly representative of those insane sciolists who vex the political situation whenever irredeemable paper money is mooted. In 1786 he beat down the “Hard Money” or mercantile party by sheer demagogic force. He strongly advocated the curious, pernicious illusion that merchants designedly create scarcity of specie in the course of trade. He argued that the state currency based on real estate was safer than the obligation of any bank; that it could be opposed only by avarice and prejudice.

Esther Bernon Carpenter, a descendant of Gabriel Bernon, the Huguenot, with fond enthusiasm collected the sayings of her “South County Neighbors.” They belong strictly to the beginning of the next century rather than the period of this chapter. But they are mostly hereditary and always idiomatic, indicative of the talk, which prevailed among College Tom’s spinners and ditchers. Many of these idioms came directly from Devonshire, and they prevail there to-day.

Sally “the help” was buried with all the formal ceremony of the local funeral; “a strange mingling of the gloomy and the abhorrent of the tasteless and grotesque, of the sympathetic and the matter-of-fact,” the whole being custom strictly observed. Every generation had a stroller or two of its own, selling simples, presumed to

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have occult powers of healing, and with all the accessories of a quack. Such an one was a fanatical adherent of old customs. When the farmer’s daughter offered his dinner on a tin plate (an innovation) he said, “Gal, hain’t you no trencher?” As the maiden did not respond, “Then gimme a chip,” which was done, and his antique dignity was appeased.

The girl Ad’line addressed a late schoolfellow, “how d’ do, Ad’line, how be you?” This be is used to-day, and has some dim, mystic reference to a sense of being.

Ailse (Alice) Congdon, the tailoress, had a sharp tongue. Izrul Barnes was the sly-humored old Yankee “hired man”; Huldy, not so intelligent, feared them both. “Ailse Congdon mought skeer her Huldy Pawnses, but she couldn’t drive no Barneses.” Quoth Izrul, “Say, Huldy, Elder Springer berried his wife, y’ know three months ago come nex Sa’a’d’y. He looks chipper ez a crow-blackbird in plantin’ time. Tell ye what, you better sprunt up, n’ fly roun’.” “I don’t want no Elder Springer. Tain’t no such smart doings to get married. Ailse Congdon she ain’t married.” Izrul retorted, “Wal, I sort o’ thought she was onct.” This was true, for Ailse did marry and live with Jim Castle, when the groom departed, saying, “he guessed he’d ruther stay with his own folks, and she wouldn’t lift a finger agin it.” Ailse expressed herself judicially that she “didn’t better herself, noways, when she took him.” Elder Springer met some rebuffs, when in the legitimate functions of his ministry. Ailse was quite ill and he called to ask if she “was prepared for a change.” With a steelly glance the frail mortal replied, “I’d have you to know that we’re a very long-lived family, and if you hain’t nothin but that to say, you’d better go back where you come from.”

The poor woman was actually in extremis and went into

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more practical matters with the excellent old Quakeress, who asked if she was resigned. With panting breath, “resigned to the! d’you think, Friend Dempsey, that anybody oughter to be resigned to die with the sullar only half cleaned and the backyard not cleared up.”

Some brighter and more cheery influences animated this sordid life. Nature occasionally crept in. “Harty’s ez chipper ez a quonqueedle, and thet’s a real harnsum toon she’s a sin gin’.” Says Steve “quonqueedle was the name the old Injuns giv’ ’em. I sh’d reckon it come from their n’ise, when they ’m a sorter tunin’ up. The’ was a man come here from some o’ them northern parts, called ’em bob-o-links. I expect thet ar’ outlandish name come right down from some o’ them old Massachusetts Prisbyter’ans.”

A suggestive saying was embodied in “lazy,” used just as we apply “nervous prostration.” “Mrs. Brown, I understand Miss Jones is ’lazy’ this summer and I want to do the washing she generally takes from you.” Apparently, no one would incur the disgrace of laziness, unless she was ill. Jim Fones was the rural postmaster and “I never see no sech do-little coot.” The neighbor assented in this guarded statement, “He ain’t what I call very work-brittle.”

A Devonshire idiom used there to-day put “you’m” in place of “you are.” When “Mis Tift” scrutinized the withered features of her that was once a Rose she exclaimed, “Why, Nabby, heow you’m broke! you’m growed grey an’ you’m wrinkled some. I shouldn’t ha’ knowed ye from Adam.” This was a favorite method of alleviating the ravage of Time. “Be you She that was Miss Bethuny Babcock? Yes. Wal, you’m broke all to smash, ain’t ye?”

Musing over a pinched estate, Uncle Cy said, “S’pose

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the widder’n the gals c’n jest make out ter niggle along, cain’t they? And when the weather was clearing toward evening, he said the rain had ’held up for a milkin‘slatch.’”

These fossil remains of other times are suggestive. The New Englander above all was sly. As he came to make the country store his club or social exchange, he would take two or three drinks of New England rum and thaw his chilly and rather crusty consciousness into something more agreeable. Sitting about, on a barrel head or box, he would not utter an opinion of his own; that would be taking too much responsibility. Naturally shrewd and sagacious, though reticent, he put his observation into some form of wit, which should bridge over to the hearer, and not reveal, too far, his own personality and essential being.

Slavery was the element which most affected the life and customs of these proprietors. In the middle and in the third quarter of the eighteenth century, South Kingstown had more slaves than any other town excepting Newport. The resident Indians, employed as they were, reinforced the operations of slave-labor. The Africans were generally obtained at Newport, though our planters imported some directly.³⁵ “Sheperd Tom” tells us of one Abigail³⁶ imported by Rowland Robinson and employed in his family. She was so contented that she persuaded her master to send her back to Guinea, whence she returned, bringing her only son to become a slave. The accounts of expenses in this expedition existed not long ago. A mother going as broker to enslave her own son was anomalous work in our eyes. The life of slaves must have been comparatively easy in our district.

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“Like master, like man.” The follies of masters must be imitated in the ways of blacks, culminating in mock negro-elections for a governor. Mr. Updike’s description is so graphic that we transcribe it entire.³⁷

Out of the easy living under a system of slave-holding, naturally came luxury and dissipation. In May the planters generally went to Hartford to feast on bloated salmon. For this custom we have the direct testimony of Mrs. Anstis Lee in 1791, already cited. After an early ride they sojourned under the Bunch of Gilded Grapes at Bull’s Tavern and breakfasted on “bloated salmon.” It was “the fashion, in old times, to make a special visit to Hartford, almost yearly, to luxuriate on this rare and

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delicate fish.”³⁸ Updike says pace-races on the beach for the prize of a silver tankard, with feasts of a roast or “bake” of shelled or scaled fish, were the indulgence of the merry summertime. Oysters, lobsters, clams and quahogs made ambrosial feasts all along Narragansett Bay and by the ponds on the southern shore. Congdon’s Tavern in Wickford was famous for good cheer, and “Sheperd Tom” has an amusing tale of John Randolph of Roanoke, who was wofully disappointed, owing to his ignorance of local dialect. He came with his cousin Edmund, Secretary of State under Washington. In their horseback tour from New York toward Newport “ham and eggs” had been the universal fare. At Wickford Congdon said he would give them clams for supper. The eccentric John of Roanoke rubbed his hands in pleased expectation. Then appeared the host again, saying the tide was too high for clams, but they should have some capital quahogs—the hard-shelled round clam. “Good God! more bacon!” said Randolph.³⁹

With autumn came the corn-husking festivals. All proprietors intimate in the family visiting were invited, and

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the guests brought their slaves to assist in serving. After the husking dancing would occur, the music being furnished by natural musicians among the slaves. Gentlemen in garb already described in the case of Rowland Robinson, would conduct ladies dressed in brocade, with cushioned head-dresses and high-heeled shoes, through the stately minuet in thirty-six positions and changes.⁴⁰ On one occasion it was said John Potter husked one thousand bushels of corn in a day. After the Revolution large proprietors continued these expensive festivals, on a diminishing scale, until about 1800.

Traveling was difficult, and carriages were little used. The public roads were poor, and important districts like the tracts of Point Judith and Boston Neck were penetrated by drift ways and obstructed by gates, until the middle of the nineteenth century. On horseback, with a darky following, this would do; when every man became his own servant it was not so agreeable.

While the servants amused themselves with the grotesque proceedings above noted, which rather indicate a life too much influenced by barbarism and over-frivolous, the masters practiced the sports recognized in Southern communities, especially in Virginia. Fox chasing with hounds and horns, fishing and fowling, were recreations worthy of the gentleman. Indoors, Christmas made a long holiday, when guests and servants gathered in every family connection for twelve days or more. Wherever social life prevails, the wedding is the central occasion and hospitable gala of the time. Mr. Updike⁴¹ comments on the last one—peculiar and specially appropriate to the eighteenth century—that occurred in 1790. Six hundred guests attended, and the host, Nicholas Gardiner, a portly, courteous

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gentleman, was dressed in the rich style, then passing out. With his cocked hat, full-bottomed white wig, snuff-colored coat and waistcoat deep in the pockets, cape low so as not to disturb the wig, and to readily expose the large silver stock-buckle so generally worn in the plaited neck-cloth of white linen cambric, with small clothes and white-topped boots finely polished, he was the effective presentation of a life given to social enjoyment, the embodiment of squirearchy.

The solid basis of this social structure in Narragansett was guaranteed by the relative apportionment of the state taxes in 1780. It seems strange that, after Providence had developed so much commercial life and wealth; slave-holding South Kingstown should pay one-third more than the proportion of Providence, of the heavy tax then assessed. She paid double the share of Newport—then impoverished by the war—and was by far the most wealthy town in the State.⁴² Relative property shows that the squires with their foolish negroes were canny at home, as well as sportive when abroad.

The whole social life was changed after the Revolution, when slavery diminished and the West Indian exports were less. Planting and slavery were replaced by small farming and economy in living.⁴³ It is fair to estimate that the moral aversion to slavery—much stimulated by the Quakers—hastened its downfall. Certainly the strictly

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economic results in Narragansett were better than has been supposed generally.

The mixture of blood in this peculiar population of Narragansett was entangled, almost beyond comprehension. Marriages between negroes and Indians were common, and the illicit intercourse between white men and colored women marked a numerous progeny. Now, we may note a legitimate marriage of bewildering descent. Thomas Walmsly was a Mustee or at least an octoroon. His wife Elizabeth was an Indian woman. She was baptized in company with her child Patience.⁴⁴

But there were regular marriages between white men and Indian women in all parts of New England, which have not been sufficiently considered in tracing our heredity. March 17, 1727, “Deborah onion an Indianess wife of John Onion an Englishman” was married and baptized by MacSparran.⁴⁵ Five years later three children were baptized.

From these waifs and casual representatives of varied races, we gladly turn to another sort of people, whose names will always maintain a halo around Pettaquamscutt. April 11, 1756, being Palm Sunday, Dr. MacSparran “read Prayers preached and baptized at St. Paul’s Narragansett Gilbert Stewart Son of Gilbert Stewart y^e Snuff Grinder Sureties y^e Dr. Mr. Benjⁿ Mumford & Mrs. Hannah. Mumford.”⁴⁶

Whenever a title or mark of vocation could be attached to a person, it was done in these painstaking times. The church records literally gave everyone his due. In a subscription list there appeared three Captains, one Doctor, a dozen Misters and one Esquire. In other connections

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we find clothier, taylor and Mr. Edwards, Perriwig maker at Greenwich. A shopkeeper was mentioned and it was a rare term. Merchant and shop were often used in Providence, but not this form of title.

Perhaps no community more carefully and frequently set forth its erratic fancy than our folk did in their binominal nomenclature. There were so many of one name that the bearer must have a descriptive prefix, lest he be lost in a concordant multitude. Mr. Updike cites thirty-two “Tom Hazards” living at one time and thus illustrates a few, “College Tom, because he was a student in college. Bedford Tom was his son, and lived at New Bedford. Barley Tom because he boasted how much barley he raised from an acre. Virginia Tom because he married a wife there. Little-Neck Tom from the farm of that name. Nailer Tom, the blacksmith. Fiddle-Head Tom, an obvious resemblance. Pistol Tom, wounded by an explosion of that arm. Young-Pistol Tom, his son. Short Stephen’s Tom, the father low against Long Stephen’s Tom, the father tall. Tailor Tom needs no explanation.”⁴⁷ The Georges were not so numerous, but they were distinguished by Beach-Bird George, of little legs; Shoe String George, an opponent of Buckles; Wig George, Doctor George, Governor George. In 1771 Robert Hazard, “Practitioner of physick and surgery,” was inventoried for wearing apparel at £9. 2. Apparently the prices of this inventory were in lawful money, though it is not definitely specified. He had a fair amount of plate, 41 oz., including a tankard and a silver watch and seal. But his non-chirurgical fancy was most fully expressed in buttons; “mettle” at 18s., “frosted” ⁴⁸ at 7s. 6d., brass sleeve at 1s. 6d. and sundry sorts at 1s. 6d. There

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was an apothecary’s stock, as was the custom among physicians. A loom, four woollen and four linen wheels furnished an industrial outfit. He farmed moderately and had four slaves; one woman at £30., another at £18. 15., a girl with swelling on her neck £11., an “indented” Indian servant about nine years old £8. These women spun and wove, probably. The personal estate in these comprehensible values amounted to £1959.

Elisha Clark,⁴⁹ Jun., was a shoemaker, with estate of £108. 10. in 1773. Though he dressed at the small outlay of £1. 15., he was not without the conventional vanities of the day; silver shoe and knee buckles £1. 5. 6., one pair gold sleeve buttons 14s., one pair silver do. set in stone 6s.; one pair silver neck clasps 3s.

Shoe and knee buckles were virtually universal; a comfort in silver, a necessity in pewter or brass. Silver watches—appraised at £8. in 1777—and seals are becoming common. The first Banister back chairs appear, six at £3. 12. Five negro boys and girls are valued at £117. “An old negro wench which we esteem of no value” was a typical record.

Wm. Gardner’s inventory in 1781 was “taken in Real money.” One negro man at 60 dollars was equal to £18. In the débris 717 Continental dollars and one Treasurer’s note upon Boston were valued at £17. 6.

Rev. Samuel Fayerweather, according to official report,⁵⁰ dwelt “in the midst of enemies, Quakers, Anabaptists, Antipædobaptists, Presbyterians, Independents, Dippers, Levellers, Sabbatarians, Muggeltonians and Brownists,” who united “in nothing but pulling down the Church of England.” His ministry was not as effective practically as was that of Dr. MacSparran. “Parson”

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Fayerweather, in the critical eye of Mr. Daniel Updike, “though a man of great talents, attended but little to the minutiæ of his duty.” Probably the passing of society from the life of planters to that of farmers and people of less feudal influence took away many of the natural supporters of the Anglican church. We may see how a parson lived by consulting his inventory, September 27, 1781. His best suit of black Padusoy—coat, waistcoat and breeches—cost £19.; his other apparel £18.7. His gold ring, girdle buckle and silver shoe buckles £6. He had 80 oz. plate at £24., and a horse and sulky with whip at £15. His books are not mentioned and the personal estate was £241.7. Another clergyman, Rev. Joseph Torrey, had two gold rings at 15s. It seems to have been a well-established fashion. His estate was moderate, £308.6., including one hog, one pig and a loom.

John Potter, dying in 1787, left a will,⁵¹ but no recorded inventory. Very considerate provision was made for the widow Elizabeth. He had several sons and a good riding beast, saddle and bridle with one good milch cow, was to be kept by either son, with whom she might choose to live. Firewood to be cut to fit any fireplace she might choose, and brought into the room. The chosen son was to provide everything to make her “happy and comfortable.” The slaves were technically emancipated, but the “use and improvement” of the negro woman Rose and the girl Pegg to be victualled by the son, were to be hers during widowhood. If she should marry again, these bequests were to be transferred to her daughters. According to Mrs. Robinson, the daughters received £800. each, though £50. and a home in the mansion house was considered proper. The theory of the time was that the father provided for his sons and thus cared for other

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men’s daughters, whom they might marry. His house was at Matunuck, on Potter Pond, a division at the western shore of the great Salt Pond. It was large and stately, though it has been divided again and again until little is left of the original. It was adorned with portraits by Copley and other artists. Some of the rooms were paneled in the wainscot from floor to ceiling. Mr. Potter’s wealth came easily, for in a hidden and literally dark closet where the chimney wound about, the implements of coinage were kept and used. There was a tradition,⁵² well authenticated, that the hospitable Potters were entertaining a relative, Nicholas Hazard, of Newport. In the company was a poor pensioner, her reason a little clouded and her tongue loose in chartered freedom. She asked the host again and again, “Who made money in the Overing house?” He lost patience, exclaiming, “I don’t know unless it was the devil.” Nothing daunted, the old lady replied, “I always said it was the devil, but my husband says it was Friend Potter.”

Though the technical expression, “Real Money,” was not recorded until 1781, the detailed prices show the change by 1771. Slaves and other property commercially regulated, had to be reduced from the extravagant valuations in Old Tenor.

Whatever the general social condition of woman may have been, she affected quite an expansive change in her wardrobe, as we enter the times of exciting agitation preceding the Revolution. In 1762 it was matter of remark that Robert Brown’s helpmate—in a wealthy estate—exceeded her husband’s outlay for dress by £5. In 1767 Susannah Hazard, well-to-do likewise, multiplied her husband’s apparel to six or seven times the cost before my

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lady was satisfied. She simply adumbrated the coming woman.

The old South County loses its characteristics and distinctive features as we leave slavery; its farmers inclining by necessity to ways of living according with the other parts of the state. The colonial history and manifestation of this bit of territory and peculiar field of social expression will always interest students of humanity.

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