By Herbert Walker (1862-1952)

In this paper, I will attempt to give my reminiscences from a time after the close of the War Between the States.

To those of a younger generation that have seen the large factories of the “shoe towns” it will doubtless seem strange to hear the statement that shoemaking was once an important industry in Duxbury, furnishing employment to a considerable number of people. When I was a boy there were men that drove to Abington and other towns to get shoes or rather parts of shoes and who then distributed them to the shoemakers to be assembled, to borrow a phrase from modern industry. The local shoemakers had small shops, usually square, in their yards or attached to their dwellings in which the work was done. I can easily recall a dozen shops in the vicinity of my home in which this shoemaking was done, and when a boy I have spent hours watching the shoemakers at their work, The shoemaker would select an upper, which had been sewed before it was delivered to him, select a sole of the proper size, and fitting the upper to a last would fasten the upper to the sole with wooden pegs. The shoemaker had his mouth full of pegs and after punching a hole through the upper with an awl, he drove in the pegs from his mouth, one by one until the sole was fastened to the upper. A heel was then selected and nailed to the growing shoe with iron shoe nails. After a certain amount of finishing and blacking the shoes were returned to the factory for further embellishment. When I have visited a modern shoe factory with its wonderful labor-saving devices, I have naturally compared it with the neighborhood shops of my boyhood.

On somewhat the same plan that shoes were made in the small shops, clothing for men and boys was made in the homes by women and girls. The clothing was cut in the workshops of the clothing dealers and sent to persons in the towns, who distributed the work to be finished, collected, and returned to the dealers. This work was known by the inelegant name “slop work.”

Fishing was also a considerable industry, the term industry being used in a broader sense that it is often used at the present time. Men that did shoemaking in the winter often followed fishing in the summer. There was a number of fishing schooners, called market boats, and also pink boats, that belonged in Duxbury. They were manned by a skipper, usually called captain, a cook and a crew of several men. From early spring till late in autumn these boats fished along the coast from Maine southward, taking the catch to the nearest large market, whence the name market boats. This fishing was a cooperative venture, the owner of the vessel and the crew sharing the profits.

Much has been said and written of the ship-building in Duxbury and the famous ships that were built there. I remember distinctly the launching of three vessels from the Duxbury yards. One was built on Powder Point near Paulding’s wharf; another in the yard back of the engine house that stands near Blue Fish River bridge; and a third on the Village shore, the last built in Duxbury. To the pupils in school the launching of a vessel always meant dismissal in time to be present at the launching. To us in Duxbury, that recall the launching of a vessel Longfellow’s description in The Building of a Ship has an added meaning.

Strangers have often asked where the centre of the town is for unlike many old New England towns, Duxbury has no central common or green with church and other public buildings, from which radiate the streets of the town, but instead, roughly speaking, one main street following the shore. This growth of the town was determined largely by two of its industries: shipbuilding and fishing. Since the total extinction of shipbuilding and also of fishing as carried on in former times, the growth of the town as a summer resort has also largely been along the shore.

Although much of the soil in Duxbury is light and not well adapted to farming, there were many farms in the time of which I am writing. Years ago it was interesting to notice in the pastures, after a light fall of snow, the rows of little mounds that told where earlier generations had tilled the field “to reap its scanty corn,” to quote a line from Emerson. Today much of the pasture has reverted to woodland and certain specialized forms of agriculture have taken the place of the general farming of an earlier day. Among these specialized forms of today are cranberry growing, milk production, and poultry raising. In the late summer and early autumn the salt hay was cut on the marshes and large stacks of it were left on the meadows until late in the autumn or early in the winter, the hay being protected from the tide by being supported on high stakes called staddles. One piece of salt meadow was bequeathed to the Methodist Church and was commonly called the Methodist Meadow. Oxen were commonly used, and it was easy for children to get a ride for the driver did not have to stop his car to take on his passengers or to allow them to alight. The first time I went to an exhibition of the Marshfield Agricultural and Horticultural Society, commonly called the Marshfield Cattle Show, I went in an ox team, the late Capt. Eden Winsor having kindly invited the neighborhood to make the trip in his team.

There were several stores in the eastern part of town. Among those that I first remember were the Ford’s at Millbrook, the Union in Historical building, George F. Sampson’s where W. O. Peterson’s was afterward located, and Soule’s at Hall’s Corner. Of these the Ford’s store in the length of the building, the variety of goods offered, and the volume of trade was the most important. Many of the smaller stores were supplied at wholesale by the Fords. Before the days of the railroad goods were brought by packet from Boston to Duxbury or by rail to Kingston, the nearest railroad station. The variety of goods carried in the Ford’s store in my boyhood certainly entitled it to the name department store for in addition to ordinary dry goods and groceries there were boots and shoes, carpets, furniture, hardware, paints and oils, crockery, and glassware, grains, meats, and other articles “too numerous to mention,” to borrow a phrase from an auctioneer’s advertisement. At one time there was tailors shop in the store and later a milliners. Something of the barter or colonial times still continued in my boyhood for people exchanged products of the farm and home for goods. Among the articles then exchanged were eggs, homemade butter, dried apples, cider vinegar, dried beans, and home knit stockings and mittens for men and boys. Among the customers that I remember seeing in the Ford’s store was the noted singer Miss Adelaide Phillips, who had a residence in Marshfield during the last years of her life. Miss Phillips had a large Newfoundland dog which came into the store with her. The dog would take a package in his mouth, go out to the carriage, deposit the package and come back for another.

A never-failing source of interest to me were the tin-peddler’s carts, with brooms and other articles on view and wonderful drawers on the sides and in the rear from which the peddler brought forth the other wares. Hanging from the rear of the cart were the bags into which were dumped the rags which the housekeeper exchanged for the peddler’s wares. There was an old story of a woman who said she always supposed it was wicket to pay any tin peddler any money, the idea being that if the rags did not fully pay for the purchase further payments would be made in rags, somewhat on the modern installment plan. Boys collected junk to exchange for pocket knives and japanned lunch boxes in the shape of a book, but the purchasing value of the junk we had to carefully collected seemed to us very small.

I remember well a soap-peddler who came periodically from the neighboring town of Kingston. He took the soap grease from the housekeeper and gave in payment hard or soft soap as desired. One the back of the soap man’s wagon was a low swinging shelf on which he put the pots and kettles when making the exchange in commodities. He was a very good-natured man and allowed the children to sit on this shelf and ride between stops. The condition of our clothing after one of these excursions may be readily imagined.

We had one bread cart driven by Mr. Hersey for many years, who came weekly. Housekeepers, of necessity, baked the greater part of the family’s bread. Potato yeast was used in place of the yeast cakes today.

There was a fish peddler that used to come along during the warmer months, late in the afternoon. He announced his coming by blowing a horn and if any one wished fish he must run out and hail the peddler. He had a covered wagon, not that of the prairie, with two seats, designed for family use. He removed the back seat, put ice on the floor of the wagon, and the fish on the ice, raising and lowering the wagon curtains as necessary. The fish were caught at Green Harbor in the ? and were excellent condition. We often had fish chowder at supper and the memory of it, like that of the just, is blessed.

The school year for all schools except Partridge Academy, was divided into three terms, much as it is at present, with the fall term ending at Thanksgiving instead of Christmas, the Puritan holiday being them more regarded than Christmas. Teachers were employed by the term and it was not an uncommon thing for a school to have a different teacher each term of the school year. Examination day meant something quite different from what it does today. Near the end of the term the School Committee of three members would descend upon the school in all their dignity. The day for the examination or visitation was set by the Committee and was announced to the school in advance. As the Committee could not visit all the schools on the last afternoon of the term, the visitation might be in the forenoon. If it was, the pupils knew that few parents would be present and the ordeal would be less severe. Among my earliest recollections, are those of a private school that I attended. This school was first kept in a long narrow room in the second story of the ell of the house on St. George Street, now owned by Mr. Marshall B. Fanning. Later the school was in the second story of an engine house, which stood on the marsh west of the Cable Office or Bank House, as the building was called by the older generation of that time. There was a little room for play in the yard of the dwelling house where the school was first located and in stormy weather we were allowed to play in an unfinished room on the first floor of the ell, but at the engine house there was no playground whatever for the building stood on piles driven into the marsh and there was runway from the street to the building, the first floor of which held the engine, by which we passed to the stairway leading to the school room, At the noon intermission we might watch the tide flow over the gates under the bridge or sit on the wall near the house now occupied by Mr. Francke. In addition to paying their tuition, the pupils furnished their own furniture (desk and chair) books and stationery. One of the boys had a desk painted bright green, which was the admiration of all. After this boy had a sickness, the desk was painted a different color. When asked about the change in the color of the desk, teacher said that the green paint made Willie sick. In after years I wondered if Will Prior suffered from arsenic poisoning. The tops of our desks were hinged and with the teacher’s permission we might keep the top elevated for a definite time. Compared with the equipment of present day schools, the equipment of school was painfully meagre. But for what we lacked in equipment, we were more than compensated in a superior teacher, Miss Mercy Delano. As I recall this teacher, I am reminded of the statement more or less distorted, I believe, of Mark Hopkins and the boy. Of teaching, as understood at the present time, there was very little. In arithmetic, for example, we were assigned a rule to memorize, and when this had been done we were given a number of examples to perform by the rule memorized. The beginners in geography, for the pupils were of various ages and sizes, had a small text book, 6″ x 8″ perhaps, with the title First Steps in Geography. As I remember the book there was no descriptive text and few illustrations but questions with answers given and other questions form which the pupil could find the answer from maps. Time has spared some of the pupils this school. Among those that have passed on recently was Mrs. Robert L. Sanderson (Mary A. Gaines), a devoted member of our Society for many years and an honorary vice president. The Gaines family came to Duxbury with the Cable, the father, Mr. Marcus J. Gaines, being the first superintendent at the local office. When the Gaines children entered the school, the teacher told us that we must no laugh at anything in them that seemed odd to us, for if we were to go to the country from which the new pupils came (Tripoli) our ways would be as strange as theirs. I mention this little incident of seventy years ago as an illustration of the truth that the impressions of youth are lasting.

I remember three church organizations: The First Parish or Unitarian, the Methodist Episcopal, and the Weslyan Methodist, now known as Pilgrim Congregational. As I have stated in a former paper there was a division in the Methodist Episcopal Church which resulted in the forming of the Weslyan Methodist Church. Weakened by the withdrawal of so many of its members, the Methodist Episcopal Church finally closed its doors and the building was unused until acquired by the Episcopal Church. I have not recollection of the Universalist Church. Except on Ancestors’ Day or on some special occasion the wing pews (those on either side of the pulpit) and the wall pews are seldom occupied, but at the time of my earliest recollection a considerable proportion of those pews were occupied regularly by their owners. I remember, in many instances, the families that sat in those pews and thus have been able to pilot the later generations to the family pew on Ancestors’ Day. On the right hand side of the pulpit sat the daughter of Major Judah Alden, an officer in the Revolution. Among other articles of interest, that this woman showed me was the picture of a house in which her father dined with Washington. The church service was very simple without responsive reading, special music, and other features that have been added in later years. When the hymns were sung. the congregation rose and faced the choir gallery and I remember when the change was made that some of the members of the congregation still persisted in facing the music literally. One of the members most opposed to the innovation said that he did not think the congregation showed the singers proper respect by facing front. We had Sunday School before the church service at nine o’clock and I do not remember that we felt it was any hardship to be at Sunday School at the same hour as that of the week-day school. One feature of Sunday School work, now largely given up, was the Sunday School library, which furnished much good reading matter for young people before the day of the free public library. We had an annual Sunday School picnic and also a Christmas tree in the Academy hall, but nothing further in the social line. From my earliest years I remember hearing the bell of the Pilgrim Church ringing for the evening prayer meeting in mid-week. At a later time I recall that the Sunday evening services of this church were very well attended, particularly during the pastorate of the Reverend W. W. Lyle, who was very popular in the community. For some years there was in the Millbrook schoolhouse that stood where a later building, the Legion Hall, now stands, a Sunday School during the summer months. It seems to have been under the auspices of the Methodists of both the churches to which I have referred. There was a library in a case, a small melodeon, and other equipment for Sunday School. The sessions were in the late afternoon and others besides myself that attended the First Parish Sunday School had cool Unitarianism in the hot summer morning (no long summer vacation for Sunday Schools in those days) and the warmer Methodism in the cool of the day. The Millbrook Sunday School was invited to the famous Pine Point picnics, but I was never allowed to go for although my mother was not afraid of the Methodist theology, she was afraid of the Methodist gudalow, in which the picnicers were ferried from the Cove. Like all Sunday Schools of that and much later times, the Millbrook Sunday School had Sunday School concerts, in place of the pageants of today. At one of those concerts a woman recited a long poem. Too young to comprehend the figurative language, I retained in memory some of the story and was much pleased in mature years to find the poem in a paper that published selections requested by its readers. The means was then clearer. Perhaps some of my hearers have reread in later life their school readers, and then fully comprehended some of those selections over which they struggled when pupils. Last winter I again saw this poem among those requested by the readers of a Boston paper and saved it. With your permission I will read it, not because it is a great poem or because I wish to give religious instruction but because of its historic interest. It is now nearly, if not quite, seventy years since I first knew of the poem and when or by whom written, I do not know, but it shows that some of the questions that have been in the minds of men in later years had arisin in earlier times.

[TEXT OF POEM ENTITLED No Sect in Heaven]

It is commonly said by visitors from other sections of the country and also from other parts of New England that Duxbury in the matter of its older houses is unspoiled to a remarkable degree. In many instances, when changes have been made they are in keeping with the original house. What today is commonly called a Cape Cod cottage, was formerly called a low double house. Of these there were, and still are, many in the town, usually facing south regardless of the street. Very often two families occupied one of these houses, the arrangement of the rooms on the first floor being the same on both sides. This was also true of many two story houses. Heating of a house was generally the stoves although a few families still depended upon fires on the open hearth for all purposes. Of furnaces for heating houses or public buildings, there were very few.

T0 a person that has always been interested in flowers, shrubs, and trees, it is interesting to look back and see changes in fashion, if I may use the expression, in these matters. The pinks, hollyhocks, peonies, tiger lilies of my earliest recollection were for a time supplanted by beds of geraniums, verbenas, coleus and others. Today the pinks and others have come back, to the use a current expression, and in much improved varieties. Among the old-time flowers that I particularly admired was a red peony of a most beautiful color although flowers did not last so long as those of the later varieties. Many of the lilacs, syringes, peonies, tiger lilies and roses around old houses must have been planted nearly, if not quite, a century ago, for they were established when I was young. Not only in the choice of plants, but in the gardens themselves, do we see the changes in fashion for from the beds of various shapes that for a time replaced the borders and gardens of an earlier day, we see a return to the earlier arrangement with many improvements from an artistic point of view. To me, a dyed in the wool New Englander, one of the most beautiful arrangments was a Cape Cod cottage with a fence in front enclosing a garden.

The first presidential campaign that I remember was that of 1872, when Gen. Grant, a candidate for reelection, was opposed by Horace Greeley, the candidate of the Democrats, and the Liberal Republicans. A neighbor, Hambleton E. Smith, a life-long Democrat, had attached to his flag a strip of white cloth with the legend Greeley and Brown in black letters, a common practice in political campaigns in former times but something that is now forbidden. Representatives of Mr. Greeley’s face in the shape of fans with a fringe of tow were common. When the fan was used the tow encircled the face in imitation of Mr. Greeley’s whiskers. At this time there was in town a considerable of pre-war Democrats, afterwards known as the Old-line Democrats. A reminiscence of an earlier presidential campaign is the name of one of our streets, Harrison, named for the first [Whig] President, the hero of Tippacanoe. In our school history books we read that a log cabin was a prominent feature in a parade in this campaign., A friend of an older generation told me that there was such a log cabin in the Duxbury parade and the the speeches following the parade were on the elevated land opposed the westerly end of Harrison Street. Capt. Gershom Bradford, whose land adjoined Harrison Street put up a picture of the Whig candidate at the head of the street, but the Democrats complained that the picture frightened their horses.

I do not remember when the phrase W. I. Goods (West Indian Goods) on a grocer’s sign meant anything but molasses, but there was a time it included rum. There are many stories of those days, a few of which I will related, for Duxbury, like other old towns, has a store of anecdotes. A wave of temperance reform swept over the town and one grocer declared that his eyes had been opened and he would sell no more rum. I fear that the man that passed the story on to me was of a cynical turn of mind, for he said it was mighty strange that the grocer’s eyes were not opened until he had made a comfortable fortune. My grandfather told me that on a very cold winter day a man that walked unsteadily came into the store where my grandmother was. The man bought some rum, and asked the storekeeper if he thought it would freeze on the way home. The storekeeper replied, “Not if you run with it.” I told this story to the storekeeper’s daughter, a very refined woman, the widow of a minister and one interested in many worthy causes. She did not seem very much amused by my anecdote.

In the play, when Rip Van Winkle came back after his long absence he tried in vain to find some one who knew him. At length he said in despair, “Alas, how soon we are forgotten!” As Joe Jefferson spoke those few words there was a world of pathos in them. In making this reference I do not wish to introduce a note of sadness on this pleasant occasion, but using a phrase from Emerson to give the excuse for being of these reminiscences; and that is to pass them on to those that love Duxbury, both those to the manor born and those that have come to live with us in later years.