Part 4

Work is a cardinal virtue with the “Dutchman.” “He is lazy,” is a very opprobrious remark. At the quilting, when I was trying to take out one of the screws, Katy Groff, who is sixty-five, exclaimed, “How lazy I am, not to be helping you!” (“_Wie ich bin faul._”)

Marriages sometimes take place between the two nationalities; but I do not think the “Dutch” farmers desire English wives for their sons, unless the wives are decidedly rich. On the other hand, I heard of an English farmer’s counselling his son to seek a “Dutch” wife. When the son had wooed and won his substantial bride, “Now he will see what good cooking is,” said a “Dutch” girl to me. I was surprised at the remark, for his mother was an excellent housekeeper.

The circus is the favorite amusement of our people. Lancaster papers have often complained of the slender attendance which is bestowed upon lectures and the like; even theatrical performances are found “slow,” compared with the feats of the ring.

Our “Dutch” use a freedom of language that is not known to the English, and which to them savors of coarseness. “But they mean no harm by it,” says one of my English friends. It is difficult to practise reserve where the whole family sit in one heated room. This rich limestone land in which the “Dutch” delight is nearly level to an eye trained among the hills. Do hills make a people more poetical or imaginative?

Perhaps so; but there is vulgarity too among the hills.

* * * * *

The foregoing article was written about fourteen years ago, and appeared (with perhaps some small changes) in the _Atlantic Monthly_ for October, 1869. It was published in the first edition of this work in 1872, and in the second edition in 1874. Many of the alterations which were made in one or both of these editions are now removed to the Appendix, where will also be found additional matter on similar subjects.

The passage of over twelve years has considerably changed the neighborhood in which I live. The greatest differences are the rise in the value of land; the division into smaller farms; the general introduction of the culture of tobacco; and the change in the population by the coming in of a larger number of that plainest sect of Mennonites, called Amish.

As regards the rise in the value of land, it is doubtless in part apparent only, from the greater amount of money at this time. I have spoken of one who said, “Well, Seth, it seems as if you Dutch folks had determined to root us English out; but thee had to pay pretty dear for thy root this time.” The farm alluded to was sold about 1855, and brought less than one hundred and sixty-three dollars per acre,—there being one hundred and ten acres. It has since been divided, and eighty acres, now a very large farm here, with the newer farm buildings, it is supposed would now bring over two hundred and fifty dollars. Small properties sell much higher in proportion. I hear of twenty acres, with fair farm buildings, having sold last fall for nine thousand dollars.

The division into smaller farms is caused in a great measure by the Amish increasing and dividing properties among their children, so that farms are running as low, in many cases, as from twenty-five down to ten acres. It is rare for the Amish to remain unmarried. The owners of such small properties cannot afford to hire help; the Amish help one another, and are willing to help others also. Many acts of neighborly kindness are exchanged here, even to giving a sick neighbor several days’ work in the harvest-field.

Tobacco was cultivated to profit long ago on farms and islands lying on the Susquehanna; but one of the consequences of the civil war was to make the cultivation of the weed more general here, and the immense sums obtained for fine crops have also kept up the value of this land.

The routine of farming described in the foregoing article is now abandoned. The following are the crops raised lately on a farm visible from where I write,—a farm that has been for years under excellent cultivation. It contains sixty-eight acres, of which (in round numbers) twenty-six are in wheat, eighteen in Indian corn, eleven in grass, six in tobacco, three-quarters of an acre in potatoes, and the remainder is occupied by garden, orchard, and buildings. Oats has not been grown on this farm for six years. The ground is so rich that oats lodge or fall, and will not mature the grain. For the last four years wheat has averaged thirty bushels to the acre. During the same time Indian corn has averaged about fifty-five bushels. To speak slang, it is not one of our brag crops. One year the cut-worms took two-thirds of it on the farm mentioned; and this had to be replanted. The greatest crop of corn of which I hear mention on this farm was grown some years ago, and was nine hundred bushels on ten acres.

As regards grass, the owner estimates that for the last four years they have made on an average nearly three tons of hay to the acre; last year they had thirty-six tons on ten acres.

Of the six acres in tobacco this year, they prepare the whole for planting, but only plant two themselves, giving out four to others. The men who take this land plant and cultivate it, and receive one-half of the produce, not being charged for the preparation of the ground, nor for taking the crop to market. One of the advantages of the cultivation of tobacco (I am sensible of its disadvantages, and do not recommend its use) is that it gives the poor laboring man and woman more independence. He or she takes an acre or more, plants, waters, destroys the large tobacco-worm, strips off the suckers, tops it, breaks down the flowering stem, gathers, dries, sorts, and packs, and receives perhaps one hundred dollars per acre in lump, which is very acceptable. They estimate that they make about double wages.

The eight-horse threshers before mentioned are getting out of date; steam threshes now almost entirely, and completes the work on such a farm as just described in two days. The threshing is frequently finished as early as the first of September, so that the farmer can hang tobacco in the barn. Large tobacco-houses have also been erected, in the cellar of which this crop is prepared for sale.

It will be observed that very little attention was paid to potatoes. Last year they brought at the rate of two hundred bushels to the acre. We had a pretty severe drought in 1881, and potatoes have sold this winter at one dollar per bushel, which would make the potato crop superior in value to the tobacco.

The great amount of manure required to keep the land up to such a standard is thus supplied on this farm, which is a model one in the neighborhood. For several months last winter the owner had sixteen horses, five of his own and the rest boarding; he also had twelve head of horned cattle, and fattened nine swine. All the corn, hay, and fodder raised on the farm were fed upon it. (Straw is rarely fed here.) Besides, the farmer bought five tons of Western mill-feed (the bran and other refuse from wheat flour) and about three hundred bushels of corn. This spring he has bought two tons of a certain fertilizer for his corn, and applied his own barn-yard manure to the tobacco and wheat. He has been indemnified in part for the great amount fed, by the money received for boarding horses at twelve dollars apiece by the month. Horses from Canada and the West are often fattened here for the Eastern market. This farmer bought two last year, worked them himself on the farm, fattened and groomed them, and sold them so as to make one hundred dollars apiece on them; but this was exceptional.

Besides the fertilizers before mentioned, lime is used in this region, although some have doubted the necessity of applying it to our rich limestone land. On the farm which I have been describing it is put on about every sixth year, at the rate of six hundred bushels on eleven acres. It costs ten cents a bushel.

* * * * *

Another change here is that many now buy bread, and several bakers regularly supply the neighborhood. This has caused a great lightening of the labor at funerals. The bread and rusks (or buns) are bought and the pies dispensed with, which were once considered so necessary. A jocose youth in a near village used to say, “There will be raisin-pie there,” when he wished to express that there was fatal illness; but raisin-pies are no longer so fashionable at funerals. There is no diminution, however, in the great gatherings. A wealthy farmer died lately who was also a Mennonite preacher. The funeral was on Sunday; the guests heard preaching at the house, then dined, and the funeral went to the church, where was preaching again. Four hundred carriages, it is said, were on the ground.

Our school-term in this district is not increased beyond seven months; but the salary has risen, and is from thirty-five to forty dollars per month, according to merit.

The Amish in this immediate neighborhood still cling to the plain customs I have described, except that it has become quite common for young people to drive in simple buggies. Now the yellow-covered wagons are not so universal; other colors are also used, and more elegant harness. (They generally keep very good harness.) Neither do the young men wear their hair to their shoulders. Many of the Amish now wear suspenders. One of my friends, who is Amish, says that you cannot speak of any such rule as regards the church in general, for every congregation has its own rules in these minor affairs.

The family graveyard, especially mentioned, has been removed, and all the bodies that were recovered interred at the Mennonite church in the neighborhood.

* * * * *

Two or three small changes in this neighborhood are the following: Sewing-machines are now found here in great numbers; many houses have large stoves, which heat at least one room up-stairs; and it is not common in this immediate neighborhood to sit up with the dead, in the manner before described.

AN AMISH MEETING.[7]

It was on a Sunday morning in March, when the air was bleak and the roads were execrable, that I obtained a driver to escort me to the farm-house where an Amish meeting was to be held.

It was a little after nine o’clock when I entered, and, although the hour was so early, I found the congregation nearly all gathered, and the preaching begun.

There were forty men present, as many women, and one infant. Had the weather been less inclement, we should probably have had more little ones, for such plain people do not think it necessary to leave the babies at home.

The rooms in which we sat seemed to have been constructed for these great occasions. They were the kitchen and “the room,”—as our people call the sitting-room, or best room,—and were so arranged as to be made into one by means of two doors.

Our neighbors wore the usual costume of the sect, which is a branch of the Mennonite Society, or nearly allied to it, the men having laid off their round-crowned and remarkably wide-brimmed hats. Their hair is usually cut square across the forehead, and hangs long behind; their coats are plainer than those of the plainest Quaker, and are fastened, except the overcoat, with hooks and eyes in place of buttons; whence they are sometimes called Hooker or Hook-and-Eye Mennists. The pantaloons are worn without suspenders. Formerly the Amish were often called “beardy men,” but since beards have become fashionable theirs are not so conspicuous.

The women, whom I have sometimes seen with a bright purple apron, an orange neckerchief, or some other striking bit of color, were now more soberly arrayed in plain white caps without ruffle or border, and white neckerchiefs, though occasionally a cap or kerchief was black. They wear closely fitting waists, with a little basquine behind, which is probably a relic from the times of the short gown and petticoat. Their gowns were of sober woollen stuff, frequently of flannel; and all wore aprons.

But the most surprising figures among the Amish are the little children, dressed in garments like those of old persons. It has been my lot to see at the house of her parents a tender little dark-eyed Amish maiden of three years, old enough to begin to speak “Dutch,” and as yet ignorant of English. Seated upon her father’s lap, sick and suffering, with that sweet little face encircled by the plain muslin cap, the little figure dressed in that plain gown, she was one not to be soon forgotten. But the little girl that was at meeting to-day was either no Amish child or a great backslider, for she was hardly to be distinguished in dress from the “world’s people.”

The floors were bare, but on one of the open doors hung a long white towel, worked at one end with colored figures, such as our mothers or grandmothers put upon samplers. These perhaps were meant for flowers. The congregation sat principally on benches. On the men’s side a small shelf of books ran around one corner of the room.

The preacher, who was speaking when I entered, continued for about fifteen minutes. His remarks and the rest of the services were in “Dutch.” I have been criticised for applying the epithet to my neighbors, or to their language, but “Dutch” is the title which they generally apply to themselves, speaking of “us Dutch folks and you English folks,” and sometimes with a pretty plain hint that some of the “Dutch” ways are discreeter and better, if not more virtuous, than the English. But, though I call them “Dutch,” I am fully aware that they are not Hollanders. Most of them are Swiss, of ancient and honorable descent, exiles on account of religious persecution.

I am sorry that I do not understand the language well enough to give a sketch of some of the discourses on this occasion. At times I understood an expression of the first speaker, such as “Let us well reflect and observe,” or “Let us well consider,” expressions that were often repeated. As he was doubtless a farmer, and was speaking extemporaneously, it is not remarkable that they were so.

When the preacher had taken his seat, the congregation knelt for five minutes in silence. A brother then read aloud from the German Bible, concerning Nicodemus who came to Jesus by night, etc. After this another brother rose and spoke in a tone like that which is so common among Friends, namely, a kind of singing or chanting tone, which he accompanied by a little gesture.

While he was speaking, one or two women went out, and, as I wished to take note of the proceedings, I followed them into the wash-house or outside kitchen, which was quite comfortable. As I passed along, I saw in the yard the wagons which had brought the people to meeting. Most of them were covered with plain yellow oil-cloth. I have been told that there are sometimes a hundred wagons gathered at one farm-house, and that in summer the meetings are often held in barns.

I sat down by the stove in the wash-house, and a very kindly old woman, the host’s mother, came and renewed the fire. As she did not talk English, I spoke to her a little in German, and she seemed to understand me. When I wrote, she wondered and laughed at my rapid movements, for writing is slower work with these people than some other kinds of labor. I suppose, indeed, that there are still some of the older women who scarcely know how to write.

I asked her whether after meeting I might look at the German books on the corner shelf,—ancient books with dark leather covers and metallic clasps. She said in reply, “Bleibsht esse?” (“Shall you stay and eat?”) Yes, I would. “Ya wohl,” said she, “kannst.” (“Very well, you can.”)

A neat young Amish woman, the “maid” or housekeeper, came and put upon the stove a great tin wash-boiler, shining bright, into which she put water for making coffee and for washing dishes.

I soon returned to the meeting, and found the same preacher still speaking. I suppose that he had continued during my absence, and, if so, his discourse was an hour and ten minutes in length. This was quite too long to be entertaining to one who only caught the sense of an occasional passage, or of a few texts of Scripture. It was while these monotonous tones continued that I heard a rocking upon the floor overhead. It proceeded, I believe, from the young mother,—the mother of the little one before spoken of. When the child had become restless before this, or when she was tired, a young man upon the brethren’s side of the room had taken it for a while, and now it was doubtless being put to sleep in a room overhead, into which a stove-pipe passed from the apartment where we sat.

My attention was also attracted by an old lady who sat near me, and facing the stove, with her hands crossed in her lap, and a gold or brass ring on each middle finger. She wore a black flannel dress and a brown woollen apron, leather shoes and knit woollen stockings. Her head was bent forward toward her broad bosom, upon which was crossed a white kerchief. With her gray hair, round face, and plain linen cap, her whole figure reminded me of the peasant women of continental Europe or of a Flemish picture.

I have spoken of her wearing rings. Says one of my neighbors of a different Mennist sect, “Were they not brass? She wears them for some sickness, I reckon. She would not wear them for show. One of our preachers wears steel rings on his little fingers for cramps.”

When the long sermon was ended, different brethren were called upon, and during a half-hour we had from them several short discourses, one or two of them nearly inaudible. The speakers were, I think, giving their views on what had been said, or perhaps they were by these little efforts preparing themselves to become preachers, or showing their gifts to the congregation.

It is stated in Herzog’s Cyclopædia that among the Mennonites in Holland the number of _liebesprediger_ has greatly declined, so that some congregations had no preacher. (The word _liebesprediger_ I am inclined to translate as voluntary, unpaid preachers, like those among Friends.) I am in doubt, indeed, whether any such are now found in Holland. There seems to be no scarcity in this country of preachers, who are, however, in some, if not all three of the divisions of Mennonites, chosen by lot.

When these smaller efforts were over, the former preacher spoke again for twenty minutes, and several of the women were moved to tears. After this the congregation knelt in vocal prayer. When they rose, the preacher said that the next meeting would be at the house of John Lapp, in two weeks. He pronounced a benediction, ending with the name of Jesus, and the whole congregation, brethren and sisters, curtsied, or made a reverence, as the French express it. This was doubtless in allusion to the text, that at the name of Jesus every knee should bow. Finally, a hymn, or a portion of one, was sung, drawn out in a peculiar manner by dwelling on the words. I obtained a hymn-book, and copied a portion. It seems obscure:

“Der Schopfer auch der Vater heisst, Durch Christum, seinen Sohne; Da wirket mit der Heilig Geist, Einiger Gott drey Namen, Von welchem kommt ein Gotteskind Gewaschen ganz rein von der Sund, Wird geistlich gespeisst und trancket, Mit Christi Blut, sein Willen thut Irdisch verschmacht aus ganzen Muth, Der Vater sich ihm schenket.”

The book from which I copied these lines was in large German print, and bore the date 1785. In front was this inscription in the German tongue and handwriting: “This song-book belongs to me, Joseph B⸺. Written in the year of Christ 1791; and I received it from my father.” Both father and son have been gathered to their fathers; the book, if I mistake not, was in the house of the grandson, and it may yet outlast several generations of these primitive people.

The services closed at a little after noon. From their having been conducted entirely in German, or in German and the dialect, some persons might suppose that these were recent immigrants to our country. But the B. family just alluded to was one of the first Amish families that came here, having arrived in 1737.

It seems that the language is cherished with care, as a means of preserving their religious and other peculiarities. The public schools, however, which are almost entirely English, must be a powerful means of assimilation.

The services being ended, the women quietly busied themselves (while I wrote) in preparing dinner. In a very short time two tables were spread in the apartment where the meeting had been held. Two tables, I have said,—and there was one for the men to sit at,—but on the women’s side the _table_ was formed of benches placed together, and of course was quite low. I should have supposed that this was a casual occurrence, had not an acquaintance told me that many years ago, when she attended an Amish meeting, she sat up to two benches.

Before eating there was a silent pause, during which those men who had not yet a place at the table stood uncovered reverentially, holding their hats before their faces. In about fifteen minutes the “first table” had finished eating, and another silent pause was observed in the same manner before they rose.

I was invited to the second table, where I found beautiful white bread, butter, pies, pickles, apple-butter, and refined molasses. I observed that there were no spoons in the molasses and apple-butter. A cup of coffee also was handed to each person who wished it. We were not invited to take more than one.

This meal marks the progress of wealth and luxury, or the decline of asceticism, since the day when bean soup was the principal, if not the only, dish furnished on these occasions. The same neighbor who told me of sitting up to two benches, many years ago, told me that at that time they were served with bean soup in bright dishes, doubtless of pewter or tin. Three or four persons ate out of one dish. It was very unhandy, she said.

But while thus sketching the manners of my simple, plain neighbors, let me not forget to acknowledge that ready hospitality which thus provides a comfortable meal even to strangers visiting the meeting. Besides myself, there were at least two others present who were not members,—two German Catholic women, such as hire out to work.

The silent pause before and after eating was also observed by the second table; and after we rose a third company sat down.

When all had done, I gave a little assistance in clearing the tables, in carrying the butter into the cellar and the other food to the wash-house. The dishes were taken to the roofed porch between the latter and the house, where some of the women-folk washed them. A neat table stood at the foot of the cellar-stairs, and received the valued product of the dairy, the fragments being put away in an orderly manner.

I now had a time of leisure, for my driver had gone to see a friend, and I must await his coming. This gave me an opportunity to talk with several sisters. I inquired of a fine-looking woman when the feet-washing would be held, and when they took the Lord’s Supper. When I asked whether they liked those who were not members to attend the feet-washing, I understood her to say that they did not.[8] (I attended, not a great while after, a great Whitsuntide feet-washing and bread-baking in the meeting-house of the New Mennonites.)