MISCELLANEOUS.
Said a young man to us, “My daddy won’t sit in no rocking-chair. He has a crutch agin’ a rocking-chair.” It appears that the same objection has been felt by other Pennsylvania Germans. Wollenweber gives us a farmer talking to his children in the spring, who says especially that none of the girls is to sit in a rocking-chair on a working-day. In sounding the praises of Womelsdorf, Berks County, the same author tells us that the women are never seen sitting in a rocking-chair.
We may sometimes judge of a person’s character by hearing the arguments used to induce him to act. Thus does Wollenweber endeavor to induce the people of Womelsdorf to erect a monument to Conrad Weiser, who is buried near the town, and who was a distinguished German pioneer. Wollenweber encourages them to raise a subscription. Certainly, he says, the man who owns the place would not object to having a beautiful monument on his farm; and thousands would go to see it; so that the railroad company, the turnpike company, and all the tavern-keepers in the neighborhood would make a good thing of it. “Alas!” he adds, “most of the people who live round there do not know how to prize the treasure they possess.”
These are rural similes used by Wollenweber, whose little volume is “in the idiom and manner of speech of the Pennsylvania Germans.” It tells of girls who want to be English (who profess to talk English), but when some one from town talks to them, they stand like a hen who has dropped an egg. Again, we read that Weiser remonstrated with Stiegel on account of his extravagance, etc.; but he might as well have talked to a dead calf.
Perhaps the best article in the collection (which is indeed of very unequal merit) is the story of the dreadful noise that was heard just before daylight in Lancaster County, near Berks. The people went to Squire Reinhold’s to talk about it, and the squire, who was very high learned, thought it must be the train of the wild huntsman, presaging war, pestilence, and scarcity. He had a German book that told about it. One stout young fellow, however, had a mind to see for himself; and he took with him an old shoemaker, who had fought in the Buckshot war, and who was fearfully full of courage when he had emptied a pint of whiskey, but whom anybody could chase away when he was sober. (The Buckshot war was a bloodless affair at Harrisburg, in 1838.)
This pair went to watch, and heard nothing for two or three nights, but at last about three in the morning a noise was heard as if every storm-wind had broken loose. The shoemaker was so frightened that he sank down at the foot of a tree and buried his head in the fallen leaves. But the young man discovered that the noise was caused by an immense flock of wild pigeons.
It has been hinted in the text that the Pennsylvania Germans are not refined. One of their preachers has told me of their being a gross, unrefined people, and of his being often obliged to see things that he would rather not. Another preacher gave me this anecdote: A man, speaking of his son, said, “I would rather have lost my best horse as Jake. He was such a fellow to work.”
Of those who are yoked together in life and do not pull together, the “Dutch” of Berks and Lehigh say, “Der ehne keht chee un der onnere keht haw.” (One gees and the other haws.) It is applied also to others who do not agree, and is heard also thus, “Ehnce will chee, oonce anner will ho.”
Although our “Pennsylvania Dutch” are of undoubted German origin, yet in common speech they almost always speak of themselves as Dutch, which sounds much more like Deutsch than German does; and it is not a great length of time since Germans were so called. I think that it was in Miss Aiken’s life of Elizabeth that I found the following. One of the suitors to the queen was brother to the emperor of Austria. The Earl of Sussex wrote to Elizabeth, “His highness, besides his natural language of Dutch, speaketh very well Spanish and Italian.”
The following are from newspapers of different dates:
In 1869 a literary society in Lancaster County discussed the question, Resolved, that wealth exerts a greater influence than knowledge. The decision was in favor of the affirmative.
In 1872 a lyceum in the same county debated the subject that wealth has a greater influence on the people in general than education. The decision was in favor of education, “contrary to expectation.”
In 1879, in another literary society in our county, this referred question was answered, Is laziness a habit, a disease, or a sin? If we only had the answer!
At a lyceum in Berks County in 1882 was discussed this subject, Resolved, that ambition is a greater evil than intemperance. The judges decided in favor of the affirmative; the house afterwards in the negative.
The following seems to be from a report in the Reading Eagle: Samuel J. and his wife returned from their wedding trip on Monday evening, when they were serenaded early by a band, and later Butcher arrived before the bride’s house with the si-gike, followed by about one hundred little boys. After making the welkin ring for about one hour, Samuel handed over a V, and the band left in high glee.
At my own home I have heard the sound of these rough serenades, borne over the fields in notes by distance made less harsh. The instruments are pots and pans beaten, and a horse-fiddle, made by putting rosin on edges of a box, and drawing a rail over them. In my own neighborhood I hear that this rough play is going out of fashion as musical bands are coming in.
In the south of England I saw an aged pair who had received a rough serenade on account of conjugal disturbances.
A friend, born in the Palatinate, tells me that rough serenades were formerly practised there, and called Katzen-musik (cat music), or charivari. They were introduced on the occasion of disproportionate marriages. Thus,—
“Eine alte Frau und ein junger Mann
Die müsse Charivari han.”
“An old wife and a young husband must have a serenade.”
In Berks County a young publisher told me that when visiting the country and asking his subscribers how they liked his paper, he received answer that it was “a very nice paper for the cupboard.” Being a large-sized paper, it was a good one to spread upon shelves to keep them clean.
Lancaster County men connected with the press have had similar experiences. One canvassing for a paper to be published in a small town came across an old man and his wife tying covers on pots of apple-butter, and showed them a specimen copy. He was answered, “Ich verlang’s net. Es macht net vier Happe-deckel.” (I don’t want it. It won’t make four pot-covers.)
When the Lancaster County Farmer was started it was in small pamphlet form. A person in the office showed it to a man, who took hold of it, opened it, and looked at the other side, but believed he would not take it: it was almost too small to tie apple-butter crocks with.
A man came into the office of the Lancaster Express, Republican, and wished to “pay his paper.” I will call his post-office Blackburn. Considerable time was spent in looking over the list of the weekly paper and trying to find his name, and then he was asked whether it was not the daily. No, he did not think it was. And was he sure that he got it from Blackburn Post-Office “Yes.”
“Well, maybe it’s the Intelligencer.”
“I guess maybe it is; it’s a Democrat paper.”
I have spoken of old apple-butter. The following is condensed from a Lancaster paper of 1874: “A gentleman handed us a few days since a bottle of apple-butter made in 1820, being fifty-three years old last fall. It is still good, and retains its original flavor. It was part of the ‘housestire’ of Mrs. R. of this county after her marriage.” (Haus steur is the house-furnishing. Apple-butter kept so long dries away to a very small bulk, but can be renewed by boiling it with water.)
At a Quaker settlement in Lancaster County, nearly extinct among the “Dutch,” a father urged his son to activity thus: “Let me see if thee’ll go on and help me like a little Dutch boy would do, or whether thee’ll linger and loiter about.” When the boy had got into college he told of his neighbors’ saying, “Too much eddication, you know, makes a man lazy.” A neighboring farmer was inquiring for a person to help him in haying and harvest, and the lad spoke for himself, saying that some people thought he was lazy, but that he could work and was willing to work. “Still, you’re a little lazy,” answered the farmer.
Riding one evening we met an Amish farmer on horseback driving a very clean sow. We stopped, and I asked whether he had a certain book which contains a notice of the Amish. He answered that he did not have many books.
“My Bible and Testament’s enough for me to read;” then, recollecting himself, “and the Martyr-Book, I have that.”
“Does Mr. Kennel live here?” inquired a stranger of an Amish farmer.
“Joe Kennel lives here. I’m the man.”
Mr. R. has told me that in 1853, at the age of six, he went to public school in this county. He had just learned to read, and was put into a class in the Testament. They read four to six times a day. It took them about three months to accomplish the Testament, and then the teacher put them into the Bible, which they completed, Mr. R. says, before he was eight years old, but under a succeeding teacher.
“We hadn’t many books in those days,” says Mr. R.; “I used to read the weekly Tribune down to the names of the Kansas settlers.”
The custom of barring out the teacher at Christmas appears not yet to be extinct in Lancaster County.
The scholars demand a Christmas gift, but are not always successful. One teacher near here walked calmly home, and allowed the scholars to open the door at their leisure.
An acquaintance, born in Northampton County, tells me that at his native place the teacher was locked out not at Christmas, but on Shrove-Tuesday, and merely for sport.
That peculiarity of some Germans by which they pronounce Goble like Kopel is also found in Pennsylvania. A certain carpenter could not tell me whether his son’s name was Beck or Peck. And an “English” boy supposed that a certain man had a hare-lip, as he heard him spoken of as Cutlip, but his name was Gottlieb.
A neighboring farmer came to our house with his little boy, about five years old. I handed the little fellow a penny, and he began to pull his father, who was talking.
“He gives it to you, does he?” I asked.
“Yes, to put into his box. He’s got two full. I’ll have to steal them some day, I guess,” winking at me.
“That’s the way you teach them to save?” said I.
“Yes, keep them till he gets big. Buy a horse and buggy with them, he says.”
Then, with paternal pleasure, “He tells his mother he don’t want no hilly land.” Strange for a family of Swiss descent? Their ancestors had enough hills in Switzerland. How they enjoy this level limestone land!
One of my acquaintances thinks that the reason these people or this class got the rich limestone land was that they were not afraid of the labor of cutting down the heavy timber which grew on it.
I have just told how the little fellow was saving his pennies to “buy a horse and buggy,”—the great pride of our farmer boy’s heart. On a neighboring farm to ours lived the grandfather, who had his own plain carriage, the father with another, and two sons, aged about twenty-one, each with a buggy. This must be the great extravagance of our young farmers now. But having buggies they can take the girls to ride; and they can sometimes take others too. The other day a lad kindly took me up; an Amish boy, in a plain buggy, driving a pretty good horse. As our Amish so often drive in wagons, covered with light-colored oil-cloth, I made some remark about the buggy, and the lad answered that it was his. He is fourteen years old.
On the other hand, I have heard of a Miss K., who was considered a great catch, being thought rich by the young “Dutch fellows.” Among the numerous young men who came to see her was one who drove two horses. Her father asked him what business he was in.
“Not in any just now.”
“Then I don’t see how you can keep two horses;” which remark was fully understood as putting an end to the young man’s suit. He needn’t come there no more!
The mania for a driving-team accounts for the occasional disappearance of harness when left unguarded.
A lawyer in Lancaster describes a peculiarity of our people. In most places, he says, a man comes in, tells you what he wants, and perhaps retains you in his case. But here there is first a conversation on diverse subjects.
Another says that the country people expect you to hear an account of their ailings and those of their friends and the state of the crops before proceeding further.
A neighbor coming to our house to get a horse and vehicle, talked perhaps half an hour, as if on a friendly call, before she told her errand.
It is hard for some of our Pennsylvania Germans to write a letter in English. I wrote once to a preacher, who got the ticket-agent at the railroad to answer. The following was sent by a workingman:
“Dear A B Your man have pacts that Roof has left some stuff mite I have them to pact my slate roof the leeke I sought the might spile so I mite youse it as well as let the leek away ensur soon. Yours C D.”
Which may be interpreted thus: “Your man has patched that roof, and has left some stuff. Might I have it to patch my slate-roof,—the leak? I thought it might spoil, so I might use it as well as let it leak away. Answer soon.”
A young “English” girl was visiting a “Dutch” one, and the father of the latter, a substantial farmer, was kindly going to take the visitor part way home. The girls stayed talking above until the voice of the farmer was heard at the foot of the stairs, “Staytsch!” He was no more to be trifled with than the stage-driver.
Once when absent from home he bought a plaster cast of Canova’s Three Graces. Such things are not seen in “Dutch” farm-houses, and ere long the Three Graces were provided with petticoats of pink and blue tissue-paper.
An expression that is very offensive to our Pennsylvania Germans, when applied to them by “English” folks, is “dumb Dutch.” Dumb is of course the German dumm, stupid, and it is familiarly used by our Pennsylvania Germans themselves. One of my friends said that she thought she could learn to use a sewing-machine,—“People as dumb as me has learned to use them.”
A Lancaster gentleman gave me this little anecdote:
Old Mrs. H., anxious to see a baptism by immersion, proposed to her hired girl, Susan, to go across the fields to the place where there was to be baptism in the creek. Waymaking they were to cross the same creek by a log, but Mrs. H. fell in to her waist. Wading back to the bank, Susan standing alarmed, Mrs. H. said, quietly and quickly, “Suss, mir hens yetst g’seh; yetst welle mir hame geh;” or, “Susy, we’ve seen it now; now let’s go home.”
A lawyer, Mr. W., who taught in Schuylkill County about fifteen or twenty years ago, has given me some of his recollections.
He said that among the mines in Schuylkill the population is English, that is, American, Welsh, Scotch, and Irish, but in the valleys there are “Dutch” farmers, mostly Lutherans, he thinks.
“The farmers lived well in the valleys of Schuylkill County; no danger of freezing in winter between two feather-beds;” and Mr. W. liked the fried pawn-haus, although he found it rather rich.
“In that county I had some of the pleasantest times. I was there as a teacher, and they immediately appropriated me. I was not obliged to wait for the formality of an introduction in the German community. I could see, however, a tendency to mistrust the man of Yankee origin, and to combine against him; the young men fearing lest the teacher should cut them out with the girls. I was invited to go one evening on a sleighing-party. There were an equal number of young men and girls, and at a village we took in two fiddlers. We drove several miles to a stone tavern or farm-house (for the tavern-keeper is generally a farmer). The fiddlers sat in the window-seats, formed by the thick stone walls; and the dance was lively until the small hours. The dancers made a business of it, and went to work with a will. The dances were called ‘straight eights,’ forward and back, and mostly shuffles. Although at a tavern, none got drunk. Coming home, the driver increased the fun by upsetting the party in the snow.
“I taught public school, and on account of not speaking German I had much difficulty with the younger scholars, who, being under the care of their mothers, seldom heard the English language. The home talk was always in ‘Dutch,’ as they called it, though the fathers, when transacting business, were able to speak English.
“Even the larger pupils were not able to understand all of their lessons in English. Some of the farmers were rich. The ‘Dutch’ farmers were universally Democrats.” So says Mr. W.
Another lawyer, named H. (of Pennsylvania German origin), has given me some of his recollections of Berks County. Berks is that county concerning which it has been a standing joke that its people still voted for Andrew Jackson,—a well-worn joke.
“It must have been a select party,” says Mr. H., “that W. was at, if none of them got drunk.”
“The great dancing tunes in Berks are Fisher’s Hornpipe, Washington’s Grand March, Charlie over the Water, Yankee Doodle, Hail Columbia, and We won’t go Home till Morning.”
“The walls in the stone houses in Berks are generally two feet thick, built like forts, with plenty of room to sit in the window-seats, but usually the landlord had a long bar-room table, on which he put chairs for the fiddlers. About every third dance they must have a drink, which frequent potations sometimes brought them to the floor, unable to distinguish sounds.” “The dancing they indulge in in Berks,” says Mr. H., “is not the fashionable kind, but is more exhausting than mauling rails in August, or thrashing rye with a flail. The figures are called out by some skilful person; the dances are called straight fours or hoe-downs, the dancers being arranged in four rows, in a sort of double column on each side. After the inside couples have danced and all have changed places, the former are allowed to rest while the outside couples dance.”
“The battalion (Pennsylvania Dutch, Badolya?) is an annual day of joy and festivity in Berks County. The annual training, which gave name to the day, has long been given up, but still just before hay-making the landlords of the country towns, such as Kutztown or Hamburg, will advertise that they will hold the annual battalion (without any soldiers). The peanut-venders, the men with flying-horses, and the others who expect to reap the harvest, come during the night before, and by six in the morning everything is ready, and about that hour the farmers begin to come in, wives, sons, daughters, hired men, and maids, even little children and quite small babies.
“The farmers patronize the landlords by dining and drinking. You can get a good dinner at Kutztown for less money than in any other town I know. As for drinking, bars have even been set up upon the second floor where the dancing took place.
“The old folks amuse themselves by talking together, looking on and seeing how well their sons and daughters can dance, the old men drinking a little whiskey, several times repeated, and perhaps treating their wives to some sarsaparilla. By evening the old folks will be at home; but the daughters, who could hardly expect the young men to walk home with them as long as the sun was shining, stay later, carrying gingerbread and pea-nuts home in their handkerchiefs.
“Roving gamblers also visit the battalion; and many an unwary youth has lost all his money, earned by hard work, and, after that was gone, has striven to better his fortune, but unsuccessfully, by giving up his watch.”
The remark of the last speaker, that they still have the badolya, or annual training, in Berks without any soldiers, reminds me that they still have in Germany the Kirch-weih, church consecration, or saint’s day, without going to any church at all, but dance and are merry after harvest.
I was told some years back of farmers in Berks “worth from thirty to eighty thousand dollars who never bring wheat bread to the table except at Christmas and New Year’s. This is from their great economy and desire to sell the wheat.”
Mrs. R., of Lehigh County, tells me that at her father’s they baked wheat bread on Saturday, for Sunday, but during the week they ate rye.
When her brother-in-law returned from a visit to Ohio, he said, “Daraus in Ohio, ’s is so schane. Sie essen laute waytzbrod;” or, “Out in Ohio it is so fine. They eat altogether wheat bread.”
There is a part of the city of Lancaster which is called Germany. Here natives of that country buy house-lots, and send their children out to beg until they find they have a secure footing. Nor does the average citizen disapprove of this proceeding; although he is dissatisfied if a woman who owns two brick houses sends to the soup-house for a free lunch.
I was amused one day in Lancaster by a boy’s asking, “Won’t you give me a penny to save?” A pretty little girl, comfortably dressed and speaking German, came into one of the newspaper offices for help, the family having been unfortunate. When some one gave her a penny, she took from her pocket a purse and put her money away.
Three great waves of emigration, it may be said, early settled Pennsylvania. The Quakers settled in the southeast. I have travelled among Friends in several localities, but I never saw any other community so strongly Quaker as Chester County.
The German immigration mostly lay outside of this, on the north and west. West of Chester County lies Lancaster, settled in a great measure by German Baptists (Mennonites), and which is probably one of the strongest Baptist populations in the world. Farther west the Scotch-Irish element is very strong. In the west of the State I was surprised by hearing a physician (I will call his name McCalmont) say that the Scotch-Irish had been the making of Pennsylvania. It is this class, doubtless, who have caused the region around Pittsburgh to be called the backbone of Presbyterianism.
This volume does not endeavor to describe the manners and ways of living of all Pennsylvania Germans, but only of the majority. People of wealth and education resemble each other in most civilized lands. And although the Pennsylvania Germans are principally devoted to agriculture, yet about twenty per cent., as I estimate, have gone into cities and into other employments. Among those who have aided less or more in the publication of this volume are ministers, lawyers, physicians, editors, bankers, merchants, and teachers of Pennsylvania German origin. Many persons of note in Pennsylvania have been of German descent, from Peter Muhlenberg, a Lutheran preacher, who commanded a regiment in the Revolution, to a number of governors of this State,—Snyder, Hiester, Shulze, Wolf, Ritner, Shunk, and Hartranft. Governor Hartranft’s ancestor, then called Hertteranfft, came in with the Schwenkfelders in 1734.
To these distinguished Pennsylvania Germans I may add Dr. Gross, the eminent surgeon. The German blood is also found in a great number of families in our country. It is stated that Simon Cameron is of Scottish descent on the father’s side; and on the mother’s is descended from Conrad Pfoutz. The Hon. Jeremiah S. Black and William D. Howells, the well-known author, have told me that they are partly of Pennsylvania German origin.
THE END.