A Portrait of Old George Town

by Grace Dunlop Peter

From this point to Rock Creek is the district that was known as Herring Hill, a synonym in the minds of old residents for the negro district. It got its name from the fact that in the spring great quantities of herring came up this far into the creek from the river, and were caught in large numbers.

I think this account, by Mr. William A. Gordon, of some of the customs of the negroes in the years gone by is very attractive and interesting:

Christmas was the great time for the negroes. Ordinarily, they were not allowed in the streets after the town bell rang at nine o'clock at night, but at Christmas this restriction was removed, and as midnight approached, bands of them would go through the streets singing hymns and carols before the houses of their white friends. The next morning the leader of the band called at the house and received a token of appreciation in the way of small coin.

On May Day there was a parade of the negro drivers; many drove carts, drays and wagons, for on that day they had holiday, and paraded with wagons and horses adorned with ribbons, flowers and bright papers, the drivers wearing long white aprons, and headed by a band. They would then go to the woods and feast, dance and sing.

At the southeast corner of Dumbarton Avenue and Greene (29th) Street, the four little yellow houses made into one make the home of Drew Pearson, the widely-known columnist and commentator—co-author with Robert S. Allen of the original "Washington Merry-Go-Round."

A block west, on the southeast corner of Washington (30th) Street is a fine old house where Mrs. James Cassin lived as a wealthy widow during the 1850's. She was Tabitha Ann Deakins, of that old family so prominent in the making of the town.

James Cassin had come from Ireland to the City of Baltimore when he was about twenty years of age, on account of religious troubles, the motive which sent so many emigrants to the new country. He then moved over to this thriving seaport, married and settled, leaving his wife a very young widow with three sons. One of them, John, went far from home to live, and his mother's letters to him contain a great deal of interesting gossip. In one she tells that Margaret McVean has gone to Baltimore to buy her wedding dress, and, horror of horrors, has allowed the groom, Dr. Louis Mackall, to accompany her. Of course a chaperone was in the party, but what an indelicate thing for the groom to know anything about the wedding clothes! She ends with, "What are the young people coming to?" How often have we heard those same words in recent years. Of course in those days, a bride went into deep retirement for a week before the fateful day, not going out into the street at all, and as for seeing the groom on the day until she met him at the altar, that was simply unthinkable!

Margaret McVean was the daughter of the Reverend James McVean, who was born near Johnstown, New York, in 1796. He was a graduate of Union College in 1813, and of Princeton in 1819. It was said that he spoke seven languages with fluency and that the chair of Greek at Princeton was always open to him. He came to Georgetown about 1820 and married Jane Maffitt Whann in 1828. For twenty years he was the principal of a classical seminary for boys in Georgetown, the same one founded by Dr. David Wiley. There a large number of young men were prepared for college, who afterwards attained distinction in various professions or government positions of trust and honor. He was for twenty-five years superintendent of the Presbyterian Sabbath School. He died July 8, 1847, and as a testimonial of respect, the Board of Common Council and Aldermen, of which he was a member, suspended business for eight days, and crêpe was worn on the arm for thirty days.

Another of these letters of Mrs. Cassin's tells that her son, William Deakins Cassin, has just become engaged to "that harumscarum Mittie Tyler." She fears for their future. Mittie (Mary) Tyler was the daughter of dear old Dr. Tyler across the street.

The mother-in-law's fears certainly did not materialize, for Mrs. Cassin, junior, lived a long and honored life. I remember her faintly when she was about eighty years old, with hair parted in the middle and combed down over each ear as "coal black as a raven's wing," as the old saying goes.