"Pennsylvania Dutch," and other essays

by Phebe Earle Gibbons

In the evening I heard my hostess up-stairs preparing my bed, as I supposed. My surprise was therefore considerable, on turning down the woollen coverlet, to find no sheets upon the feather bed. On lifting this light and downy bed, which was neatly covered with white, I found one sheet, a straw bed, and then a bed-cord in the place of a sacking-bottom. I at once perceived that the feather bed was a feather cover, of which I had often heard, but had never met with one before during my sojourn in Pennsylvania “Dutchland.” I should think that this downy covering might be pleasant in cold weather, but now I rolled it off upon the floor, and, with the help of a spare comfortable, was soon at rest. The pillow-cases, which were trimmed with edging, were marked with black silk, in a large running-hand, in this manner: “Henry G. Kreider, 1864.”

As I sat the next morning a while with the landlady in her basement kitchen, she remarked, “Here is it as Dutch as Dutchlant.” But she said that my Dutch was not like theirs. The neighborhood, however, is not nearly so German as Germany. I was told by an intelligent young man that half the grown men did not speak English; I understand by this, not that they do not speak our language at all, but not habitually and with fluency. Many speak English very well, but the “Dutch” accent is universal. For several years the school-books in the township have all been English. I laughed with the landlady, who herself seemed somewhat amused, at the children having English books and speaking Dutch, or, as she would say, “Die Kinner lerne Englisch und schwetze Deitsch.” However, at the Dunker church a pretty girl told me afterward that she had had no difficulty at school the preceding winter, although “we always talk German at home.”

At breakfast this morning, among other dishes, we had raisin-pie. Not a great while after this meal was over, the morning having proved wet, a neighbor took me over to the church in his buggy for twenty-five cents. Although the hour was so early, and meeting was fixed to begin at one, I found a considerable number here, which did not surprise me, as I knew the early habits of our “Dutch” people. Taking a seat, I began to read a number of the Living Age, when a black-eyed maid before me, in Dunker dress, handed me her neatly-bound hymn-book in English and German. I told her that I could read German, and when I read a verse in that language she said, “But you don’t know what it means.” Reading German is with us a much rarer accomplishment than speaking the dialect.

Ere long, a stranger came and sat down behind me, and entered into conversation. He was a preacher from a distance, named L., and spoke very good English. We soon found that we had mutual acquaintances in another county, and when dinner was ready he invited me down to partake.

Here the men sat upon one side, and the women on the other, of one of the long tables, upon which was laid a strip of white muslin. We had bowls without spoons, into which was poured by attending brethren very hot coffee, containing milk or cream, but no sugar. We had the fine Lancaster County bread, good and abundant butter, apple-butter, pickles, and pies. The provisions for these meals are contributed by the members at a previous meeting, where each tells what he intends to furnish, how many loaves of bread, etc., while some prefer to give money. To furnish provisions, however, is natural to a people of whom about seventy-five in a hundred are farmers, as is the case with the Dunkers. Whatever food is left over after the four meals are finished is given to the poor, without distinction of sect; “whoever needs it most,” as a sister said.

At this dinner, before eating, my new acquaintance, L., gave out, by two lines at a time, the verse,—

“Eternal are thy mercies, Lord.”

But few joined in the singing. They would doubtless have preferred German. In that language thanks were returned after eating.

When we went up into the meeting-room again, a young man of an interesting countenance, a preacher, named Z., asked me if I was not the one who had written an article which had lately appeared in one of our county papers. It was very gratifying to be thus recognized among strangers.