An excellent time was had by all at Bennington, but a busy week lies ahead and Miss Calash craves your patience as she must report early to construction workers, furniture researchers, granting agencies and numerous other disasters and joys too varied to recount here.
Regular posting will resume later this week with reflections upon Puddings Boil’d in Camp, Mustering While Chewing, Letters Carried To and Fro, and other Trivialities.
* To the tune of “Miss Otis Regrets,” by Cole Porter.
And happy not to be walking to Walloomsac, since we can’t leave till Friday.
Before we leave, there’s plenty to done, of course, and most of it in men’s wear.*
The first piece on brown linen
The Young Mr needed a new jacket, a proper one, with pockets and everything, correct for a scalawag. So that meant patterns and muslins and fittings and questions, until neither of us could really stand the other and his father called me an ambush predator of fittings. The only way to fit these wily creatures is, as they amble through the room, to leap out and toile someone.
With the pattern more-or-less fitted to the wiggly Young Mr, I cast about for fabric: there was not enough of a striped piece for both waistcoat and jacket; waistcoat won, because matching stripes on a jacket seemed too risky in this great a hurry. Instead, I sacrificed the last yardage once meant for a gown.
The Stocking Seller, by Paul Sandby, 1759
This is the inspiration for the kid’s new garment, along with Sandby’s fish monger. It seems a plausible garment to work from, and the brown linen is in keeping with the brown linen jacket at Connecticut Historical Society and the unlined linen frock coat recently sold at auction. It will also match his trousers, but this is what happens when you sew from the stash.
One pair of breeches altered, one waistcoat wanting the last seven newly-made buttons, one waistcoat in production, one jacket in production: you’d think that would be enough to get done. But I’m also working to expand my cooking repertoire, as bread and cheese gets tiresome and scrounging broken ginger cakes from the Sugar Loafe Baking Co.— while potentially good theatre–is not a solid plan for sustenance.
Half-pint and spoon
Boiling food in summer- sounds awful, right? But it’s an easy and correct way to cook,once you translate recipe measures and control the amount you’re making. I like to use Amelia Simmons’ cookbook, because it is specifically American, and my more skillful friends cooked from it at the farm.
From Enos Hitchcock’s diary, I know that he ate a boiled flour pudding with some venison stew (near the Saratoga campaign, I think) so I consider this a plausible recipe for the field, pending eggs, of course.
A boiled Flour Pudding.
One quart milk, 9 eggs, 7 spoons flour, a little salt, put into a strong cloth and boiled three quarters of an hour.
Simple enough, though Simmons later corrected the receipt to 9 spoons of flour, and boil for an hour and a half. I got out the spoon, and looked online at modern boiled pudding recipes, and will give a modified version a whirl sometime this week (always better to fail at home than in the field). Boiling the pudding in a linen cloth in a stew would make a savory bread substitute…and I really liked the one we had at the farm. Will the gentlemen at Bennington like it? Perhaps we’ll find out. If we’re not cooking with hosewater, almost anything should be edible.
*Yes, it’s a terrible and terribly dated show, but I always hear this in Mr Humphries‘ voice from Are You Being Served?
As you can see in this Sandby-like image, we went, briefly, to Sturbridge for Redcoats & Rebels, so that Mr S could wear the Andes Candies Coat and the Ugly Dog Coat in the Military Fashion Show and so that I could see Sew 18th Century again. (Thanks to her for the photo!). We didn’t realize how tired we were until we sat down.
It was then that I began to process the exclamation about Fort Plain and “We’ll make a bunch of the Ugly Dog coats,” which spun quickly to the research that needed to be done on the shape and type of lace and the regiment the coats were initially meant for.
Mr S says Mr HC rolled this out in the safest place possible: The Great Meeting House, in front of the public, where no harm could come to the one who suggested all that detailed sewing for Mr S and the Young Mr.
Afterwards, as we walked through the camps, I was glad we had not camped or spent more time: tired, I have even less patience for candelabra and spinning wheels in camp.
Instead, we enjoyed walking in the village. Just before the photo above was taken, Mr FC (at left) had been stopped by a family, who had many questions for him. My favorite moment was the little girl, perhaps 4 or 5, who held out her hand to him and said, “We found a cricket skin!” There are few men better suited to rolling with that that Mr FC, who took it all in stride.
After our stroll, yes, we exited through the gift shop. But I had a goal, a half-pint tin measure. Half of that is a gill, and multiplying up takes me to pints and even quarts, which means I get a little more sophisticated in camp cooking. Porridge, boiled flour puddings, dried pea soup will all be easier to get less wrong in a kettle with a basic measuring device. Yes, gills are the measure for rum, but I don’t recommend mixing it with hose water.
On Saturday last, Sew 18th Century and I set up a milliners’ shop for the Salem Maritime Festival. This was a fun event made even better by the opportunity to set up shop in an actual shop!
We started working on this project in the Spring, and kept working on it almost until it was time to pack for the trip.
Some of our goods, with the delightful Miss A
Milliners carried a wide range of goods designed to entice customers into the shop where they might purchase a new trim, ribbon or sash while admiring newer bonnet styles or fresh yard goods. Even in the 18th and 19th century, retailers new the value of repeat customers and impulse purchasing.
Customers of all kinds came to our shop, some for retail trade, and some for wholesale. Mr JS is a weaver, and has offered plain and check linens by subscription– and I think our shop can do well referring custom to him. He was far more genteel than the sailors who came in– three times they visited, offering us money, but not for our bonnets!
Fresh from a privateer, Mr G and his crew mate stomped up the steps and made several untoward propositions, even daring to shake a bag of coin! Later they tried to entice a studious apprentice to join them, but fortunately he is a dutiful and serious lad with a thought for his future, and he declined their offer. At last Mr S was forced to confront these sailors on the waterfront– I think we shall soon require a committee of safety to patrol our streets and regulate the ruffians.
Mrs B examines some of our trims
Other customers shopped for trims and accessories. Mrs B is always fashionable, and one of our best customers. She sets a standard for refinement and style in our town that few can match.
Her husband is an officer in the Navy, and I fear sometimes he is startled by the bills– though he always pays, I think he may be surprised to see how fashionable we have become in Salem.
The bandbox maker, Ms M, set up in our shop as well. I do highly recommend her boxes as the finest made and best decorated that can be had. Bonnets and hats do not come cheap, and you do well to protect them.
In the late morning, I paid a call to Mrs B, and took tea. The coffee jelly was exquisite, molded in the shape of fish– very clever indeed– with marzipan fish and a rice pudding. It was a delight to all the senses, though sadly I had to hurry back to the shop. It is a great responsibility to keep a shop.
Shop window at the West India Goods Store
Thank you so much for visiting and for trading with us! Do come back soon, as we are certain to have new goods of interest to delight you.
Kirsten Hammerstrom 
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