Tag: 18th century

Looking for a Ship

On By kittycalashIn Events, History, Living History, Research
a table covered by a blanket with reproduction newspapers, a ledger book, and a leather bag
Collecting debts and packing up.

This past weekend (November 1-2) at the Museum of the American Revolution’s Revolutionary City (Pre-Occupied) event, I was pleased to represent Magdalen Devine, a feme sole trader in Philadelphia who ran a mercantile business between 1762 and 1775. Devine’s situation in 1775 reflects the tensions and uncertainties felt by many at the start of the American Revolution, and continues to resonate today.

a printed broadside advertising textiles for sale by Magdalen Devine in 1775
Broadside, Magdalen Devine, printed by John Dunlap, n.d. [1775] Historical Society of Pennsylvania, Ab[1780]-16

In 1775, Magdalen Devine, “being determined to leave off business,” advertised that she was selling “at Prime Cost, for CASH ONLY, WHOLESALE AND RETAIL, all her STOCK IN TRADE.” Devine first appeared in a Philadelphia newspaper ad in September 1762, selling imported goods with her brother, Frances Wade. By the following spring, the siblings had dissolved their partnership, and Magdalen had set up her own shop in Second Street between Market and Chestnut.

Devine’s ads reflected a keen sense of merchandising, including woodcuts illustrating printed and check fabrics and tightly wound fabric bolts. For more than a decade, Devine imported and sold goods on Second Street, eventually moving into a house she owned that was equipped with “two show windows with very large glass,” probably among the first instances of London-style shop windows in Philadelphia. 

Fire Insurance Survey, “A house belonging to Magdelane Devine.” Insurance Survey S01561

For more than a dozen years, Devine traveled between Philadelphia and London, selecting, importing, and selling “a large and neat assortment of European and India goods.” The chintzes, linens, cottons, and woolens that Devine imported represented the wide range of textiles available, many with specific applications from jean cloth for clothing enslaved workers, tickings for mattresses, and hair cloths for sieves along with the chintzes, taffeties, and superfines that dressed the city’s elite. 

By April 17, 1775, she had “determined to decline business, as she intends for England shortly” and published ads in the Philadelphia newspapers calling in debts. Although she initially gave debtors two months (until mid-June), in August she was still in the city and advertising her intention to put debts “into a lawyer’s hands” if not paid within two weeks. An August 30th paper reprinted her ad of August 1, suggesting that the debt collection was not going as she’d planned in April, and the weeks and months kept stretching ahead. The ad placed on August 30th suggests she planned to leave not later than September 15th.

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Unfortunately for Devine, mid-September saw a slowdown and stoppage of ships coming in and going out of Philadelphia. By September 18th, no ships were reported outward bound from the city. Magdalen Devine was stuck. 

A woman in a brown eighteenth-century dress with a straw hat and a white apron, standing in front of a painted door set into a brick wall.
“Magdalen Devine” dressed in brown silk with a new straw hat.

Did she get out on an early September ship bound for Cork or Dublin, and make her way from there to England? Perhaps, but it seems more likely that she miscalculated and was caught in the city as insurers, shippers, and sea captains struggled to make sense of the news from Boston, Providence, and London. Newspapers published English threats to burn all the port cities of the American colonies, and warships plying coastal waters from North Carolina to Maine surely made sailing seem unwise. 

Why did Magdalen Devine decide to close her business and leave Philadelphia for England? Just one year before, in 1774, she had acquired the shop with the “two show windows.” What made leaving a good idea? The threads are hard to find, let alone pull, but perhaps her childhood and young adulthood in Dublin suggested that the violence the British were willing to use against a rebellious colony. Famines and strikes in the 1740s prompted British reprisals against a country that served as a laboratory of colonialism.

a woman in a straw hat and short black cloak
With my ledger in hand– and a fabulous new hat.

In the absence of passenger lists, it is hard to know whether Devine made it back to England in 1775, or whether she had to wait until 1783. We know she made it to London, because her death is recorded there in late 1783. 

Resources on the English in Ireland 

http://www.sneydobone.com/webtree/history-ir.htm

https://www.tcd.ie/news_events/articles/2023/how-ireland-served-as-a-laboratory-for-the-british-empire/

https://www.nam.ac.uk/explore/timeline-ireland-and-british-army

https://daily.jstor.org/britains-blueprint-for-colonialism-made-in-ireland/



A Case Cover for a Chair

On By kittycalashIn making things

With a brief, sort-of-break from school, I have time to think about the research and making I’ve done recently, if “recently” can encompass the past two-ish years.

Last May, I made a slipcover or case cover for a Chippendale side chair. I love this chair very much and while I have not (yet) recovered the slip seat in something more appropriate, a case cover seemed appropriate.

I am under no illusion that this chair is Cadwalader quality, but it offers the opportunity for crossover between my upholsterer and Cadwalader obsessions. When John Cadwalader was outfitting his townhouse on Philadelphia’s South Second Street in 1770-1772, he ordered covers in fine Saxon Blue check, with fringe, for his chairs.  

I started by making a muslin to create a pattern; this seemed like a better idea than just using measurements. It’s really a simple design: a top (the seat), front and sides, and a ruffled skirt. I based this on an original at Colonial Williamsburg. The cover attaches at the back with quarter-inch linen tape. I ordered fringe, but not enough, so for now, the cover remains fringe-less. 

Checked or striped linen was a common material for covers, durable and easily washable. Yes, this is where “furniture check” comes from: the large-scale checks used for these and other covers. (Samuel Johnson’s are particularly bold.)

Wilson, Benjamin; Conversation Piece; Leeds Museums and Galleries; http://www.artuk.org/artworks/conversation-piece-38209

Linen covers protected expensive upholstery (wool or silk damask, for example) from wear and light damage. Covers could be switched seasonally, but they were almost always made “en suite,” that is, in the same color as the wall coverings and/or curtains. The Cadwaladers had a blue room and a yellow room, both of which must have been like walking into a jewel, with shimmering silk damask on the walls, as curtains, and upholstering the furniture.
My cover may be simpler, and my house un-jewel-like, but I love it just the same. (It also fits other chairs, like this one at Historic Lewes.)

A Brief Bibliography:

Baumgarten, Linda. “Protective Covers for Furniture and Its Contents.” American Furniture. Chipstone Foundation, 1993. https://chipstone.org/article.php/376/American-Furniture-1993/Protective-Covers-for-Furniture-and-its-Contents.

Graves, Leroy and Luke Beckerdite. New Insights on John Cadwalader’s Commode Seat Side Chairs. American Furniture. Chipstone Foundation, 2000. https://chipstone.org/article.php/437/American-Furniture-2000/New-Insights-on-John-Cadwalader%E2%80%99s–Commode-Seat-Side-Chairs.

Prendergast, Susan Margaret. “Fabric Furnishings Used in Philadelphia Homes, 1700-1775.” University of Delaware, 1978. http://udspace.udel.edu/handle/19716/26040.

Swain, Margaret. “Loose Covers, or Cases.” Furniture History 33 (1997): 128–33. http://www.jstor.org/stable/23408074.

Ready for Bed

On By kittycalashIn making things

With some regularity, I portray an upholsterer-turned-contractor at the Museum of the American Revolution, and I’m scheduled to be there again mid-month. One upgrade I made last year, based on a friend’s adorable creation, was a doll-sized bed.

This is an IKEA bed for children or cats, so it’s an affordable, durable option for hands-on demos. It’s reasonably easy to adapt, with a chisel and a drill (Mr. K has a little drill press which made the rope-bed conversion much easier).

I outfitted the bed with woven ropes and a sack bottom, designed to make the bed more comfortable (the mattress can’t sink through the sacking). That’s topped with a a bed (mattress) of ticking stuffed with wool.

Bed with
Bed with sacking bottom laced to ropes

 Beds were stuffed with a range of materials, including straw, cattails, cornhusks, hair, and wool. Hair is pretty itchy and I had wool on hand; in graduate school round one I slept on a wool futon so I can attest to its loft and comfort.

A feather bed tops the wool bed, feathers stuffed into a linen bag stitched shut. The linen is pretty tightly woven vintage material, and still the feathers escape! The case of checked linen ties shut. A ticking bolster, also stuffed with wool, supports the feather pillow in its linen case. The top sheet is, again, linen, with a center seam to mimic historical sheets.

This week, I started making the blanket. Modeled on an original rose blanket in the Colonial Williamsburg collection, I used wool broadcloth cut from a remnant. This, too, has a center seam like most originals. I have a stash of wool thread for embroidery, and matched the colors as best I could. It’s satisfying work, though I discovered that I’ve been stitching the wedges incorrectly (this is the result of having a laptop, rather than a large monitor). Oh well. I’ll stitch the last rose correctly.

Left, Colonial Williamsburg original; Right, my first attempt

The Workwoman’s Guide lays out how a bed should be made up, with layers of mattresses (beds), a feather bed, sheets, counterpane, and blankets. It’s a lot of layers. The Workwoman’s Guide was published in 1838, and although it is always dangerous to engage in backward interpretation (i.e. to apply the logic of 1838 to 1778), it is not unreasonable to think that an eighteenth-century bed would be similarly furnished. In houses without central heating, layers would be necessary.

While sheets and blankets could be made at home (butt-seaming linen or wool is easy), wealthy folks without enslaved laborers could order sheets and blankets from seamstresses or upholsterers. Betsy Cadwalader did not make her sheets, and while Martha Washington stitched cushion covers, the labor for the slipcovers or case covers was likely accomplished by enslaved seamstresses. The Cadwaladers ordered their case covers from Plunkett Fleeson, who probably had the work done by women rather than by more expensive male workers.

The new blanket will debut at the Museum of the American Revolution on Flag Day weekend, and I will once again talk about women’s work in eighteenth-century Philadelphia as they pivoted from domestic to military work during the Revolution.

A Snuff-Coloured Cloak

On By kittycalashIn Clothing, making things

In August, the Museum of the American Revolution contacted me about making a snuff-colored cloak. Although many 18th-century women’s cloaks were red, some were not. Newspapers carry ads for stolen goods and runaways in brown camblet cloaks lined with baize; white silk cloaks; black silk cloaks; and cloth cloaks, which are probably “cloth colored” wool– what we would think of as drab or beige. The Museum referenced an ad from the Pennsylvania Gazette of April 30, 1777, May 7, 1777, and May 21, 1777. 

Run away from the subscriber, living in Evesham township, in the State of New Jersey, Burlington county, on the 20th of April. 1777, a certain Sarah McGee, Irish descent, born in Philadelphia; she is about 23 years of age, about 5 feet 7 inches high, very lusty made in proportion; she had on when she went away, a snuff coloured worsted long gown, a spotted calico petticoat, stays and a good white apron, a snuff colored cloak, faced with snuff coloured shalloon, a black silk bonnet, with a ribbon around the crown: She was seen with her mother, in Philadelphia, who lives in Shippen street, where it is supposed she is concealed. Whoever takes up said servant and brings her to her master, or puts her in confinement, so that her master gets her again, shall have the above reward, and reasonable charges, paid by Barzillai Coat
Pennsylvania Gazette, May 7, 1777. page 3

 “Run away from the subscriber, living in Evesham township, in the State of New Jersey, Burlington county, on the 20th of April. 1777, a certain Sarah McGee, Irish descent, born in Philadelphia; she is about 23 years of age, about 5 feet 7 inches high, very lusty made in proportion; she had on when she went away, a snuff coloured worsted long gown, a spotted calico petticoat, stays and a good white apron, a snuff colored cloak, faced with snuff coloured shalloon, a black silk bonnet, with a ribbon around the crown: She was seen with her mother, in Philadelphia, who lives in Shippen street, where it is supposed she is concealed. Whoever takes up said servant and brings her to her master, or puts her in confinement, so that her master gets her again, shall have the above reward, and reasonable charges, paid by Barzillai Coat”

I was not clever enough to latch onto the snuff-coloured shalloon facings, but I made up a hooded cloak with a snuff-coloured silk lining and dispatched it just before school started. (I doubt I could have achieved a happy color match in any modern “shalloon.”) I’d picked up the wool and silk in Natick, Massachusetts on a summer trip in 2018, and had planned — and put off– a snuff-coloured cloak of my own. Oh well. 

a hand drawn sketch of a cloak layout, showing an arc with measurements
Highly Scientific

As the semester drew to a close, the cloak started gnawing at me. That was really nice wool! And such a nice color! I really had wanted my own cloak. I succumbed to ordering some substitute wool, and over the winter break, made myself a cloak. They only a day or so, once you’ve done the math to chalk and cut the pieces. I have a handy diagram to help me figure it out, adapted from Sue Felshin’s classic post on cloaks. You don’t need much else. 

the pleated back of a cloak hood made of butterscotch colored woolThis wool is heavier than what I’ve used before, and I’m not fully enamored with the drape. Still, this will go a long way towards completing the Cinnamon Toast Crunch Quaker look when I wear it with the brown gown I made this past summer. I love my red cloak, but for a Philadelphia Quaker’s brown gown, a snuff-coloured cloak is a better match. 

The making is really simple. You do want to start with a well-made wool broadcloth or coating that will hold a cut edge– that eliminates a lot of hemming, and takes advantage of the natural characteristics of the wool just as 18th-century makers did. You don’t need a lot; I used 1.75 yards of 52-60” wool, which makes an acceptable length cloak even for me (I am 5’-10”). 

a snuff colored wool cloak on a female mannequin
The finished cloak (and a fancy petticoat)

The cloak neck edge is pleated to a neck size that suits you (annoying, I know, but that’s how this works). The hood is stitched up the center back (I used a butt stitch), with the last 6” or so pleated. This is the trickiest bit. Even strokes make a nice array, but the real trick is stitching the pleats flat so that they hold the shape. Sometimes it turns out better than others; heavier weight wool will be harder to wrangle, as this was. 

a tan and beige cloak hood seen from inside, piecing seams visible
Piecing is period, and appropriate for the inside of hood.

I ended up piecing the silk for the hood lining (piecing is period) and I’m pleased with how that turned out. I barely had the patience to do it, but the result was pleasing and I saved silk, so there’s that. For ties, I used some silk satin ribbon purchased for some other, now-forgotten project. I tend to save materials, thinking I’m not “good enough” to use them– that is, not skilled enough. Well, if not now, when? The cloak and its ribbon ties mean much more worn than that they will stashed in storage. Eat the cake. Buy the shoes. Make the dress, the cloak, the apron, the ruffles. Make whatever brings you joy.