In the not-too-distant past of up till last week, I was still under the impression that I would be doing two living history presentations on tea at the end of March, but through a series of maddening-for-a-colleague circumstances, that is not the case. To begin preparing for these programs, I had started secondary and primary source research on tea and tea parties, as you may recall. I also ordered some things from Dobyns and Martin, thinking how nice it would be for people to see and smell and sample historically correct teas.
Friday was a happy day chez Calash, coming home at the end of a long week to three days off and packages! Though I won’t need the teas for work, it does seem to me that they will be quite suitable for other living history presentations, and I can always ‘steal’ some from an officer if I get tired of the black market in shirts.
In addition to tea and lump sugar (which will fit nicely in Bridget’s pocket), I ordered soap. The lavender wash ball seems suitable for officers and the better sorts, while a cake of lye soap will vastly upgrade our dish-, self- and clothes washing in camp. While I’m game to make my own soap, a lack of ingredients and facilities hinders production.
Carrot pudding Trial One. Verdict: Too much nutmeg.
And, finally, the rose water. I’m looking forward to enhanced baking, a good activity in the weather we’ve had lately. While I don’t think the rose water would have saved the way-too-much-nutmeg carrot pudding, it will certainly be welcome in dishes future. I’m motivated to get a boiled pudding right, and in the field, because I know the Enos Hitchcock ate pudding and venison as a chaplain in the war.
I’ve got no problem with that—commemoration is something we humans do and need. And Deborah Samson’s is an interesting story, but possibly not for the reasons cited in the letters from officials who shall remain nameless. They describe her as “a pioneer of promoting women’s rights and eliminating gender barriers” and “a trailblazer for gender equality,” phrases that would have been just about nonsense in the Revolutionary war period.
And that’s my problem with it: the anachronistic representation of a woman’s story, bent to the purposes of the present. Don’t get me wrong—I’m a feminist, I’ve enjoyed Deborah Samson’s story since I read about her as a kid in one book or another, so I sympathize with the Stamp Movement.
What makes me crazy is bad history.
Hannah Snell, as depicted in an excerpt from “The Life and Adventures of a Female Soldier,” the narrative of the most famous cross-dressing British soldier of the century. It appeared in Isaiah Thomas’s New England Almanack (Boston, 1774). Printers recycled the image on other imprints. American Antiquarian Society.
In Masquerade, Alfred Young tells Sampson’s story well, busting myths that both we—and she—created. (This short bio is a good overall sketch of Deborah’s life. ) What struck me the most about Deborah Samson’s life was the lack of certainty, stability, and material comfort. We’ll never know the specific circumstances that led her to enlist, though Young does yeoman’s work to unearth everything he can about her life and circumstances, and the context in which she lived.
I’m not an unbiased reader—I did get a little shouty on the third floor when I read “trailblazer for gender equality,” and that phrase has lingered and grown tattered as my colleagues and I have chewed it over—but Young’s point about women of the lower sorts is well taken.
Here’s an excerpt from an interview with Young about the book:
“In cross-dressing, Deborah was like a good many other plebeian women we are discovering who were in flight: to escape indentured servitude, to avoid the shame of a pregnancy, to get out of the reaches of the law, and so on. But to explain why she carried it off so long, you have to fall back on her skills and resourcefulness.”
So much for that pioneer of promoting women’s rights—Samson was a pioneer in skillful deceit (no mean feat) and in using that deceit to further the main chance, that is, Deborah Samson’s chance. What’s wrong with that? I like that better, and that’s my bias and my interests.
Reading about Deborah Samson helped me think about Bridget Connor and the women like her, probably less skilled and less educated than Samson, probably even more impoverished. It’s a mysterious mix of personality and circumstances that drives us all, but considering what we can know about Deborah Samson helps us understand her not so much as a pioneer for gender equality but as a self-interested human being acting for herself despite the barriers of class, education, and gender. And that can help us understand the people we can know even less about, like Bridget Connor.
Remember the Amazon? She has the dressed-up dog and the Muff of Doom. I’ve gotten a little obsessed with her, and that obsession has led to some interesting places.
The Muff of Dooms Past. Poor minks.
For one thing, it’s winter, and everybody has cold hands, so everybody is making muffs.
Here at Crazy Scheme Central, I had thought about making the great Ikea sheepskin Muff of Doom, but that’s a place I generally don’t go until after the Christmas madness, when the store in Stoughton does look as if it had been plundered by orcs.
Instead, I bought a Muff of Dooms Past at an antique store. I wouldn’t buy a new real fur anything, and I do feel bad about the poor minks, but at least no new minks were harmed. Or sheep. But golly, it’s soft and delicious and it’s easy to see why people wanted fur, given that we’re essentially hairless mammals. It measures 11 inches high (not including decoration) by 11 inches wide at the narrowest point, and 14 inches wide at the base.
Pupils of nature Maria Caroline Temple delt. ; TS. sculp. London] : Pubd. April 30, 1798, by S.W. Fores, No. 50 Piccadilly, corner of Sachville [sic] St., [1798]. Lewis Walpole Library Call Number 798.04.30.01+
The Muff of Dooms Past is not nearly as large as the Amazon’s muff, or as large as the ones seen in fashion plates and satires. The sad little tail-and-paw fringe has precedent (see left), though I believe at least one tail has been lost. As far as I can tell, with no label, this is probably a 1950s muff of local manufacture (there is a fur company, now in Warwick, that started in Providence, and is now going out of business). It could be earlier, but the flexibility of the pelts suggests a more recent vintage.
The Met has some fantastic late 18th/early 19th century muffs of a color that screams warmth. The size of the brighter one is just 8 by 7 inches. In case you think that’s anomalous, here’s another muff of similar type and size.
Muff, early 19th century.
French, of feathers, wool MMA 2009.300.1397
Muff, third quarter 18th century. British of feathers, fur
MMA 1984.101
They seem small compared to the Amazon’s muff, and even the Student of Nature’s. And yet, there they are. It’s hard to know exactly where the measurements were taken, and if they include the extreme fluff of the feathers; I tend to think not, but that the measurements are for the firmest part of the muff. (That’s how we would measure, and then include the largest “fluff” measurements in a ‘special measurements’ field with a note.) There is a 1780-1820 swan’s down muff at the V&A with a record but no photo or measurements.
Satires are hard to use: we know they’re depicting some grain of truth, usually in the background details, but also in what they’re portraying. How do we interpret those enormous muffs? They appear over and over, in consecutive years of satirical engravings and fashion plates. Maybe the way to interpret them is to see those muffs as the extreme end of fashion– Alexander McQueen muffs, if you will– and the extant muffs represent the more reasonable dimensions of fashion. I wouldn’t call red feather muffs typical, and I wouldn’t suggest we all carry them. But based on what exists in museum collections, maybe a smaller-than-satire muff is within the bounds of reason for actual use.
Paul Sandy, The Laundress, 1780. British Museum, 1904,0819.624
This print makes me think of Gertrude Stein, “Irons on the grass alas” because I think I would be pretty alas if I were ironing on grass. Still, I’m glad to know that ironing in camp is plausible, because it’s one more thing I can do, though also one more heavy item to pack.
I continue to chase laundry in my spare time, with a Pinterest board of collected images, which will give you a sense of the timeless drudgery of washing clothes. There will be stooping.
A Washerwoman, by John Varley (1778-1842). Tate Britain, T08695
In this sketch by John Varley, he has helpfully given notes to supplement the lines.
“neckhandkf
spots Drab stays
blue check apron”
The symbol in front of ‘spots’ suggests the neckhandkerchief’s pattern, a dot in a square, much like the ones you can today from Burnley & Trowbridge. “Drab stays” suggests a very utilitarian pair of wool stays, and that the washerwoman has stripped off her gown or bodice, and is working in shift, stays, and petticoat(s). This seems to be the same woman is in the “Woman with Wash-Tubs” drawing, and I’d guess her hat is straw.
A Scotch Washerwoman. Crayon drawing by Pauil Sandby after 1745. British Museum, Nn,6.61
There’s a remarkable consistency in the English drawings, though Varney and Sandby are about two decades apart. The tubs, the tools, the stooping: laundry is hard and unglamorous work, Sandby’s Scottish laundress aside. I can guarantee you that the 10th Massachusetts would have to outsource laundry in that style. (In any case, Scotland typified poverty and backwardness for late-eighteenth century Englishmen, so Sandby’s drawing, in addition to being titillating, is perpetuating English stereotypes of Scottish dress and practices and is, thankfully, not a reliable source.)
![Deborah Sam[p]son (Gannett), oil on paper by Joseph Stone, 1797. RIHS Museum Collection, Gift of Jesse Metcalf, 1900.6.1](https://kirstenhammerstrom.com/wp-content/uploads/2023/03/bacfc-rhix525w.jpg?w=370&h=463)
![Pupils of nature Maria Caroline Temple delt. ; TS. sculp. London] : Pubd. April 30, 1798, by S.W. Fores, No. 50 Piccadilly, corner of Sachville [sic] St., [1798]. Lewis Walpole Library Call Number 798.04.30.01+](https://kirstenhammerstrom.com/wp-content/uploads/2023/03/9a3bb-lwlpr09239.jpg?w=267&h=300)
Kirsten Hammerstrom 
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