Eighteenth Century Laundry Day

by Kathy Fischer-Brown

In my last post I discussed some of the more fascinating aspects of researching and writing historical fiction. You might even remember my mention of how incorporating details from the research into the writing helps bring the period and setting alive for me as well as for the reader. These details also go a long way toward keeping the characters in their place and time—and the author from creating annoying anachronisms. These aspects of dress, furniture, food and its preparation, travel, and accomplishing the day-to-day tasks, which we today might take for granted, are among those little motes that add to the “feel” of the time.

This has never been more true when you consider how laundry was done back in the mid- to late 1700s. Here in the early 21^st century, tossing a load of wash into a machine (top loading or the newer, more efficient front loaders), adding your choice of liquid or powdered detergent, softener and whitener is pretty much a no brainer. The cleansing agent even comes with its own handy measuring cup; temperature settings involve nothing more than the turn of a dial (or press of a button), as does the size of the load and water level. In many cases, you can even choose an extra rinse or spin. When the load is finished, the machine beeps, lest you’ve gone on to something else in the 20-or so minutes it takes for the cycle to complete and let it slip your mind. Then you toss the whole mass of t-shirts, socks, towels, and what-not, into the other machine; add a dryer sheet; set the temperature (for wash and wear, permanent press, or delicate); flip the switch; and for another 30-40 minutes you can play ball with the dogs in the yard, run to the supermarket for those much-needed ingredients for your mid-week supper, or catch up on the latest episode of the TV show you’d DVR’d the night before. (Or on my case, you research some more and/or write.)

Even with these modern conveniences as a part of my life, I hate doing laundry. But while writing the opening scene of Where the River Narrows, my contribution (along with Ron Crouch) to BWL’s “Canadian Historical Brides” series (Quebec), I realized just how lucky I am.

First, consider how difficult a task it was to schlep and heat enough water to wash bed linens, under garments, shirts, tablecloths, and a host of incidentals for a considerably sized family and their servants. Consider also that “wash day” (with these and other complications) was more likely a monthly affair rather than the two- or three-times a week event here in the present. And then consider that, even as it was an all-day, coordinated event, it had to be done, and was done in all seasons and all weather.

From an interesting site (http://www.woodvilleplantation.org/Schedule/laundry_day_18th_century1.pdf) I found when looking into this aspect of the life of Elisabeth Van Alen (the book’s heroine), I found the following:

Water would have been carried to the boiling cauldron in buckets carried on the shoulders with a yoke. Assuming that each of these buckets holds 2 ½ gallons, the laundress would be able to transport 5 gallons per trip. … The boiler used to hold the heated water generally held 20-40 gallons of water per individual load, thus requiring a minimum 4 trips per load of laundry. (Not including 10 more gallons for the scrub and rinse water!)

Fortunately for Elisabeth, her family home is situated on the Mohawk River, with a creek flowing down from the hills on the east side of their house. But this little treatise from the Woodville Plantation in Bridgeville, PA, also points out that fire was vital to heating this water, along with the trials and tribulations of amassing enough wood:

Generally on wash day, the laundress and her crew would awaken at 4:30 AM in order to gather wood and prepare the fires used to heat the water. On an average day, cooking fires would require approximately 30 large pieces of wood to prepare all three meals for the day. The amount used on laundry day would most likely be double that amount, or 50-60 large pieces of wood. Laundry fires were generally larger, and the heavier, knotty wood chunks that were unsuitable for the controlled cooking fires would have been used during the laundering process. Assuming that a large piece of split wood weighs approximately 3 pounds, an 18^th century laundress would be required to move 150-200 pounds of wood, prior to even beginning the task at hand.

Then there was the matter of soap. Or the lack of it. And getting out stains (no miracle spray leave-on-and-throw-in-the-machine wonders). 

Commercially-made soap could be bought, but it was very expensive and not always available, especially out on the New York frontier in 1774. So, this was something that was made at home (along with candles) from animal fats and the accumulated ashes from the fireplace(s). Lye was caustic and not easy on the hands, to put it mildly (no pun intended). But it did its job well. This concoction was added to the “copper,” usually a large pot that would also double as cooking vessel, which was placed over the fire built from those unwieldy logs lugged in for the purpose and those 30-40 gallons of water hauled from the creek. It was a hot and sticky job, agitating the contents with paddles, then extricating the steaming articles, rinsing and wringing them before setting them to dry. 

The favored method of drying was to spread the wash on low-lying bushes in the sun, or laying them out on the grass—something about the effects of chlorophyll. (Remember, this description is about what it was like during clement weather; imagine doing laundry in the depths of winter!) There were clothes lines back then, but the clothespin hadn’t yet been invented. And when everything was dry, there was the task of smoothing out the wrinkles.

The iron was an item that not every household could afford. And even if they could afford an iron, they would have to own at least two. These were flat-irons or “sad irons” (from the word “solid,” which is exactly what they were). Heavy, cumbersome beasts, they demanded to be kept close to the fire to stay hot. Which, in turn, led to the unfortunate eventuality of their picking up soot and grime, and…you guessed it…smearing smudge—if not burning holes—over the stuff you just spent the better part of the day sweating and and toiling over to get clean. One innovation of the time was the box-iron, which happily did away with scorching. These irons had a hinged door on the back and were fitted with an iron insert that could be kept hot and swapped out with another to prevent burning your linens. More common though—and a lot less hazardous—was the linen press: a table with a parallel board attached, which, when the screws were tightened over folded linens, did the job just right without hot slugs and scorching irons.

Starching was also done, a task that I am most thankful has lost its popularily. But they did it on a common basis. Without Niagara Spray Starch. Instead, they used water collected after cooking potatoes. (Fascinating how they made ample and varied use of pretty much everything they raised, produced, or created with their hands.)

Most well-to-do families of this period employed servants to do laundry and other menial chores, but Elisabeth’s family lives under extenuating circumstances. These compel her not only to supervise but to take charge and participate in many a mundane task, such as laundry, and organizing the family's meager staff. Qualities that will serve her well later on in the story when the American Revolution turns her world upside-down. When her home and lands are confiscated by Rebels, she and what remains of her family, is forced to flee to Canada. And as Shakespeare once said, “Thereby hangs a tale.”

I hope you enjoyed this little journey into the past. Please check out the first installments of Book We Love’s “Canadian Historical Brides” series of novels. Comments are always welcome :-)

~*~

Kathy Fischer Brown is a BWL author of historical novels, Winter Fire, Lord Esterleigh’s Daughter, Courting the Devil, The Partisan’s Wife, and The Return of Tachlanad, her 2016 release, an epic fantasy adventure for young adult and adult readers. Check out her Books We Love Author page or visit her website. All of Kathy’s books are available in e-book and in paperback from Amazon, Kobo, and other online retailers.

What research can turn up: Hidden History!

PURCHASE FROM AMAZON

Elizabeth Schuyler Hamilton

"Home and Hearth was the motto of all women in the 17th Century, but Dutch Women, by the addition of a single word, made a huge difference in their lives. For the Dutch woman, the motto was HOME, HEARTH AND MARKETPLACE."

----Jean Zimmerman, The Women of the House

This essay concerns some truly--to me--new and surprising facts about the legal and social system of the Dutch founders of the New York Colony which I stumbled upon during my research on the origins of the Schuyler family. There were founding mothers, it seems, as well as founding fathers! It's another of those pieces of women's past that has only recently been resurrected and studied by historians and humble readers, too, like myself. It is so interesting I wanted to share what I learned in some detail.

MARGARET HARDENBROECK lived from 1659-1691. At the age of 22 this formidable lady arrived in New Amsterdam from Holland. Margaret, described by her biographer as a "Brute in Silks" came seeking her fortune, exactly like a man.  She did not come to America in the feminine role of domestic or wife, but in the high status position of Factor.  Her task in this booming frontier city was to collect debts for her employer, sell goods on consignment and--of greatest importance, discover and exploit new markets. Margaret was an employee of her wealthy cousin Wouter Volch and had been born into a trading family--nothing small time--for her family owned ships. She was already a seasoned employee who had represented her cousin in court many times, as plaintiff and as defendant. Obviously, she possessed a forceful bearing and excellent public speaking skills.

 

Among the Dutch, such a  woman was known as a She merchant. Unlike other 17th Century Europeans, the Dutch had a tradition of women in business. There were 134 female traders in New Amsterdam between 1653-63.  Even in the relative backwater at Albany there were 47 women traders. 

Business women were common in Holland because of a progressive legal system and other societal factors. First among these was their educational system. Boys and girls alike were universally educated. Bookkeeping, in this nation of traders, was an integral part of the curriculum.

Another unusual factor favoring women was the Dutch Reformed Church. Unlike other Christians, respect between partners in a marriage was stressed, not simply blind female submission. In England, at the same time, woman was, according to Doctrine "a weak creature not endued with like strength and constancy of mind." When an Englishwoman married, her husband owned her person and everything else, including her clothes and jewels. If widowed, she was granted the use of 1/3 of his property, but she could not sell it, as it belong to his heirs after she died.  We are all familiar with Jane Austen's world, in which a widow and her daughters are dispossessed by heirs, as in Sense and Sensibility.

MOST IMPORTANT FOR Margaret and women like her was Dutch Law, unlike that of any other European country at the time. Under English Law, for instance, women were not legal persons. They could not own property, sign legal documents or represent themselves in court. A single Dutch woman, on the other hand, had all those rights, the same that any single man hand. She even had options when contracting a marriage. 

IN HOLLAND there existed two forms of marriage. A woman decided which was the most advantageous when she drew up her marriage contract. The "Manus" was similar to English law. However, here 50% of the property of a deceased husband went to the widow and she could remain in the spousal residence. She was the ward of her husband who would represent her in business. However, in "Manus" financial responsibility too was limited. in the event of a failed business or deal. The legal reasoning was that if a woman had no authority to make transaction, why should she be held accountable? In practice, it was a respectable and common event for a Manus widow to place the house keys on the coffin of a deceased husband who had squandered her share of the community property of goods and walk away, free and clear.

 The alternative contract was called "Usus." This allowed a woman to retain all the rights she'd had while single, as well as the rights to any property she'd brought into the marriage, creating a partnership of equals. A Usus wife would appear in court as Plaintiff or defendant. She could represent her husband before a Judge. A prenuptial agreement signed with her husband circumvented the community property rule and the powers the Manus husband held over his wife. Wealthy widows--with that 50% rule operating in both forms of marriage--were common in Holland.

Dutch law also prohibited parents from relying upon gender or birth order when making their wills. This meant that daughters were not automatically deprived of an inheritance. In England, the firstborn sons received all of a family's major property holdings (land, houses). Daughters only received household goods (flatware and furniture.) Often, female heirs faced a future after a parent's death without a home or the assets with which to obtain one.

Dutch law also protected unwed mothers. A woman pregnant outside of marriage could either prosecute the alleged father or force him to marry her. If he was already married, she was entitled to demand a dowry and compensation for childbirth expenses, as well as child support. Historians report that women had a good chance of winning these suits. A husband's adultery, abandonment or contraction of a venereal disease also gave a wife grounds for requesting a divorce.

Spousal abuse also received attention under Dutch law. If a wife believed her husband was squandering her property, she had legal recourse to request her half of the estate along with her dowry in full. Regardless of whether she was married, a Dutch woman could institute legal proceedings against any individual, even her own husband. These pragmatic Dutch women brought their belief in Equality under the law as well as their education and training in business to New Netherland.

 When the English took over in 1664, they brought their laws; equal rights for women officially disappeared. Fortunately for the She Merchants, the original British rulers of the colony weren't sticklers. For several generations among those of Dutch descent, prenuptial contracts were still drawn while those women with commerce in their bones went on doing business by using their husbands as economic "beards."

When I discovered this fascinating chunk of Herstory, I was gobsmacked. All my life--and I thought I knew more history than the "average bear"-- I had imagined that English law was all there was or ever had been, here in these United States. This was (and is) something  to consider, in terms of our understanding of American history and also in relation to today, where to be born a woman is to be an "almost but not quite" full citizen, even here.   

Roger and Mary Philipse's Georgian NYC home,

now known as the Morris-Jumel Mansion

 To finish Margaret's story: The family founded by Margaret with her second husband (the first husband was a rich elderly mentor and family friend, the second an entrepreneurial craftsman in the shipping trade) would continue to be counted among the largest and richest of colonial landowners for generations.   In 1757 when George Washington was a young fellow on the make, he attempted to capture the fancy of Margaret' Hardenbroek's granddaughter, Mary Philipse, one of the richest heiresses in the colonies. Unfortunately, Mary Philipse married Roger Morris, who chose the British side during the Revolution, thereby losing all their property in America.   

~~Juliet Waldron

http://www.julietwaldron.com

http://amzn.to/1UDoLAi    Historical Novels by JW at Amazon, including

http://amzn.to/1YQziX0  A Master Passion, the Story of Alexander and Elizabeth Hamilton  

Kitchen Apparition

http://amzn.to/1TDh07s  My Mozart  ISBN:  1927476364

What we’ve had here today has been sun, clouds, and a sort of golden light falling through autumnal trees that I think of as Don Giovanni weather. And what, you ask, makes me call it that? Well, it’s the end of October now and we are approaching Halloween, the time of year, when, in 1787, to thunderous applause and many encores, that opera was first performed. The city was Prague, not Vienna, because by that time the arbiters of taste in the latter place had decided that Mozart was no longer cool. The infamous con man, Casanova, may have sat in with Lorenzo DaPonte and Mozart, while the libretto was written, lending his own unsavory life experiences to the twists and turns of the plot.

When I entered one of those OCD states of mind to which I am prone, in the mid-eighties, it was All Mozart All The Time at our house. I began to write two Mozart novels, “Mozart’s Wife” and “My Mozart.” Wouldn’t want anyone checking out the titles to wonder what the subject was.

http://amzn.to/1Vy47lm  Mozart’s Wife  ISBN:  1461109612

This happened on a late October Saturday. The silver maples were raincoat yellow. The sky had been clear blue all morning until after lunch, but after, the wind rose and a fleet of puffy, gray-bottomed clouds began to put  a lid on things. I was doing housework, still attempting the working woman’s bit where you go double time and do lots of housework and cooking over weekends. Of course, I was blasting Don Giovanni, saturating my cells with every chord—just as I used to do all through the '60's and ‘70’s with rock’n’roll.     

Husband was off somewhere, and the house was empty of teenage sons, too, so the only nerves I was fraying were my own. In those days I had a fabulous pair of pink high top sneakers that looked ever so good with jeans. Jeepers, this was a long time ago--back in the last century...

What happened in my kitchen that afternoon is the only supernatural encounter I’ve had in this house. I think there genuinely are no ghosts here; the house was built in 1948. There has been anger, violence, and grief, but no deaths. So, in this case the "supernatural" experience focused on me.

Looking back, I can see that I'd overdosed on Mozart. And, on this day, too much Don Giovanni, too much dwelling in and on the stories of Herr WAM in which I had been immersed, re-imagining and writing in a Sheldon-Cooper-like spasm of self-indulgence. This led Mozart's dynamic, charismatic spirit, drawn by womanly hero-worship as well as the sound of his music, to pass the gate.

Nanina contemplates the skull of her maestro

The Stromboli dough I'd prepared earlier lay ready to roll out, ready to receive meat, cheese, tomato sauce, and sweet pepper, when my progress was interrupted by a loud creak followed by an unearthly groan. It was that old movie sound effect of the hinges of hell—or heaven—swinging open. It was so loud it overcame the flood of opera, pouring from the kitchen speakers.

I spun around and there he was, standing on my 1948-era brick pattern linoleum. Needless to say, after so much time he looked ghastly—the “great nosed Mozart” as a contemporary called him—shrunken, frail, his face lined with his final suffering—but undeniably present.

.

From "The Mozart Brothers" 

I saw him clear as day. My reaction—I'm not ashamed to admit—was fear. When the door opens at 3 a.m. in a dark bedroom while you are still half asleep, well, that's something you can explain as "dreams intruding upon reality." When, however, the door opens at 3 p.m. on a sun-through- clouds-afternoon, while you construct a mundane kid-pleasing Stromboli it was darn alarming.

I leapt backwards, reaching gazelle-like heights* I've never before achieved, landing all the way across the kitchen. By the time the time those pink shoes hit the vinyl, though, my ghostly idol had gone.  



~~Juliet Waldron

"August...die she must"

Credit:DavidKinghamPhotography

As summer comes to an end here in the northeastern U.S., I usually feel a sense of sadness come over me. I love summer and hate to see it go. Even this record-setting heat and humidity we’ve been experiencing for the past few weeks hasn’t put a damper on the season for me. We’ve been blessed with fresh tomatoes aplenty (three varieties), peppers, zucchinis (green and golden) and assorted herbs. And I love going shoeless in the yard :-)

The pool has been sparkling clear for my newly retired husband and Evie, our mutant springer spaniel (I don’t swim, though; don’t ask why). It’s astounding to realize that it will soon be Labor Day and schools have already reopened here. The season I wait for through the endless New England winters (which usually extend into spring) is over seemingly before it even started. 

One reason I’m feeling a bit blue is that for the umpteenth year in a row, I was unable to view the Perseid meteor showers. After a spectacular show of fireflies, the Perseid event is like the finale of a Fourth of July fireworks display. But for any number of reasons—cloudy skies for the most part, and the light pollution one experiences living close to cities—they came and went without much ado. Truly a pity since, according to astronomical forecasts, this year’s event was supposed to have been especially impressive, a “once in a decade outburst” that was seen in the southern hemisphere as well. (Read more about the Peseids here.)

I initially became excited over this phenomenon the summer I graduated

Evie, aka Dopus Dogimus, in the pool

from high school (ancient history by now), and I remember the awe and excitement of seeing them for the first time, as if I’d made some sort of unique discovery. It was a cool, mid-August night and my childhood pal, my beloved mutt Shadow, and I were sitting on one of the huge boulders at the foot of the driveway at my parents’ home in North Stamford (no light pollution there amid the trees far from city lights). We stretched out on the rock, soaking up the last warmth of the day, me on my back, Shadow in his sphinx-like doggy pose, and gazed up at the clear, starry sky. The sight was unexpected, with one “shooting star” after another, sometimes multiple streaking lights at once. Over the next few nights, Shadow and I made a point to return to our rock. On one night, I stopped counting after more than a hundred in less than an hour.

When my kids were small, I would rouse them—and my husband—from their beds at around midnight when the meteor showers were at their height. We'd lie on chaise lounges or beach blankets in the back yard and stare up at the sky and wait. But here in Central Connecticut, the sky was never quite as bright or as clear as it was in those earlier years. After much mumbling and grumbling on the part of my progeny and hubby—they were bored or tired, or both—we’d call it quits, usually without seeing a single one.

And so it’s been for the last 25-plus years. On an occasional August night, I’ve seen one or two, at most a handful, but in my back yard I have yet to see the Perseid the way I remember during that magical night when I was eighteen. (Luckily, my life hasn’t been completely bereft, as they are particularly exquisite over the Great Paconic Bay on the East End of Long Island, where my husband grew up, or along the Connecticut River east of here.)

I’ve also found a place for the meteor showers of August in my writing. Along with fireflies, which I’ve used in two books, the Perseids make an appearance in Courting the Devil, book two of “The Serpent’s Tooth” historical series, in which my heroine, Anne, experiences their awe and wonder in much the same way I did, way back when, among the trees with my old dog Shadow.

~*~

Kathy Fischer Brown is a BWL author of historical novels, Winter Fire, Lord Esterleigh's Daughter, Courting the Devil, The Partisan's Wife, and The Return of Tachlanad, her latest release, an epic fantasy adventure for young adult and adult readers. Check out her The Books We Love Author page or visit her website. All of Kathy’s books are available in e-book and in paperback from Amazon.

A Schuyler Sketch--French & Indian War to Revolution

When Albany was on the edge of the frontier...

http://amzn.to/1YQziX0  A Master Passion   ISBN: 1771456744

Catherine van Rensselaer and Philip Schuyler courted during the bloody early days of the French & Indian war. Not for the last time would the peaceful settlements of New York's frontier burn! It was, however, the last time American frontiersmen, colonial gentry, and Mohawks fought together beside the British to defeat a common foe down from Canada--French troops and their Indian allies.  

Captain Philip Schuyler played an active role in the militia and at what would come to be known as The Battle of Lake George. Here, after the near-disaster of an early morning ambush upon Americans, British, and their Mohawk allies, the tide--in northern New York --turned. In the course of a day’s hard fighting, their combined forces eventually gained a victory.

Abenaki and Caughnawaga warriors, allied to the French, had come to fight against their Mohawk cousins and against the British. Baron Dieskau, the French commander, remarked after being informed of how many men had come to oppose him, that “there were only so many more to kill.” Later, he would have to say of his foes:

“They fought in the morning like good boys, at noon like men, and in the afternoon like devils.”

Young Captain Philip Schuyler, who spoke French, would be the man entrusted to provide safe escort for the wounded French commanders to Albany, away from the vengeance of the Mohawks, whose great war chief, Hendrick Theyanoguin, had been killed during the initial part of the engagement. As William Johnson explained to the injured Dieskau: “They want to kill and eat you, and put you in their pipes and smoke you.”

Benjamin West's painting of William Johnson saving the wounded Baron from the tomahawk

Nine days later, in the midst of Albanian rejoicing for their victory and grieving for their dead, Philip was married, on September 17, 1755, to “Sweet Kitty V. R.,” also called, for her beauty, “the Morning Star.” Their first child, Angelica, was born on February 22, 1756—a mere six months later.  Their second child, Elizabeth, who would marry Alexander Hamilton, was born on August 9^th 1757 ^{– or the 7th, sources differ,}  also in the small Albany house shared with the Schuyler grandparents. 

 A “Dutch gabled house made of brick from Holland,” it stood a half mile from the Albany stockade, now the intersection of State and Pearl Streets. In those days the place was a common grazing ground, referred to as “the pastures.”   A third daughter, Peggy, arrived in September 24, 1758, and the family of five now lived in a few small rooms.  Three babies in three years must have kept Catherine busy.

Our French & Indian War--The Seven Year's War to the Europeans--involved every nation  on the continent, except the Ottoman Turks. In North America, that conflict had begun to wind down. Philip Schuyler, wanting to settle his accounts with the British army--he'd been a quartermaster, among his other duties--sailed to England to present his case. It was at this time that the building of the Schuyler's grand new home would begin, overseen by the energetic Catherine, for a brief time on a childbearing vacation.

At last it was deemed sufficiently safe to build outside of Albany's city limits, so work on what is today called the  "Schuyler Mansion" got underway, as well as the construction of a large farmhouse on family property north and east of Saratoga. As the sea lanes cleared of warships, furniture and window treatments, bed curtains and rugs of both linoleum and fine wool made their way from Europe, traveling up the Hudson.

Catherine & Philip's bedroom

Without a doubt, the three little girls' had memories of building sites and workmen--as well as their mother doing paperwork and consulting with overseers as she tended to Philip's northern plantation. Skill at balancing the books would come in handy for Elizabeth during her own adult life when her husband Hamilton was too busy with nation-building and politicking to pay close attention to his own affairs.

While in England, Philip Schuyler became fascinated by the many busy canals he observed. When he returned home, he often entertained the local farmers by demonstrating how "water could be made to run uphill." He was an early proponent of the first great engineering--and wealth-creation--project of the next century--the Erie Canal.  It was at this time too that he paid passage for skilled laborers to come settle on his lands.  One of the first flax mills in the America would be built under Schuyler's fore-sighted direction.

His wife returned to woman's business, first producing a set of short-lived (no doubt premature) twins. Ten other deliveries, including a set of triplets, would follow. The three older girls, now moved into their new home, would grow up with some small sibling continually toddling after them.

Catherine's last child, (also "Catherine,") would be born in 1781,  shortly after her eldest, party-girl Angelica--with, of course, the help of her husband, John Barker Church--had already twice made her a grandmother. George and Martha Washington came on a winter visit at the tail end of the Revolution to stand as Catherine's godparents. Daughter #2, Elizabeth, herself not far behind in the generational baby race, gave birth to her and Hamilton's first child, their beloved, ill-fated son Philip, at the Albany house early in January of 1782.

Schuyler Mansion today

I'm skipping back and forth, I know, but I'd like to end with this story. When, in 1777, during the American Revolution, General Burgoyne attacked Albany, coming down the ancient warpath, Catherine, with a few servants, made a dangerous journey in the face of an invading army to burn the wheat at their Saratoga Farm to keep it from the hungry invaders. This tale is said to be only "a tradition," but, knowing the capable, no-nonsense Mrs. Schuyler, I think I'll chose to believe it.

An 1852 re-imagining of Catherine's brave deed by Emanuel Gottlieb Leutze

~~Juliet Waldron

See all my Revolutionary War novels at Amazon

A Master Passion

Angel's Flight

Genesee

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