Clamming in Labrador

"The Boss & the Gang (College Students from U.S. College)"

Repeatedly, I asked Joe Souley, John Patey, and the other fishermen who worked at the time “on the Room” (mission) if there were no clams in the harbor. The bottom at low tide looked just right for long clams, but they always said, “No.” One day I took a bucket and spade and went up to the “top” of the harbor (a mile) and came back with some good-sized one. The mud was full of them. When I showed them to Joe, he blurted, “Skipper, them are no clams, they be Cocks and Hens.” “Don’t you ever eat them?” I asked. “Not if we can help it, all durin’ the Starvation Winter we had nothin’ else, and never ate ‘em since.” Our reasonably meager diet was often increased by clam bisque, clam-pie, and fried clams; soon other Mission folk followed and after a meal at our house, Joe and some other of the harbor folk followed suit—but gingerly. They had had enough.

They didn’t know that many other groups, Indians and settlers, have survived starvation winters by the same means as is attested by the great shell heaps long the coast from Maine to Florida.

Joe Souley was a great person. He could neither read nor write but he knew a lot about life and human nature. He has sailed the seven seas and could describe ports, like Liverpool, that I had seen so accurately that I trusted his description of those I had not seen. And year after when I saw Yokohama, and Fuji, it looked just as Joe said it ought to.

Joe had worked in a copper mine up the coast at Tilt Cove and knew how to use dynamite. He taught me how to blast, but he couldn’t temper drills. They would be too soft and not hold an edge, or too brittle and break. I had watched Andy Jagger in the blacksmith’s shop on the way home from school, blown the bellow fro him, broken his twist drills, and learned many things from him. I remembered that he heated things he wanted to temper to a “cherry-red” and then dipped them in oil. Just what color cherry-red was while in a forge fire memory didn’t say, but trail and error demonstrated that it could be done.

Great boulders stood in the way of our pipe lines and cellars and much blasting was indicated.

(After his first Cottage Hospital was under roof, the Doctor, so he told me, had thought of a cellar and got a miner to blast—the roof was damaged! So we did our blasting first.)

Joe would have me hold the drill, then with a giant sledge he would begin to strike while I turned the drill in the hole. Then brave man, he took his turn holding while I . . . swung the sledge, fortunately for him I never missed—my old grandfather coming to the rescue. (I am a great believer in atavism—or whatever it may be called. Cap’n Harry, my grandfather, was a skilled mason (he built most of Greenwich Village in New York, over a hundred years ago.) He once was known to have cut the center out of a millstone to convert it into a well curb, cut it—on a bet—in thirty minutes. He knew how to swing a maul; I’m sure he was there fifty years later, for my help. (What’s fifty years among Yankees?)

--Jesse Halsey
1912

Southampton C1887

--> Jesse Halsey

Memory prompts me to go down the village street as it was some 50 years ago. Following the old Indian trail, likely the early settlers placed their houses along the winding way that they called the main street. All the early houses, salt-box style, faced the south. The next generation built their house close to the street, many of the porches coming out even with the sidewalk. The street was wide and line on both sides by massive trees, many of them spreading elms. The trail was deep with dust in the summer, almost impassable with mud in the springtime, and in the winter rough with ruts.

The railroad came through about the time I was born, linking the villages with New York, about ninety miles to the west. Before that, most commercial and cultural connections were with New England; trading vessels plying between Boston and New London, Stonington, and our Island. At the north end of our Main Street there was a Scotch immigrant familiarly called Josh Ellison; he had four boys and six girls. Five of the latter, as I remember, succumbed in a diphtheria epidemic that swept through the village long before the time of anti-toxins. The oldest boy became a very skilled cabinet maker and wood carver. The second boy, John, went to work for the village painter. My older sisters were painting their bedroom and wanted some cream colored paint for wood work. They sent me, a boy of five or six, to the other end of the village where the paint-shop was located. I delivered my order and came home with a quart of the paint that John had mixed. When the girls applied it they found it was a brilliant colonial yellow. My older brother commented at the supper table that night, “The cream from John Ellison’s cows must be a deeper color than from ours.” (I told this story to John Ellison last summer. He still owns the paint business and half the local bank, but he did not seem to appreciate my story.)

Next down the street came “Uncle” Sam Bishop. I remember one day as a boy coming home from Camp’s Pond with a big load of wood. Mud was deep; the horses had all they could pull. As we came by Uncle Sam’s house he called out to me, “Choose a good rut, boy, you’ll be in it for a long time.” Back of the present circumstances there may have been a subtle philosophy.

Next door lived Walter Jagger whose buildings were always freshly painted, his whole farmstead meticulously kept and his farm work was always a week ahead of anyone else’s. He took the latest agriculture journals and was in many ways the most progressive man in the community. Naturally at the time when the little red school houses gave place to a union school and later added a high school, Mr. Walter was the president of the school board. The first graduating class of the new high school put on a “banquet” at the one hotel that catered to the summer visitors. The first course was bouillon served in double-handled cups. Mr. Walter, who presided led off by adding cream and sugar to his cup and saying so all could hear, “The sailors always start the day with coffee, but I suppose New Yorkers who don’t get up until noon have it for dinner. Just why they have to have two handles on the cup I do not know, but here goes.” “Strange tasting coffee,” he remarked, “but one has to keep up with the times.”

His brother [Charles A. Jagger (1862-1914)], living nextdoor, was the editor of the local paper. He had a Ph.D. from a Germanuniversity and had real literary skill. Having some financial resources (his father had been a 49-er in California) it is doubtful if he ever made his newspaper pay. In cold weather it was scarcely legible because the ink stayed sticky in the cold pressroom. Dr. Jay had political opinions and maybe ambitions. He was always in controversy with someone in the village, the President, or the Congressman. He could lay it on thick and his editorials were the talk of the village, and I imagine of the whole county. He was killed when his primitive automobile, likely . . .

List of Southampton Folks Influential to Jesse

from the folder marked "HALSEY AUTOBIOGRAPHY Carbons," this half page of notes reads:

Ed Foster – Natural Prayer

Miss Mallory – Cheating Boy

Frank Corwith – Fold Paper

Pop Johnson – Black Shoes

Madison - Boy like that.

Jen Baird- Ella Bennett

Father and 46 Psalm

Dr. Campbell – Leave it there

Wilson – Any other way

Edgar Hildreth

M Jagger-

Lil Halsey

Chas Foster – Pro Bono Publico

Encouragement – M. Jagger

Chas A. Jagger

Wm H Pierson

M. A Herrick – Thank God; best part of Education

Warren Hildreth – Don’t you think you ought to?

Honesty. Encouragement –

Abigail and Book – Poetry

MEMORIALS OF THE NORTH END: Part Two

by Lizbeth Halsey White

We often wonder what has become of our old houses for they were built to last for generations, but having no fire protection, except buckets and a well sweep, very many of them were reduced to ashes. The old David Jagger homestead on the North Sea road, built in 1707, was burned February 8, 1891. This farm was allotted to John Jagger I, before 1667, and some of the land is still owned by his descendents. For many years a lane opened this farm out to the North End of Main Street. The road passed just to the south of the Samuel Bishop homestead but it was closed some years ago. The Revolutionary Patriot of the Jagger family was Ebenezer Jagger and it was his son, Ebenezer, who in 1805 bought from the estate of Isaac Post the farm now owned by Hubert A. Jagger.

This frontage extended as far north as the road to Seven Ponds. In many of the records this road is known as Bishop’s Lane, but the name seems to have fallen into disuse. Let us see to it that the old names of our streets are retained.

The Albert Jagger farm across the street descended from his grandfather, Deacon Moses Culver. In 1799, Daniel Foster and his wife, Phebe, sell to Moses Culver, Blacksmith, his house and home lot, bounded north by Samuel Bishop, south and west by land of Samuel Post. Mr. Albert Jagger also was a “Fortyniner” and his letters written during this adventure have preserved to us the story of the Sabina and the ensuring experiences in the gold fields. He is also noted in the village for the daguerreotypes which he made so successfully and which have preserved for us the likenesses of his contemporaries.

Next north to the home of John Bishop were those of Daniel Sayre and his brother Francis. These were sons of Thomas and brothers of Job, for whom Job’s Lane was named. The home lots of Francis and Daniel Sayre would extend today from Mrs. Wilmun Halsey’s north and would include Roe’s Hotel. There is a curious record dated June 2, 1701: “It is ordered by the trustees that John Foster Jr. and Isaac Halsey Jr. shall go to Daniel Sayre and give him legal warning to throw out the Town’s land that he has taken in upon ye front of his home lot adjoining to ye Main St. within one month or expect to be sued by the Town for trespass.” Daniel Sayre moved to Bridgehampton and as he died only six years after this incident he must have moved soon after he had set back his fence. The property of Daniel Sayre is known to us as “Charles Selden’s” and is now the home of his son, Charles R. Halsey, and his daughter Mrs. Anthony Wilde. The place has descended to them from the Great-Grand-Sire, Paul Halsey, whose name is among the Patriots of the Revolution. Layton Avenue was laid out through this farm and the let on the north was originally a part of it. This for some time was owned by Joshua Halsey, whose name is also on the honor roll of the Revolution. The house now standing on the property was built in the 70s by the Eldredge brothers of Sag Harbor but for a number of years it was associated with the name of Daniel Y. Bellows who with his family made it their home. The house when built was an innovation, for it was close on the street with a basement entrance, and steps on either side leading up to the main floor. Its builders had visions of a city block, which even yet has not materialized.

On the land to the north occupied by Francis Sayre his descendants lived for one hundred and seventy years.

In 1822, Stephen Sayre and his wife Elizabeth sold to Moses Culver a “tract of land with dwelling house and buildings” 20 acres, price $1,000. This is the quaint old Cape Cod house still standing, given to Phebe Culver by her father. Phebe married Samuel Sanford who in 1843 was one of a committee to purchase land for the Methodist Church in Good Ground. In 1851, they sold the place to Septa Jackson who moved here from East Hampton. It is from the lips of his daughter, Mrs. Sarah Terry, that we have heard much delightful reminiscence of the neighborhood she knew as a girl. Their nearest neighbor on the south was Cabel Halsey, and on the north Peter Fournier. Across the street was only open fields from Lewis Sandford’s (whose home was where Leon Terry now lives) as far as Albert Reeves (now owned by Albert Roger). This field was known as Post’s Lot, as it was owned by Capt. George Post, and here Edward White says he drove the cows to pasture when a boy.

It was in the early 70s that Capt. Daniel Havens built the house on the hill which was his home for many years. With its terraced garden it has always been an attractive landmark. Here, Principal John G. Peck lived for several years when he first came to Southampton. The hill, still vacant, was purchased by the Catholic Society with the intent that their church would be built there. It is still owned by them and the North End children have a coasting place in winter.

John Rogers built his home at the foot of the hill and in the late 70s the Thompson Bros. built for a boarding house the building, which for some time has been owned by the family of the late Henry N. Clark.

The store at the north was added to accommodate The Sea-Side Times, Southampton’s first newspaper. This paper was established in 1881 by Walter R. Burling, who established local newspapers in several other villages and he was known as the veteran newspaper editor of Long Island. Two of his sons remain in Southampton to carry on his important contribution to the community.

The Sea-Side Times after a time became the property of Charles A. Jagger, who was its editor at the time of his death in 1914. Dr. Jagger edited also a series of periodicals known as the Southampton Magazine, which has preserved to us many incidents of early and more recent local happenings which otherwise would have been lost to the future.

The home of Peter Fournier is now a part of the south wing of Ree’s Hotel. The grandfather of Peter Fournier came to this country about 1750 and settled in Southold. He went as a Refugee to Connecticut during the Revolution and fought in the third line. His name is signed—Francis Fournier, Frenchman. So we know that he was one of the many gallant representatives of that country who gave not only their sympathies but their service also to the struggling colonists in their efforts to achieve independence.

After the war he settled in Red Creek and he was known for his vineyards. Of the large family of Peter Fournier, only two remained in Southampton. John Fournier built the house next north and nearest the Railroad Station and “Arabella” will be long remembered for her quaint eccentricities.

It was Mrs. Sarah Terry who told us of the building of Mr. Wm. R. Post’s house, which she said was called a mansion because it had a cupola.

As long ago as 1836, a piece of land of several acres on the north side of the Pelletreau property was sold to Captain James Parker, who was a whaling captain. In 1849, he went with the Sabina to California, where he died April 29, 1851. His stone is in the old North End Cemetery with that of his four wives, the last of whom we knew as “Aunt Milly Parker.”

Captain Parker’s daughter Charlotte became the wife of Wm. R. Post who bought the property of the estate of his father-in-law and built the palatial home which was the wonder of its day and still remains one of the most beautiful homes of the village.

Wm. R. Post was born in the South End—the son of Captain James Post and his wife Hannah Rogers. He was a man of excellent business ability and became the leading citizen of the community. He was Supervisor of the Town, Elder in the Presbyterian Church, and Superintendent of its Sunday School. If there was anything anybody wanted to know they went to Mr. Post. He was very tall and well proportioned and carried himself with the dignity, which befitted his position in the community.

He was very fond of young people and had a way of asking questions about things in our geography or arithmetic, which we ought to know and didn’t know. The writer remembers sitting upon the high stool before his office desk and one of the questions asked she has never forgotten. She had never to her knowledge heard anyone say, in school or out, how many towns there are in Suffolk County, but it didn’t take her long to find out. Many children thought him stern but our mother’s children knew him for his kindly smile and friendly greeting as he came to the back door each morning for the milk.

Mr. Post married for his second wife, Mary, one of the five daughters of Jonathan Fithian. Squire Fithian came to Southampton as a very young man (1818) and taught first in the District School and afterwards in the Academy. He was born in East Hampton, where his ancestors had settled early in its history. He married Abigail, daughter of Thomas Sayre, and their home was built upon the lot now occupied by Willis Corwin. The large acreage next north now owned by Edgar Hildreth was for many years known as the “Fithian Lot.” Five lively girls and a genial father and mother made their home a popular social center and the name of the “Fithian Girls” became a synonym for life and mirth and wholesome fun. They all married except one, but this is another tragedy of the California gold-lure.

Squire Fithian filled the office of Town Clerk in Southampton for twenty years. He was Justice of the Peace from 1828 until his death in 1865. He also served several terms as Supervisor of the Town. In Volume IV page 288 of the Town Records, Wm. S. Pelletreau, who at that time was Town Clerk, has included a memorial to the memory of Jonathan Fithian. In the published address of Mr. Pelletreau, delivered at the 250^th anniversary of the settling of the town (1876) after eulogizing the soldiers of the Civil War, he concludes, “Let the greenest wreath and the fairest flower of today be brought as a tribute to the memory of Jonathan Fithian, the incorruptible magistrate, who living enjoyed the confidence of this citizens and dying left no nobler soul behind.”

After the death of her husband, “Aunt Abbie” went to live with her daughters “up the river” in Newburgh. As her life went out there was born across the street from her old home in the North End, a baby girl and Abigail Fithian lives on, a reminder of the neighbor and friend so greatly beloved.

Courtesy Lizbeth Halsey White Files, Southampton Historical Museum Archives and Research Center