A MYSTERY FROM THE DEEP

 This is a short but fun post!

  For most of my life I have been a doll collector.  From the day as a ten or so year old when I found a valuable French doll in a shaky antique shop with a leaky roof I have been interested.  With years of being active in the pursuit of dolls interspersed with periods of moving onto other things such as raising a family, home ownership and other activities there have been times when I was less than active..

By the 1980s I had settled down in the Lanesville section of Gloucester, MA, America's oldest fishing port, which is now approaching its 400th birthday in 2023.  Preparations for a grand celebration are well under way and going full tilt.

In the mid 1980s I met a friend who would remain a good friend until the present.  She had a custom, like many others, of walking on Pavilion Beach in central Gloucester.  Edie, my friend,  told me of picking up beach glass as she walked the beach. 

What was unusual was that along with finding glass she kept finding doll parts: tiny limbs and other parts made of bisque, an unglazed china.  I knew of these tiny dolls as dollhouse dolls and that they came from Germany, were very cute and not expensive.   They date to the late 19th century, probably after 1880 and were made in great numbers at least up until 1900.  Certainly they do not date to later than the World War I period.

I found this odd but mildly interesting.

Edie moved to upstate New York and although I kept in touch we had no more conversations about the tiny dolls on the beach.

Then a few years ago, circa 2015, thirty years after hearing about the doll parts, another friend, Shelley, mentioned that she, too, liked to walk Pavilion Beach and had found doll parts.  After all that time it seemed odd.

More recently, on  Facebook, someone posted a photo of sea glass  collected and there in the middle of the glass photo was a doll's arm!     

After I commented on the arm more people came forward to say they knew others who had found doll parts until I heard of maybe a half dozen people.  One gentleman said his mother had lived near the beach and had picked up and collected jars full of tiny doll parts. 

I have no answers to this mystery.  One would conclude that a long ago vessel was bringing these dolls to America from Germany must have gone down in the vicinity but who knows where the currents in the ocean would take them.  Should we assume this unknown ship went down perhaps 125 years ago?  If so, how many dolls were loaded on that vessel?

The doll parts are still washing ashore and it remains a mystery from the deep.  Has everyone of the many who have walked that beach for years found doll parts?

I suspect many have and think it will remain a mystery.  However if you can add to the story I'll be listening.

As one Facebook contributor wisely said, "Sometimes the rhymes and rhythms of the sea are hard to explain".  

  Some of these dolls are not jointed and their limbs don't move.  They are called Frozen Charlottes.  The group above are unjointed. Here is their melancholy story from about 1840.

"Frozen Charlotte dolls get their name from an American folk ballad “Fair Charlotte,” which is a cautionary tale about a girl who, after refusing to wear warm clothing in the cold because she didn’t wish to cover her beautiful dress, freezes to death (again, creepy.) The poem and song were about a real girl named Charlotte, who went riding with her suitor, Charlie, to a winter ball in 1840. When she arrived at the ball, she had frozen to death. The story says Charlie died of a broken heart soon afterward, and they were buried together in a single tomb."

           

 

            OUR CAPITOL

                                                  THE WAY IT WAS                                 

                                                        MAY 5, 1851

                               The Capitol before being enlarged after 1850

Early in the day, January 6, 2021 we innocently went about our business with no hint of the terrible events that would unfold in front of our eyes before the day was over.  In tears  millions watched the desecration of our Capitol in utter disbelief.

As the days passed the news did not get any better but while trying to digest what had happened I remembered a cherished letter written by a relative long ago.  After reading it again I knew I wanted to share it.

We are so filled with despair and disappointment.  Every day brings another blow to democracy.  Integrity, happiness and a sense of well-being are at an all-time low.  It wasn't always this way!

The writer of the letter was George Bryant born in Paris, Maine in 1830.  His great grandparents had settled in Maine, still part of Massachusetts, soon after the Revolution when several families made the trek to the District of Maine from Plymouth County, Massachusetts.  They cleared the fields and built their houses.  When the hardest days were over twenty one year old George was in the state of Virginia having traveled to Washington by train from Boston.  George Bryant had wonderful penmanship.  Today we would call him a caligrapher but he called himself a teacher of chirography which meant penmanship. It was said that he hoped to write calling cards for the senators. 

                                                    George Bryant's Caligraphy

                       

The year was 1851 and he wrote a letter to his grandfather, Arodus Bryant, back home on a hillside in Paris, Maine.  What follows in the letter is his account of the trip.  The excitement and the feelings of patriotism he felt as he saw the nation's capitol for the first time are almost palpable.  The letter was saved and a copy miraculously came to me from another descendant in New Jersey now an internet acquaintance.

This young man was a farm boy from Maine living on a two hundred acre farm, and yet, he wrote with eloquence and clearly was well informed.  These rural New Englanders were educated and lived their lives with dignity.

                                       Caligrapher George Bryant with his quill pen

Dear Grandfather,

   Thinking that a letter from "Old Virginia: might interest you while sunning yourself by those front windows, I have resolved to write you one and give you a short account of my travels thus far and to describe to some extent the manner and customs of these people here.  Yet I hope to give you a more detailed and interesting account when I return home as this must necessarily be very limited and superficial.

   I intend to make you a long visit of one week when I get back in order to make up for what I have lost.  I as much intended to make you a visit while at home, as one could but the day appointed was stormy and the only day I could before starting if I went at the time agreed upon.

   I will give you a line about my journey.

   We started from Boston at 1:00 o'clock in the morning with an excursion party bound for Washington. The tickets were for the whole trip to Washington and back so I had to buy a ticket for the trip at risk of not being able to sell the back half, which it was my good luck to do before I got to New York.

   We arrived at New York about 1:00 o'clock in the afternoon and could have gone to Philadelphia that night if our tickets had been on this route so we were obliged to stop until the next day at noon. We then started for Philadelphia and arrived there at 5:00 PM and after waiting three or four hours, we took the cars for Baltimore and after riding all night we arrived there about 5:00 in the morning.  We then took the cars for Washington and in less than 2 hours were in the City of Washington.

   And according to the nature of all Americans, the first thing to look for was the magnificent building known the world over as the CAPITOL OF THE UNITED STATES.   As we got out of the depot behold, there it stood, a most magnificent edifice upon a rise of ground not more than 40 rods from the depot.

   Without further ceremony and with hurried step we all rushed up the avenue which led to its entrance and after ascending many stone steps, more noble than I ever before imagined, we came to the long anticipated spot.  And here we beheld architecture approximating as near to perfection, seemingly, as art or science ever can produce.  But with this we were not satisfied.  We longed to see the great men and renowned patriots of the ages, but this session hour being at the late hour of 12:00, we spent our time exploring the building and examining the (illegible word) connected with it.

These alone are enough to interest one for days.  At length the session drew nigh and we all

repaired to the House and Senate galleries.  You can scarcely imagine our feeling of sublimity as we mused upon the scene.

   We were in the far-famed apartment that for many years has thundered with a nation's eloquence and poured forth a nation's sentiments. Here, too, the courts transpire which fill the public print throughout the land stimulating every mind from the school-boy to the gray-haired veteran, and here is where men have gained a distinction that shall render their names immortal and mingle them with a nation's glory in all coming time. Here too is concentrated the pathetic strife of more than 20 million of the human race.  Here Clay and Webster are wont to raise their voices resounding from Maine to Mexico/

   As we were thus wrapped in sublime meditation, Thomas Benton came in with a lion's authority stamped upon his countenance.  He took his seat and began looking over some books and papers.  He had come in a little before the rest and we soon learned that he was about to make a speech.  In a short time they all came in and took their seats, many of which we recognized by their likeness in books and frames.

   If you have a picture of Henry Clay you know just how he looks.  I think he has the best shrewd, self-possessing and eloquent expression ever beheld.  Cass wears an expression very intelligent and noble in appearance but I suppose you would have one speak about a Whig rather than old Lewis Cass, if he is a much smaller man. I would gladly go on giving a description of things connected with the Capitol but it is getting near bedtime and the sheet is nearly full.

   I will just say that we heard Benton make a speech followed by one from Clay.  As I had but little time to spend in Washington I made it in my way to visit most of the public buildings but was most interested in the Patent Office where I saw the old original Constitution, the military coat and equipment worn by the immortal Washington, Franklin's old printing press and a thousand other things of interest which have not room here to insert.

   I am in Virginia and enjoying myself pretty well.  It is cold here for the time of year and very changeable.  There is not so much difference between seed time here and in Maine as I supposed.  Many are not half through planting yet.  It was warm here the last of February as it is now.

   I should be happy to have a letter.  I have written this in great haste and you must not take it to be a fair specimen of my writing but excuse it.

Yours ever, 

George Bryant 

Sadly, this young man, born May 9, 1830, well educated and with such promise and enthusiasm for life died on June 17, 1852 a year after he wrote the letter.  He was only twenty two years old but had experienced more than most his age, who were brought up in the District of Maine.  He was buried in the neighborhood cemetery just over the stone wall from the house he called home.

The Bryant Homestead in East Oxford, Maine

                                                                 Built 1798

George Bryant celebrated America and rejoiced in being an American  He was in awe of the leaders in the Senate and thrilled to see them, hear them and witness them in action.  There was no hint of division, disorder or protest on the streets of Washington: and no thugs storming the capitol.  Respect for their conscientious leaders was the order of the day.

How ignorant and pathetic are those murderous hoodlums that took over the Capitol on January 6, 2021. Where is the dignity and respect that flourished in years gone by?  

Today, one hundred and sixty nine years since George Bryant expressed himself with such joy, passion and patriotism, Washington has become a different place.

RIP George Bryant

                             Shepards Field Cemetery, burial place of George Bryant