Mariah Melville, Lady

Maria Gansevoort Melvill (Mrs. Allan Melvill), c. 1815
Courtesy National Gallery of Art, Washington

As old hands know, the Christian name of Herman Melville's mother Maria Gansevoort Melville (1791-1872) was pronounced "Mariah" with a long "i" as in "ice" and "nine." Like Mariah Carey. That's how the U. S. Federal Census for 1860 recorded her name, Mariah Melville.

Occupation:

"Lady."

United States Federal Census, 1860 via Ancestry.com 

https://www.ancestry.com/imageviewer/collections/7667/images/4237084_00369

1860 was the first year federal census takers asked about the occupations of women:

At the census of 1860 the inquiry relating to occupations, contained on the schedule for free inhabitants, was made to apply to each person, male or female, over 15 years of age, instead of being confined, as it was in 1850, to males only. --United States Census Office, Twelfth Census of the United States

Occupation? How else could the daughter of General Peter Gansevoort answer? Lady. Ditto for her daughters.

Mariah Melville, Lady, had just turned 69 years old in April 1860; her age is given as 68 on the federal census dated June 25, 1860. Maria's brother Herman Gansevoort, age 80, is named "Harman" and listed head of household at the Gansevoort mansion in Saratoga County. Also present at the Mansion House in 1860 were Herman Melville's sisters Augusta and Fanny (each a lady); along with Jane Taylor, eighteen years old and employed as domestic servant. "Serving," so not designated "Lady." Augusta (39 in June 1860) and Fanny (age 33) were both older than the Census for 1860 indicates.

Herman Melville's uncle Herman Gansevoort died in 1862. The 1865 State Census for Saratoga County in New York gives the name of Herman's mother as Maria G. Melville, now listed first as head of household.

New York, State Census, 1865 via Ancestry.com

https://www.ancestry.com/imageviewer/collections/7218/images/004238325_00021

Herman Melville's brother Thomas Melville is also there in 1865 with sisters Augusta and "Fannie V" (that is, Fanny P? for Priscilla?). Tom's occupation is "Sea Captain."

In 1860, Herman Melville's mother and daughters held the honorable and aristocratic occupation of "Lady." As far as I can tell, no other person in the town of Northumberland, Saratoga County was so designated in the U. S. Federal Census. By contrast, the 1870 Census assigns to Maria the ordinary and generic occupation of "Keeping house." The stated monetary value of that house was anything but commonplace, however: $50,000 in Real Estate; plus $5000 for the Personal Estate.

1870 United States Federal Census via Ancestry.com

https://www.ancestry.com/imageviewer/collections/7163/images/4277081_00740

Augusta and Frances were still "At home." Domestic servants in the household of "Mellville, Maria G." in 1870 were immigrants John Quinn (from Ireland, age 30) and Keziah Stoepal (England, age 17).

Concerning the cover addressed to "Miss Maria G. Melville" as described on WorthPoint:

https://www.worthpoint.com/worthopedia/bedford-mass-maria-melville-o-allan-1847212231

No family member would have called the mother of Herman Melville "Miss." The envelope postmarked from New Bedford is addressed to Herman's niece Maria G. Melville, daughter of his brother Allan Melville. Later Maria Gansevoort Morewood (1849-1935).

"The Kennebecker" (John H. Drew) remembers Tranque

Exhibition on the first floor of the Natural History Museum in Dublin, Ireland
Bjørn Christian Tørrissen, CC BY-SA 3.0, via Wikimedia Commons

John H. Drew (1834-1890) of Hallowell, Maine sailed to Ireland with Captain Knott on The Sandwich. After tours of Dublin Castle and Trinity College, Drew visited the museum of the Royal Dublin Society where a view of the great whale skeleton there led naturally to thoughts of Moby-Dick:

"Herman Melville ought to see the skeleton of a whale that is in the grand hall. He never would write any more about that one in the island grove of his."

(From "The Kennebecker in Ireland Or, the Cruise of the 'Sandwich,' Capt. A. M. I. Knott" in the Boston Journal, Saturday, March 29, 1879)

Two whale skeletons (neither of a sperm whale) now hang from the ceiling of the National Museum of Ireland-Natural History in Dublin:

". . . of a fin whale, found at Bantry Bay in 1862, and a Humpback whale, which was found stranded at Inishcrone in County Sligo in 1893." --Paramount Hotel

Drew must have seen the Bantry Bay skeleton of a fin whale. Writing as "The Kennebecker," Drew pretends to think this fin whale skeleton even more impressive than the sperm whale skeleton at Tranque that Ishmael describes and ventures to measure in "A Bower in the Arsacides":

The ribs were hung with trophies; the vertebrae were carved with Arsacidean annals, in strange hieroglyphics; in the skull, the priests kept up an unextinguished aromatic flame, so that the mystic head again sent forth its vapoury spout; while, suspended from a bough, the terrific lower jaw vibrated over all the devotees, like the hair-hung sword that so affrighted Damocles. 

It was a wondrous sight. The wood was green as mosses of the Icy Glen; the trees stood high and haughty, feeling their living sap; the industrious earth beneath was as a weaver's loom, with a gorgeous carpet on it, whereof the ground-vine tendrils formed the warp and woof, and the living flowers the figures. All the trees, with all their laden branches; all the shrubs, and ferns, and grasses; the message-carrying air; all these unceasingly were active. Through the lacings of the leaves, the great sun seemed a flying shuttle weaving the unwearied verdure. Oh, busy weaver! unseen weaver! pause! one word! whither flows the fabric? what palace may it deck? wherefore all these ceaseless toilings? Speak, weaver!—stay thy hand!—but one single word with thee! Nay—the shuttle flies—the figures float from forth the loom; the freshet-rushing carpet forever slides away. The weaver-god, he weaves; and by that weaving is he deafened, that he hears no mortal voice; and by that humming, we, too, who look on the loom are deafened; and only when we escape it shall we hear the thousand voices that speak through it. . . . (Moby-Dick, A Bower in the Arsacides)

This 1879 Melville mention by John H. Drew is earlier than others noted in previous Melvilliana posts on The Kennebecker: on the Plum Duff yarn about Herman's younger brother Tom, fondly remembered by the Kennebecker as a rollicking dare-devil sort of sailor; and Kennebecker identified.

Bird’s-eye View of Hallowell, Kennebec County, Maine, 1878
Image Credit: World Maps Online

More on Captain Drew from Emma Huntington Nason's Old Hallowell on the Kennebec (Augusta, Maine, 1909) pages 325-6:

One of the most familiar and honored names in the long list of later Hallowell sea-captains is that of John H. Drew, well known as an able and efficient ship-officer, and as the author of a series of breezy sea-letters and picturesque descriptions of "foreign parts," which, under the signature of "The Kennebecker," appeared in the columns of the Boston Journal.

Captain Drew was born in Chelsea, formerly a part of Hallowell, on the east side of the Kennebec. He was the son of Allen Drew, ship-carver, and a man of marked individuality in the town.

Born and bred in a seafaring community, the son of the old ship-carver early manifested a strong love of the sea and an irresistible longing for the life of the sailor. When but a boy of eleven years, John Drew set sail in the forecastle, and by his own energy and ability rose to the office of captain of the Fearless. He afterwards commanded the Franklin and the Sea Witch, and sailed in many seas and visited almost every foreign port frequented by American vessels. He "doubled the Cape" many times, and was often in the Chinese and East Indian waters.

In reference to Captain Drew and his literary work, the Boston Journal prints this tribute: "Captain Drew was a self-taught man, and the large fund of information which he possessed was the fruit of reading and observation and travel in every part of the globe. He wrote without affectation or straining for effect, in a vigorous, straightforward style, breezy and original, and with the savor of the sea in every line. His racy and vivid descriptions of life on shipboard and of strange experiences in distant ports were widely popular, and few New England writers in this particular department were better known than he."

Captain Drew was always a loyal son of Hallowell, and the Kennebec was the one river of the world to him. His letters abound in local allusions and interesting reminiscences that appeal to many readers. His life was marked by the wild longings and aspirations of the boy, and the well-earned success of a brave, persistent, and genuine lover of the sea. He spent the last two years of his life in the comforts of his own home in Farmingdale, where he died in 1891 [December 11, 1890 according to the obituary notice in the Boston Journal on Friday, December 12, 1890]. The following brief tribute expresses the sentiment of many who knew and esteemed the Kennebecker: "Captain Drew was our friend. When we looked into his flashing eyes and frank, manly countenance, and received his cordial hand-grasp, we could make no mistake in the man. His friendship was unfailing, his helpfulness of the sort that assisted without embarrassing, and his heart was as free from guile as that of a child. Verily, a manly man has gone from the loving embrace of home and friends to join the innumerable multitude." -- Old Hallowell on the Kennebec 

Tom Melville yarn, retold for the Boston Journal by "The Kennebecker" (John H. Drew)

Harper's New Monthly Magazine
January 1873

Herman Melville's youngest brother as a rebellious "Yankee beggar"? Aboard a British man-of-war? Reminds me of Israel Potter....

Writing as "The Kennebecker" for the Boston Journal, John H. Drew recalls meeting his old shipmate, now Governor of Sailors' Snug Harbor on Staten Island, and retells one of Tom Melville's youthful tales of adventure in the China Seas. Excerpt below is from number 31 of "From the Pine to the Palm, or, The Cruise of the Reward" in the Boston Journal, Saturday, May 27, 1882.

The chief of the establishment, called by courtesy, I presume, the Governor, I made myself known to, and he met us at the office. We had been mates together, on the coast of China, years ago (he was a first-class one, too,) and was one of those mentioned in my “Libraries at Sea.” He had an excellent taste for literature and influenced me largely in my reading. As he received and dismissed his “habitats” here, I looked at him long and intently to see if there was anything of the crack mate about him.. There was not much. He bore his honors well, although I had wished to find more of my old officer. He handed me the entry book, in which was stated the particulars of each application. It was rather interesting. I noticed the remark often, “So-and-so has permission to attend the Catholic church.” And I wondered, if it were a Catholic institution, whether members would have permission to attend the Protestant church. I doubt it. 

THE CHIEF MATE’S STORY. 

It is well known that “the Governor” is the brother of the author “Herman Melville,” and the reader of the latter’s book “Redburn” will notice that he dedicates it to his young brother, then on his first voyage to China. It was on a voyage to and from China that the young brother stowed away many good stories to be related to his friends afterwards, and one he told me when he was “Chief” of a crack Boston clipper ship. (He sailed out of Boston ‘till the last.) I meant to have asked his permission to give this, but I forgot it, there was so much to say. And, begging his pardon (I really do not think he will care), I will give it here. He was adrift in China and looking for a ship. Now, it happened that an English ship, on board of which something had occurred—I do not recollect what just now—depriving her of her officers and crew, from captain down (perhaps it was mutiny), was recruiting a new ship’s company. An officer from a British man-‘o-war was detailed to navigate the ship to England, and the rest were, from the mates down, of the roughest sort. Our young sailor and his chum, another American, determined to try their fortunes under the British flag. There was no end of trouble and deviltry, want of discipline and everything that was good as a lark to these harum-scarum sailor boys, and the passage wore tediously on. One night in the dog watch, while the old tub of a teak-built Royal Briton was rolling along, my young friend was perched upon the poop, steering his trick at the wheel. He told me the light was a miserable slush lamp, with a wick of oakum. He could hardly see the compass, and much less the points. The noble commander was pacing the deck, and, with the aid of his eye-glass and a flicker of the rude light discovered that the ship was a point off her course. “This never’ll do, ye know,” said he; “can’t you steer the ship, you American beggar?” This stung our young sailor to the quick, and he adopted the British fashion of “cheeking” the master at once. “I can steer a ship, sir,” said he, “but not a box like this.” This caused the lord of creation to explode in fierce invectives upon all “blasted Yankees.” The consequence was, that at eight o’clock the greasy mate came aft, touched the knuckle of this forefinger to a lock of hair sticking out from under his cap, in token of respect, to await the master’s orders, who told him to turn the American for’rd and never allow him under any pretence to be seen abaft the booby hatch. The mate received his orders, and asked if he should “make it eight bells, as it was eight o’clock.” “Very well, sir, make it.” This, I believe, on board of an English ship is the rule. Eight bells in the evening is never struck, until the captain gives the order, as he may wish some other order executed first. Perhaps to tell the steward to give the men a glass of grog, and himself a “pint of half-and-half,” or a glass of wine. 

THE PLUM DUFF 

This was a wretched ship, and there was very little to eat on board. But the steward pacified the grumbling crew with the fact that “Christmas was coming,” and the master had promised a plum duff for the hands. This kept the discontented, growling men quiet for the time. I will digress here a little to say, that I, once upon a time, spent a few months in England. I noticed that among the lower classes the last half of a week seemed to be spent in looking forward to the Sabbath, when they were to have the only real meal of the week, their “roast biff” and plum pudding, or “bit of pork and cabbidge,” and they dwelt on that for the first half of the week that followed, when they turned their longing appetites to the following Sunday. It seemed so to me. The captain of this ship probably was acquainted with this habit, and thought he could use Christmas the same as his countrymen did the Sabbath, i.e., life on it for a long passage. The duff was brought in to the forecastle (by the boys of course), and the eager crew gathered around it. It was a miserable batch of wormy, dirty flour, boiled in greasy water, and very few plums. One old Jack began by saying “it was like a piece of bloody putty, the bloody stuff.” The there was no end to the indignation. Was this what they had waited and wished for so long—borne with so much of want and hunger for? “I’ll tell you what it is,” said my young friend’s chum, the American, “if that was brought into an American ship’s forecastle we would not stand it a moment.” “No more will we” snorted an old barnacle back. “What say ye, mates, shall we carry it aft?” “Aye! aye! aft with it!” joined the savage chorus.

This carrying a complaint aft to the British lion’s den is a delicate business, and has to be arranged with a great deal of ceremony and etiquette. So it was performed in this case as follows. Two of the oldest hands headed the crew each with his tin pan and piece of duff. Another old “heart of oak” that looked in his whiskers like a rat peeping out of a bunch of oakum, carried the kid (a small wooden tub), with a half of the duff cut in the centre. The rest of the crew followed in order according to their age and rank. The steward, dodging about the cabin, saw the approaching “circus,” and went up the cabin steps in time to receive the request of the foremost delegation for an interview with the captain. That awful functionary leisurely and gravely made his appearance (I have read some English author who says if you wish to impress others with your greatness, make them wait for you), and haughtily demanded “the meaning of all this blasted row?”

The old men stated their case with their hats in their hands, each one with a lock of hair over his left eye, and wished to know if the master called that stuff (in their pans) fit for the people to eat. “I don’t see anything the matter with it.” “But taste it—taste it,” was the demand. “Steward, steward, fetch me a fork,” he pompously ordered. The steward brought the fork, whereupon he deliberately detached a morsel with a plum in it, put it in his mouth, and pronounced it excellent, most excellent duff, they had ought to be ashamed to complain of such fare, and grandly ordered the crew forward. This was too much. “You like it, do you, sir?” exclaimed one of the men. “Well, you can have mine, sir,” and he hove it at the captain as he would a snow ball. “Yes, yes,” said another, “take mine,” and he let fly. Then they all roared in chorus, “You like it? Eat mine and mine!” and they began to pelt him, ‘till the old man with the kid yelled, “Yes, sir! take it all, you are welcome to it,” and hove kid and all down the stairs. Then they let their pans go at him. And the “dirty mate,” as they called him, and our “Yankee beggar,” who was forbidden to come aft the booby-hatch, stood upon this coigne du vantage, took good aim over the heads of the rest and knocked the master’s gold braided hat off.

The discomfited commander beat a retreat, the sailors had their revenge and felt better, the result was that the “official log” was produced, I suppose the British honneur noted the proceedings down “by act of Parliament,” etc., etc. It was read over to the ringleaders that they had insulted an officer in the Queen’s navee by pelting him with duff, etc., for all of which they would be fined a day’s pay or something like that sort, and they witnessed and signed it, exclaiming it was worth a day’s pay and they did not care a pinch of snuff for it.

I have added the last sentence, as I do not recollect the result; but this would be the lawful and usual one. I have seen such things more than once, being in contact so much with English ships, in their own ships at home and abroad. …

But to return. No one would think the “Yankee boy” that hove the last piece of duff at the English captain was now the reserved, dignified Governor before us. To appreciate the story one ought to have heard him, the dashing mate, afterward captain of the clipper ship Meteor, of Boston, relate it. Scenes like these have eminently fitted him to enter into all the troubles of a sailor’s life and to be their Governor. Long may he wave....

Found online at genealogybank.com

"The Kennebecker" identified!

Sketches of nautical adventure in the Boston Journal reveal "The Kennebecker" as a friend and former shipmate of Thomas Melville, Herman's youngest brother.

Citing materials at the Maine Historical Society, Worldcat identifies the journalist "Kennebecker" as
John H. Drew (1834-1890)

Ship captain and later correspondent of the Boston Journal; b. in Chelsea, Me.; d. in Farmingdale, Me.; lived in Hallowell and Gardiner and commanded many of the ships sailing from Boston, including the Fearless, Sea Witch, and Franklin. One of the series he wrote for the Boston Journal was "The Cruise of the Sea Witch." 

Scrapbook of newspaper clippings pasted over a Portland & Rumford Falls Railway train orders book, chiefly consisting of letters (1890) by John H. Drew, the "Kennebecker" correspondent of the Boston Journal. Also includes "A tribute from his native place" (1890) and "Notes" (1924). Compiler is unknown.  (Worldcat)

As noted previously here, The Kennebecker also wrote for the Boston Journal about cruises of The Reward and The Pathfinder.

Herman's brother Tom Melville remembered as "the rollicking, dare-devil sort"

Next in the list came Capt. Thomas Melville, Governor of the Sailors’ Snug Harbor at Staten Island. We met as mates of Boston Indiamen in the far East. I have mentioned him in earlier letters. He was one of the rollicking, dare-devil sort in his youth, and you could not help admiring him. He afterward commanded the Boston ships Meteor and Bengal. Then he settled down as staid Governor of the Snug Harbor, a glorious institution. He was the youngest brother of Herman Melville, the author who dedicated his fascinating book, “Redburn,” to him, then a young sailor on board the Celestial en voyage for China.

-- "Cruise of the Ship Pathfinder / Home from the Land of the Rising Sun," Number 28, by"The Kennebecker," Boston Journal, December 27, 1887; accessible at genealogybank.com

This "Kennebecker" mentioned Herman and Thomas Melville in previous series for the Boston Journal, "From the Pine to the Palm, or the Cruise of the Reward." Herman Melville is mentioned in the June 9, 1881 and February 10, 1882 issues of the Boston Journal; the May 27, 1882 number involves Thomas Melville in a long yarn titled "The Chief Mate's Story."
For updates see Tom Melville Yarn and Kennebecker identified!