A Pioneer Thanksgiving

       The first ''Thanksgiving" of which I have any recollection was many years ago, "away down in Maine," in the old farmhouse that was located upon the banks of the St. Croix river at Calais, Washington county. At this place we held our annual festival.

       Preparations had been going on for nearly a week for the coming event; the old brick oven was touched up with fresh mortar, so that an equal heat would be distributed; the turkeys and geese had received extra attention in the way of increased rations; new kitchen utensils of various kinds had been purchased; the curtains had been raised in the parlor for nearly a week, while everything received a general ventilation, which was a rare thing in those early homes of New England.

       The day previous to Thanksgiving was ''our busy day." The old brick oven was taxed to its utmost capacity with bread, mince, apple and pumpkin pies, while the big kettle that hung on the crane over the kitchen fire, was kept busy turning out long twisted doughnuts of such delicious flavor and beautiful color, that I can scarce refrain from smacking my lips even now at thought of them. I can distinctly hear them sizzle and sputter as they were taken from the boiling fat and placed in the large mixing pan. Another kettle contained tallow, which was to be used in molding candles, as darkness in these November days came very early in the afternoon, and we were not in touch with the electric light system except upon special occasions - during thunder storms.

       What could not possibly be accomplished that day was put off until the following morning, and taken up early before the oven had time to cool off.

       At five o'clock all of the family were up and ready for the duties of the day. The round tin lanterns with holes punched in them, were lighted and ready for use - the rays emanating from them being about equal to those emitted by a firefly of the second grade on the Minnesota bottoms. With these imagined "lights," the men folks proceeded to the barn to milk the cows and take care of the stock, while the women prepared the morning meal.

       After family devotions we sat down to breakfast just at peep of day, and it was then that we first learned who were to be the guests at the Thanksgiving dinner. In recalling these old days, I am obliged to scrape off a deep layer of moss that has collected on the tombstone of time before deciphering the names and bringing them clearly to mind. Now that I recall these once familiar names of Dr. Burke, Parson Woods and others, it seems that they must have belonged to some previous state of existence.

       Things were never done by halves in those days. Lack of ability and means of accommodation were the only limit.

       Breakfast dishes were cleared away, a fire was started in the parlor fireplace, the ''young ones" were washed and dressed for the occasion, and then all was in readiness to proceed with the dinner in order to be as nearly as possible prepared to receive the guests, who were to arrive at eleven, though we were not to dine until three in the afternoon. This fact lent lent new importance to the day, as the usual dinner hour in all families was at noon.

       We "kids" had a first class circus, going into the cookies and doughnuts, and scraping the cake tins that were passed over to us to keep us quiet. It is impossible at this late day to recall all we did, but a vivid memory remains of the occasional spankings we received.

       The big clock that stood like a sentinel in the corner and reached from the floor almost to the ceiling, indicated that the time was only 10:30 when the guests began to arrive. They all came in sleighs as the winters in those days were not trifling, but meant business from November to March.

       Their teams were cared for; bricks and flatirons that had served as foot-warmers were carried into the house and put into a convenient place till the time came to heat them for the return trip.

       When all the company had put aside their wraps and thawed themselves out in front of the spacious and cheerful fireplace, father suggested to the minister that we had better have prayers, as was the custom at all gatherings whether social or religious. This was about noon, and all were seated in the parlor or hallway, while the logs in the huge fireplace lighted up the scene with their lurid blaze and sent volumes of smoke up the mammoth chimney.

       Father was considered a very good revival singer, but he usually pitched the tunes so high that he was obliged to "do-me-sol" a number of times before it was a go; hence it was thought best on this occasion to have the parson lead off, as he had taught singing school previous to receiving a call to preach, and he found it convenient to use this accomplishment on many occasions, especially when requested to sing any of the ''penny royal" hymns. He had a great helpmeet in his wife, she that was Liddy Duren, the second daughter of Capt. Eben Duren of the fishing fleet that left Machias port every season for a six months' cruise.

       The minister was desirous that all should sing, and was especially anxious to hear the children's voices. The hymn selected was one with which all Washington county people were familiar, and was known as one of ''Dr. Watt's soul, invigorators." A violent tap of the tuning fork on the side of the fireplace was followed by a "do-me-sol-m-m-m," while the parson's eyebrows took a back seat on his noble brow, and his lips were shaping themselves to untangle the medley of song that was seeking expression from his swan-like throat. When all had sounded the keynote correctly, they plunged into the service of song, as the boys say, "for keeps." Not a single verse of the whole fourteen escaped, although some difficulty was experienced in keeping track of the first lines; but one of the brethren who was more familiar with this particular hymn than the others, volunteered to help out in all lapses of memory.

       When the hymn had ended all knelt for prayer. The minister, who led, w^as followed by his wife, Dr. Burke and father. Bear in mind that the prayers in those days were of the "hot crop" material, and full doses at that; each prayer was fully half an hour long as indicated by the clock that was in full view of where we were kneeling. Those devout souls were not concerned about the time, as they knew dinner would not be ready until three o'clock, and they could give the intervening hour to this duty and pleasure.

       Mother and one of the friends of the family could not come in to attend prayers, as it was important that some one should look after the dinner. We thought what a fine snap mother was having in the kitchen and at the brick oven, tasting the many good things that were cooking, to see if they were "seasoned just right."

       After prayers, several hymns were sung to pass away the time before the summons to dinner.

       Every crack and crevice in the house was penetrated with the aroma of roast turkey and goose, boiled onions, and a medley of other edibles, the thought of which at this very moment gives me a touch of dyspepsia.

       To make everything pass off "ship-shape," father had one of the Dyer boys come out from town for this occasion, especially to blow the dinner horn. This was a large couch shell with which my mother called the men folks from the meadow in haying time, and was considered a great curiosity. At precisely a quarter to three, the horn was blown, as the signal for all to proceed to the dining room, where long tables were groaning under their heavy loads, temptingly arranged for the nearly-starved assembly.

       We "kids" were not bidden to the feast at the first table, but were admonished to keep quiet and amuse ourselves in the parlor until the company had finished, and then we would be bountifully helped.

       Would you believe it, dear reader, it was just four o'clock when the guests rose from the table to "make way for the children!"

       Never in all our later lives have we experienced so long an hour and a quarter as while waiting for our elders to finish their Thanksgiving feast. Dr. Burke narrated some lengthy yarn about what happened when he was summoned to visit a patient at Schoodic Lake, and Mrs. Eoss, she that was Nancy McKusick, daughter of elder Nathan McKusick, of the Eastport conference, favored the company with an experience ''when she taught school at Passadunkeag," while others had equally good stories to enliven the situation for those at the table, but not for a crowd of impatient and nearly starved children who had been "peeking'' anxiously through the doors, watching the rapid disappearance of the food.

       Before the company left the table it was found necessary to bring in about a dozen lighted candles to illuminate the surroundings, as night let down her shades at about four o'clock on November days.

       The welcome sound was heard at last, Children, you may now come to your Thanksgiving dinner!" Not one of the little unfortunates waited for a second invitation, no, not one. Every chair was taken into the parlor for the company, and a balm for our wounded feelings, we were informed that if we stood up at the table we could eat more. We believed, and accepted the standing sit - nation. Cyclones were not heard of in those days, but I am convinced that it must have been a cyclone by another name that had swept over that dining table, judging from the looks of it after the company had vacated.

       Before our appetites had been fully appeased, we were ordered into the parlor to sing for the visitors ere they departed, which they must do very shortly, as it was now quite dark, and some of the company were a long distance from home.

       Father's gift of song had been imparted to his sons, and he had nurtured and cultivated it by teaching them many of the popular and soul-stirring hymns of the day. One of these was ''The Hebrew Children." This hymn portrayed graphically how they reached the "promised land," "through a fiery furnace," "through a den of lions," "through tribulations," "by means of a fiery chariot," etc., etc. When we had finished the ten or a dozen stanzas and tuckered ourselves all out, the minister suggested that it would be well to offer up supplications before the gathering ''broke up."

       I have a faint recollection of the first part of the prayer, and that is all, for we children were soon in the land of Nod, watching the fairies having a jollification around a huge mince pie. We knew nothing more of what transpired until awakened at nine o'clock the following morning, when we were aroused by the wind whistling through the forest, accompanied by hail and snowflakes, pattering on our window pane.  from O'Brien's Pioneer Memories in Maine.

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