# 'Way Down East; or, Portraitures of Yankee Life/Jerry Guttridge

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Jerry Guttridge.
Oh, for "the good old days of Adam and Eve!" when vagabond idlers were not; or the good old days of the pilgrim fathers of New England, when they were suitably rewarded! That idlers could not bide those days, there is extant the following testimony. In the early court records of that portion of the old Bay State called the District of Maine, in the year 1656, we have the following entry of a presentment by a grand jury:—
"We present Jerry Guttridge for an idle person, and not providing for his family, and for giving reproachful language to Mr. Nat. Frier, when he reproved him for his idleness.
"The Court, for his offence, adjudges the delinquent to have twenty lashes on his back, and to bring security to the Court to be of better behavior in providing for his family."—[A True Extract from the Court Records.]
​The whole history of this affair, thus faintly shadowed forth in these few lines, has recently come to light, and is now published for the benefit of the world, as hereafter followeth.
"What shall we have for dinner, Mr. Guttridge?" said the wife of Jerry Guttridge, in a sad, desponding tone, as her husband came into their log hovel, from a neighboring grog-shop, about twelve o'clock on a hot July day.
"Oh, pick up something," said Jerry, "and I wish you would be spry and get it ready, for I'm hungry now, and I want to go back to the shop; for Sam Willard and Seth Harmon are coming over, by an' by, to swop horses, and they'll want me to ride 'em. Come, stir around; I can't wait."
"We have n't got anything at all in the house to eat," said Mrs. Guttridge. "What shall I get?"
"Well, cook something," said Jerry; "no matter what it is."
"But, Mr. Guttridge, we have n't got the least thing in the house to cook."
"Well, well, pick up something, " said Jerry, rather snappishly, "for I'm in a hurry."
​"I can't make victuals out of nothing," said the wife; "if you'll only bring me anything in the world into the house to cook, I'll cook it. But I tell you we have n't got a mouthful of meat in the house, nor a mouthful of bread, nor a speck of meal; and the last potatoes we had in the house, we ate for breakfast; and you know we didn't have more than half enough for breakfast, neither."
"Well, what have you been doing all this forenoon," said Jerry, "that you have n't picked up something? Why did n't you go over to Mr. Whitman's and borrow some meal?"
"Because," said Mrs. Guttridge, "we've borrowed meal there three times that is n't returned yet; and I was ashamed to go again till that was paid. And beside, the baby's cried so, I've had to 'tend him the whole forenoon, and could n't go out."
"Then you a'n't a-goin' to give us any dinner, are you?" said Jerry, with a reproachful tone and look. "I pity the man that has a helpless, shiftless wife; he has a hard row to hoe. What's become of that fish I brought in yesterday?"
"Why, Mr. Guttridge," said his wife, with tears in her eyes, "you and the children ate that fish for your supper last night. I never tasted a morsel of it, and ​have n't tasted anything but potatoes these two days; and I'm so faint now I can hardly stand."
"Always a-grumblin'," said Jerry; "I can't never come into the house but what I must hear a fuss about something or other. What's this boy snivelling about?" he continued, turning to little Bobby, his oldest boy, a little ragged, dirty-faced, sickly-looking thing, about six years old; at the same time giving the child a box on the ear, which laid him his length on the floor. "Now shet up!" said Jerry, "or I'll larn you to be crying about all day for nothing."
The tears rolled afresh down the cheeks of Mrs. Guttridge; she sighed heavily as she raised the child from the floor, and seated him on a bench on the opposite side of the room.
"What is Bob crying about?" said Jerry, fretfully.
"Why, Mr. Guttridge," said his wife, sinking upon the bench beside her little boy, and wiping the tears with her apron, "the poor child has been crying for a piece of bread these two hours. He's eat nothing to-day but one potatoe, and I s'pose the poor thing is half starved."
At this moment their neighbor, Mr. Nat. Frier, a substantial farmer, and a worthy man, made his appearance at the door; and as it was wide open, he ​walked in and took a seat. He knew the destitute condition of Guttridge's family, and had often relieved their distresses. His visit at the present time was partly an errand of charity; for, being in want of some extra labor in his haying field that afternoon, and knowing that Jerry was doing nothing, while his family was starving, he thought he would endeavor to get him to work for him, and pay him in provisions.
Jerry seated himself rather sullenly on a broken backed chair, the only sound one in the house being occupied by Mr. Frier, toward whom he cast sundry gruff looks and surly glances. The truth was, Jerry had not received the visits of his neighbors, of late years, with a very gracious welcome. He regarded them rather as spies, who came to search out the nakedness of the land, than as neighborly visitors, calling to exchange friendly salutations. He said not a word; and the first address of Mr. Frier was to little Bobby.
"What's the matter with little Bobby?" said he, in a gentle tone; "come, my little fellow, come here and tell me what's the matter."
"Go, run, Bobby; go and see Mr. Frier," said the mother, slightly pushing him forward with her hand.
The boy, with one finger in his mouth, and the tears still rolling over his dirty face, edged along sidewise ​up to Mr. Frier, who took him in his lap, and asked him again what was the matter.
"I want a piece of bread!" said Bobby.
"And won't your mother give you some?" said Mr. Frier, tenderly.
"She ha'n't got none," replied Bobby, "nor 'taters too." Mrs. Guttridge's tears told the rest of the story. The worthy farmer knew they were entirely out of provisions again, and he forbore to ask any further questions; but told Bobby if he would go over to his house, he would give him something to eat. Then turning to Jerry, said he:—
"Neighbor Guttridge, I've got four tons of hay down, that needs to go in this afternoon, for it looks as if we should have rain to-morrow; and I've come over to see if I can get you to go and help me. If you'll go this afternoon, and assist me to get it in, I'll give you a bushel of meal, or a half bushel of meal and a bushel of potatoes, and two pounds of pork."
"I can't go," said Jerry, "I've got something else to do."
"Oh, well," said Mr Frier, "if you've got anything else to do that will be more profitable, I'm glad of it, for there's enough hands that I can get; only I ​thought you might like to go, bein' you was scant of provisions."
"Do pray go, Mr. Guttridge!" said his wife, with a beseeching look, "for you are only going over to the shop to ride them horses, and that won't do no good; you'll only spend all the afternoon for nothin', and then we shall have to go to bed without our supper, again. Do pray go, Mr. Guttridge, do!"
"I wish you would hold your everlasting clack;" said Jerry; "you are always full of complainings. It's got to be a fine time of day, if the women are a-goin' to rule the roast. I shall go over and ride them horses, and it's no business to you nor nobody else; and if you are too lazy to get your own supper, you may go without it; that's all I've got to say."
With that he aimed for the door, when Mr. Frier addressed him as follows:—
"Now I must say, neighbor Guttridge, if you are going to spend the afternoon over to the shop, to ride horses for them jockeys, and leave your family without provisions, when you have a good chance to 'arn enough this afternoon to last them nigh about a week, I must say, neighbor Guttridge, that I think you are not in the way of your duty."
Upon this Jerry whirled round, and looked Mr. ​Frier full in the face, "grinning horribly a ghastly smile," and said he,
"You old, miserable, dirty, meddling vagabond! you are a scoundrel and a scape-gallows, and an infernal small piece of a man, I think! I've as good a mind to kick you out of doors, as ever I had to eat! Who made you a master over me, to be telling me what's my duty? You better go home and take care of your own brats, and let your neighbors' alone!"
Mr. Frier sat and looked Jerry calmly in the face, without uttering a syllable; while he, having blown his blast, marched out of doors, and steered directly for the grog-shop, leaving his wife to "pick up something," if she could, to keep herself and children from absolute starvation.
Mr. Frier was a benevolent man and a Christian, and in the true spirit of Christianity he always sought to relieve distress wherever he found it. He was endowed, too, with a good share of plain common sense, and knew something of human nature; and as he was well aware that Mrs. Guttridge really loved her husband, notwithstanding his idle habits, and cold, brutal treatment to his family, he forebore to remark upon the scene which had just passed; but telling the afflicted woman he would send her ​something to eat, he took little Bobby by the hand, and led him home. A plate of victuals was set before the child, who devoured it with a greediness that was piteous to behold.
"Poor cre'tur!" said Mrs. Frier, "why, he's half starved! Betsey, bring him a dish of bread and milk; that will set the best on his poor, empty, starved stomach."
Betsey ran and got the bowl of bread and milk, and little Bobby's hand soon began to move from the dish to his mouth, with a motion as steady and rapid as the pendulum of a clock. The whole family stood and looked on, with pity and surprise, until he had finished his meal, or rather until he had eaten as much as they dared allow him to eat at once; for although he had devoured a large plate of meat and vegetables, and two dishes of bread and milk, his appetite seemed as ravenous as when he first began; and he still, like the memorable Oliver Twist, "asked for more."
While Bobby had been eating, Mr. Frier had been relating to his family the events which had occurred at Guttridge's house, and the starving condition of the inmates; and it was at once agreed that something should be sent over immediately; for they all said ​"Mrs. Guttridge was a clever woman, and it was a shame that she should be left to suffer so."
Accordingly, a basket was filled with bread, a jug of milk, and some meat and vegetables, ready cooked, which had been left from their dinner; and Betsey ran and brought a pie, made from their last year's dried pumpkins, and asked her mother if she might not put that in, "so the poor starving cre'turs might have a little taste of something that was good."
"Yes," said her mother, "and put in a bit of cheese with it; I don't think we shall be any the poorer for it; for 'he that giveth to the poor lendeth to the Lord.'"
"Yes, yes," said Mr. Frier, "and I guess you may as well put in a little dried pumpkin; she can stew it up for the little ones, and it'll be good for 'em. We've got a plenty of green stuff a-growin', to last till pumpkins come again." So a quantity of dried pumpkin was also packed in the basket, and the pie laid on the top, and George was despatched, in company with little Bobby, to carry it over.
Mr. Frier's benevolent feelings had become highly excited. He forgot his four tons of hay, and sat down to consult with his wife about what could be done for the Guttridge family. Something must be ​done soon; he was not able to support them all the time; and if they were left alone much longer they would starve. He told his wife he "had a good mind to go and enter a complaint to the grand jury agin' Jerry, for a lazy, idle person, that did n't provide for his family. The court sets at Saco to-morrow, and don't you think, wife, I had better go and do it?"
His wife thought he had better go over first and talk with Mrs. Guttridge about it; and if she was willing he had better do it. Mr. Frier said, he "could go over and talk with her, but he did n't think it would be the least use, for she loved Jerry, ugly as he was, and he did n't believe she would be willing to have him punished by the court."
However, after due consultation, he concluded to go over and have a talk with Mrs. Guttridge about the matter. Accordingly, he took his hat and walked over. He found the door open, as usual, and walked in without ceremony. Here he beheld the whole family, including Jerry himself, seated at their little pine table, doing ample justice to their basket of provisions which he had just before sent them. He observed the pie had been cut into pieces, and one half of it, and he thought rather the largest half, was laid on Jerry's plate, the rest being cut up into small ​bits, and divided among the children. Mrs. Guttridge had reserved none to herself, except a small spoonful of the soft part with which she was trying to feed the baby. The other eatables seemed to be distributed very much in the same proportion.
Mr. Frier was a cool, considerate man, whose passions were always under the most perfect control; but he always confessed, for years afterwards, "that for a minute or two, he thought he felt a little something like anger rising up in his stomach!"
He sat and looked on until they had finished their meal, and Jerry had eaten bread, and meat, and vegetables enough for two common men's dinner, and swallowed his half of the pie, and a large slice of cheese by way of dessert; and then rose, took his hat, and without saying a word, marched deliberately out of the house, directing his course again to the grog-shop.
Mr. Frier now broached the subject of his errand to Mrs. Guttridge. He told her the neighbors could not afford to support her family much longer, and unless her husband went to work he did n't see but they would have to starve.
Mrs. Guttridge began to cry. She said "she did n't know what they should do; she had talked as long as ​talking would do any good; but somehow Mr. Guttridge did n't seem to love work. She believed it was n't his natur' to work."
"Well, Mrs. Guttridge, do you believe the Scriptures?" said Mr. Frier, solemnly.
"I'm sure I do," said Mrs. Guttridge; "I believe all there is in the Bible."
"And don't you know," said Mr. Frier, "the Bible says, 'He that will not work, neither shall he eat.'"
"I know there's something in the Bible like that," said Mrs. Guttridge, with a very serious look.
"Then do you think it right," said Mr. Frier, "when your neighbors send you in a basket of provisions, do you think it right that Mr. Guttridge, who won't work and 'arn a mouthful himself, should sit down and eat more than all the rest of you, and pick out the best part of it, too?"
"Well, I don't suppose it's right," said Mrs. Guttridge, thoughtfully; "but somehow, Mr. Guttridge is so hearty, it seems as if he would faint away, if he didn 't have more than the rest of us to eat."
"Well, are you willing to go on in this way?" continued Mr. Frier, "in open violation of the Scriptures, and keep yourself and children every day in danger of starving?"
​"What can I do, Mr. Frier?" said Mrs. Guttridge, bursting into a flood of tears; "I've talked, and it's no use; Mr. Guttridge, won't work; it don't seem to be in him. Maybe if you should talk to him, Mr. Frier, he might do better."
"No, that would be no use," said Mr. Frier. "When I was over here before, you see how he took it, jest because I spoke to him about going over to the shop, when he ought to be to work, to get something for his family to eat. You see how mad he was, and how provoking he talked to me. It's no use for me to say anything to him; but I think, Mrs. Guttridge, if somebody should complain to the Grand Jury about him, the Court would make him go to work. And if you are willing for it, I think I should feel it my duty to go and complain of him."
"Well, I don't know but it would be best," said Mrs. Guttridge, "and if you think it would make him go to work, I'm willing you should. When will the Court sit?"
"To-morrow," said Mr. Frier; "and I'll give up all other business, and go and attend to it."
"But what will the Court do to him, Mr. Frier?" asked Mrs. Guttridge.
"Well, I don't know," said Mr. Frier, "but I expect ​expect they'll punish him; and I know they'll make him go to work."
"Punish him!" exclaimed Mrs. Guttridge, with a troubled air. "Seems to me I don't want to have him punished. But do you think, Mr. Frier, they will hurt him any?"
"Well, I think it's likely," said Mr. Frier, "they will hurt him some; but you must remember, Mrs. Guttridge, it is better once to smart than always to ache. Remember, too, you'll be out of provisions again by to-morrow. Your neighbors can't support your family all the time; and if your husband don't go to work, you'll be starving again."
"Oh dear—well, I don't know!" said Mrs. Guttridge, with tears in her eyes. "You may do jest as you think best about it, Mr. Frier; that is, if you don't think they'll hurt him."
Mr. Frier returned home; but the afternoon was so far spent that he was able to get in only one ton of his hay, leaving the other three tons out, to take the chance of the weather. He and his wife spent the evening in discussing what course was best to pursue with regard to the complaint against Mr. Guttridge; but, notwithstanding his wife was decidedly in favor of his going the next morning and entering the ​complaint, since Mrs. Guttridge had consented, yet Mr. Frier was undecided. He did not like to do it; Mr. Guttridge was a neighbor, and it was an unpleasant business. But when he arose the next morning, looked out, and beheld his three tons of hay drenched with a heavy rain, and a prospect of a continued storm, he was not long in making up his mind.
"Here," said he, "I spent a good part of the day, yesterday, in looking after Guttridge's family, to keep them from starving; and now, by this means, I've nigh about as good as lost three tons of hay. I don't think it's my duty to put up with it any longer."
Accordingly, as soon as breakfast was over, Mr. Frier was out, spattering along in the mud and rain, with his old great-coat thrown over his shoulders, the sleeves flapping loosely down by his side, and his drooping hat twisted awry, wending his way to Court, to appear before the Grand Jury.
"Well, Mr. Frier, what do you want?" asked the ​foreman, as the complainant entered the room.
"I come to complain of Jerry Guttridge to the Grand Jury," replied Mr. Frier, taking off his hat, and shaking the rain from it.
"Why, what has Jerry Guttridge done?" said the foreman. "I didn't think he had life enough to do anything worth complaining of to the Grand Jury."
"It's because he has n't got life enough to do anything," said Mr. Frier, "that I've come to complain of him. The fact is, Mr. Foreman, he's a lazy, idle fellow, and won't work, nor provide nothin' for his family to eat; and they've been half starving this long time; and the neighbors have had to keep sending in something all the time, to keep 'em alive."
"But," said the foreman, "Jerry's a peaceable kind of a chap, Mr. Frier; has anybody ever talked to him about it in a neighborly way, and advised him to do differently? And maybe he has no chance to work where he could get anything for it."
"I am sorry to say," replied Mr. Frier, "that he's been talked to a great deal, and it don't do no good; and I tried hard to get him to work for me yesterday afternoon, and offered to give him victuals enough to last his family 'most a week, but I couldn't get him to, and he went off to the grog-shop to see some jockeys swop horses. And when I told him, calmly, I did n't think he was in the way of his duty, he flew in a passion, and called me an old, miserable, dirty, ​meddling vagabond, and a scoundrel, and a scape-gallows, and an infernal small piece of a man!"
"Abominable!" exclaimed one of the jury; "who ever heard of such outrageous conduct?"
"What a vile, blasphemous wretch!" exclaimed another; "I shouldn't a wondered if he'd a fell dead on the spot."
The foreman asked Mr. Frier if Jerry had "used them very words."
"Exactly them words, every one of 'em," said Mr. Frier.
"Well," said the foreman, "then there is no more to be said. Jerry certainly deserves to be indicted, if anybody in this world ever did."
Accordingly the indictment was drawn up, a warrant was issued, and the next day Jerry was brought before the Court to answer to the charges preferred against him. Mrs. Sally Guttridge and Mr. Nat. Frier were summoned as witnesses. When the honorable Court was ready to hear the case, the clerk called Jerry Guttridge, and bade him to hearken to an indictment found against him by the grand inquest for the District of Maine, now sitting at Saco, in the words following, viz:—
"We present Jerry Guttridge for an idle person, ​and not providing for his family; and giving reproachful language to Mr. Nat. Frier, when he reproved him for his idleness." "Jerry Guttridge, what say you to this indictment? Are you guilty thereof, or not guilty?"
"Not guilty," said Jerry, "and here's my wife can tell you the same any day. Sally, have n't I always provided for my family?"
"Why, yes," said Mrs. Guttridge, "I don't know but you have as well as"—
"Stop, stop!" said the Judge, looking down over the top of his spectacles at the witness; "stop, Mrs. Guttridge; you must not answer questions until you have been sworn."
The Court then directed the clerk to swear the witnesses; whereupon, he called Nat. Frier and Sally Guttridge to come forward, and hold up their right hands. Mr. Frier advanced, with a ready, honest air, and held up his hand. Mrs. Guttridge lingered a little behind; but when at last she faltered along, with feeble and hesitating step, and held up her thin, trembling hand, and raised her pale blue eyes, half swimming in tears, towards the Court, and exhibited her care-worn features, which, though sun-burned, were pale and sickly, the Judge had in his own mind ​more than half decided the case against Jerry. The witnesses having been sworn, Mrs. Guttridge was called to the stand.
"Now, Mrs. Guttridge," said the Judge, "you are not obliged to testify against your husband any more than you choose; your testimony must be voluntary. The Court will ask you questions touching the case, and you may answer them or not, as you think best. And, in the first place, I will ask you whether your husband neglects to provide for the necessary wants of his family; and whether you do, or do not, have comfortable food and clothing for yourself and children?"
"Well, we go pretty hungry a good deal of the time," said Mrs. Guttridge, trembling; "but I don't know but Mr. Guttridge does the best he can about it. There don't seem to be any victuals that he can get, a good deal of the time."
"Well, is he, or is he not, in the habit of spending his time idly when he might be at work, and earning something for his family to live upon?"
"Why, as to that," replied the witness, "Mr. Guttridge don't work much; but I don't know as he can help it; it does n't seem to be his natur' to work. Somehow, he don't seem to be made like other folks; for if he tries ever so much, he can't never work but ​a few minutes at a time; the natur' don't seem to be in him."
"Well, well," said the Judge, casting a dignified and judicial glance at the culprit, who stood with his mouth wide open, and eyes fixed on the Court with an intentness that showed he began to take some interest in the matter; "well, well, perhaps the Court will be able to put the natur' in him."
Mrs. Guttridge was directed to step aside, and Mr. Nat. Frier was called to the stand. His testimony was very much to the point; clear and conclusive. But as the reader is already in possession of the substance of it, it is unnecessary to recapitulate it. Suffice it to say, that when he was called upon to repeat the reproachful language which Jerry had bestowed upon the witness, there was much shuddering, and an awful rolling of eyes, throughout the court room. Even the prisoner's face kindled almost up to a blaze, and thick drops of sweat were seen to start from his forehead. The Judge, to be sure, retained a dignified self-possession, and settling back in his chair, said it was not necessary to question the witness any further; the case was clearly made out; Jerry Guttridge was unquestionably guilty of the charges preferred against him.
​The Court, out of delicacy toward the feelings of his wife, refrained from pronouncing sentence until she had retired, which she did on an intimation being given her that the case was closed, and she could return home. Jerry was then called and ordered to hearken to his sentence, as the Court had recorded it.
Jerry stood up and faced the Court, with fixed eyes and gaping mouth, and the clerk repeated as follows:—
"Jerry Guttridge! you have been found guilty of being an idle and lazy person, and not providing for your family, and giving reproachful language to Mr. Nat. Frier, when he reproved you for your idleness. The Court orders that you receive twenty smart lashes, with the cat-o'-nine-tails, upon your naked back, and that this sentence be executed forthwith, by the constables, at the whipping-post in the yard adjoining the court-house."
Jerry dropped his head, and his face assumed divers deep colors, sometimes red, and sometimes shading upon the blue. He tried to glance round upon the assembled multitude, but his look was very sheepish; and, unable to stand the gaze of the hundreds of eyes that were upon him, he settled back on a bench, leaned his head on his hand, and looked steadily upon the ​floor. The constables having been directed by the Court to proceed forthwith to execute the sentence, they led him out into the yard, put his arms round the whipping-post, and tied his hands together. He submitted without resistance; but when they commenced tying his hands round the post, he began to cry and beg, and promised better fashions if they would only let him go this time. But the constables told him it was too late now; the sentence of the Court had been passed, and the punishment must be inflicted. The whole throng of spectators had issued from the court-house, and stood round in a large ring, to see the sentence enforced. The Judge himself had stepped to a side window, which commanded a view of the yard, and stood peering solemnly through his spectacles to see that the ceremony was duly performed. All things being in readiness, the stoutest constable took the cat-o'-nine-tails, and laid the blows heavily across the naked back of the victim. Nearly every blow brought blood, and as they successively fell, Jerry jumped and screamed, so that he might have been heard well-nigh a mile. When the twenty blows were counted, and the ceremony was ended, he was loosed from his confinement, and told that he might go. He put on his garments, with a sullen but ​subdued air, and without stopping to pay his respects to the Court, or even to bid any one good-by, he straightened for home as fast as he could go.
Mrs. Guttridge met him at the door, with a kind and piteous look, and asked him if they hurt him. He made no reply, but pushed along into the house. There he found the table set, and well supplied, for dinner; for Mrs. Guttridge, partly through the kindness of Mr. Frier, and partly from her own exertions, had managed to "pick up something" that served to make quite a comfortable meal. Jerry ate his dinner in silence, but his wife thought he manifested more tenderness and less selfishness than she had known him to exhibit for several years; for, instead of appropriating the most and the best of the food to himself, he several times placed fair proportions of it upon the plates of his wife and each of the children.
The next morning, before the sun had dried the dew from the grass, whoever passed the haying field of Mr. Nat. Frier might have beheld Jerry Guttridge busily at work, shaking out the wet hay to the sun; and for a month afterward the passer-by might have seen him every day, early and late, in that and the adjoining fields, a perfect pattern of industry.
A change soon became perceptible in the condition ​and circumstances of his family. His house began to wear more of an air of comfort, outside and in. His wife improved in health and spirits, and little Bobby became a fat, hearty boy, and grew like a pumpkin. And years afterward Mrs. Guttridge was heard to say that, somehow, ever since that 'ere trial, Mr. Guttridge's natur' seemed to be entirely changed."