Turn back time, 1835 Alabama: Metal teeth, fancy dresses, quack medicine and the Alamo

By Ben Raines | braines@al.com 

A few yellowed and crumbling pages of newsprint from exactly 182 years ago today paint a vivid portrait of life in Alabama circa 1835, a life by turns luxurious or hard scrabble depending on your place in the world.

This was long before Birmingham was even a village, when Tuscaloosa was briefly considered the capitol of the state, a time when most of Alabama was still wild and untamed and the University of Alabama was, as an institution, just four years old. In those days, Mobile was the center of life in Alabama, the place that connected the state to the larger world, both by shipping out Alabama’s cotton crop, and by delivering the world’s finery to our collective doorstep.

These pages from the Mobile Mercantile Advertiser, Nov. 23, 1835, reveal a populace hungry for the high fashions of the day, with advertisements bragging of the dresses in the latest styles from New York and the European capitals. There are ads offering seal skin boots and velvet vests, imported lace and bolts of cashmere.

On the streets of Mobile, you could buy wine from Madiera, raisins from Morocco, saddles from Spain, and “seegars” from Havana. A man could buy “dancing pumps,” rent a horse or carriage, learn the violin, or have his teeth replaced with a certain dentist’s “Incorruptible metallic teeth.”

For the ladies, the papers touts finishing schools, make up supplies, and an endless assortment of “high fashions from Europe.”

There are schedules for the stagecoach to Pensacola (a 12-hour trip), or the regular steamship routes that connected Mobile to New Orleans, Montgomery and Wetumpka – then one of the great trading centers of Alabama.

There are ads for “villas to rent” complete with wine cellars and fine gardens, and for luxury vacations in resorts on the edge of the Mississippi Sound, where proprietors promised an endless supply of oysters, fine liquor and “healthful sea breezes” to their city-dwelling patrons.

And there are small news stories from around the country. Perhaps the most compelling comes from San Antonio, Texas, a letter from the commandant of Fort Goliad pleading with Alabamians to come and help fight the advancing Mexican army. The letter mentions General Austin’s troops, and those under Sam Houston’s command, who would soon fall at the Alamo. In fact, the letter was written about two and a half months before the fall of the Alamo. Fort Goliad itself would fall just three weeks later, described in most historical accounts as a “massacre.”

What follows are some of the most amusing tidbits from the Mercantile Advertiser, from quack medicine to seeds for your flower garden. You won’t see any Black Friday ads though, as Thanksgiving didn’t become a holiday for another 30 years. Likewise with the Iron Bowl, as Auburn University would not come into existence for another 21 years.

These pages come to us courtesy of Erk Ashbee of Wells Fargo Advisors in Mobile, who has them framed and hanging on the wall in his office. He mentioned them to me during a trip in the Delta on my boat. What a treasure!

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Ben Raines

Given the ongoing debate in Alabama regarding whether to allow a state-sanctioned lottery, it is interesting to note that the "Grand Consolidated Lottery" was open for business on Dauphin Street in downtown Mobile. Tickets were $8 each, with a grand prize of $25,000, a princely sum in those days. Of course, an $8 ticket was no small commitment at the time.

Such lotteries were common around the nation, and often were tied to a public service, such as dredging a local port or building a bridge. Grand Consolidated ran many of these national lotteries, and it appears that money raised here in Alabama was actually destined for public works in another state or territory. This particular lotto promised to pay out at multiple levels, with 25 people receiving $1,000 each (a small fortune at the time) and 2,184 people with $16 prizes.

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Ben Raines

Perhaps nothing can set the stage for what life in Antebellum Alabama was like more than this advert for "The Temple of Adonis."

Keeping in mind that what we are talking about is essentially a barber shop located in the basement of the Alabama Hotel, the breathless description of "the votary of etiquette" would seem over the top even in today's world were fashionable men describe themselves as "metrosexuals." Yet here in Mobile, circa 1835, a gentleman could find "a style of genteel elegance, and supplied with all the peraphernalia for improving, benefitting, and making attractive, the physiognomic contour, of all who will present themselves before the Altar Priest of the Temple of Adonis."

This phrase, "physiognomic," is an interesting one, and refers to the idea that you can glean insights about a person's character by studying their face and outward appearance. Clearly, our barber is suggesting to his prospective customers that a shave and a haircut could make their lives better, and improve their chances for luck, love and prosperity.

Also of note, the barber, a George M'Bride, refers to himself as the altar priest of the Temple of Adonis. Reading such an elaborate description of a lowly barbershop illustrates that Alabama, as the rest of the word, was primed and ready for the gilded and over the top excesses of the Victorian Age that was soon to unfold.

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Ben Raines

One of the more prominent ads in these pages is for the night's entertainment offered at a local theater. There, a Mr. Barton -- also star of the show -- promises first a popular tragedy, known as Virginus, or the Roman Sacrifice. After that, a pair of songs, including a "comic song" titled "Puff! Puff! Puff! The night's entertainment will finish up with a farce called Day of the Wedding.

In 1835, there were of course no movies. And the ribald world of the burlesque theaters was still decades away. So these travelling entertainments were the order of the day for a night out on the town. There was a circuit through the south, with shows calling on the larger cities of the day, including New Orleans, Mobile, Atlanta and Charlotte.

Below our theater ad was a call for students in a private school to be opened two days later in Mobile. For the sum of $3 a month, your child could learn spelling, reading, writing, and arithmetic. Other schools were advertised in these pages as well.

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This advert from a Mrs. Kinner for the creation of a new girls school in Demopolis brings to mind the movie Beguiled, which is still playing in theaters. The film depicts a boarding school for girls in the Civil War era, just 20 years distant.

Mrs. Kinner previously ran another school, according to the ad, and was able to do away with the necessity of punishing her charges thanks to her management style. This was no small thing in these early days. Indeed, there is a news item in this same paper reporting that a man will be tried for excessive whipping of an orphan in his care.

But not at the Cedar Grove Seminary. There, Mrs. Kinner, "by the cultivation of tenderness of conscience and a high sense of honorable feeling, she induces them voluntarily to inform her of deviations from right conduct of which they may have been guilty."

The semesters run 20 weeks long. A course in English costs $16.50, while the addition of two music lessons a week adds another $25, plus $5 more for use of the piano. Drawing and painting lessons add another $15.

These, of course, are the diversions and skills most highly sought among the upper classes that such a boarding school would have catered to. Such finishing schools were scattered across the Antebellum south.

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Ben Raines

"Fashionable Clothing" states the headline. "St. John, Price, and Co., have received per ship Lorena and other recent arrivals, a handsome assortment of Fashionable Seasonal Clothing direct from our Manufactury in New York." Given it was November, the assortment includes coats and vests of all description.

There are "black lion skin great coats, pea coats, monkey coats..." and many more. I am unsure if the black lion skin coat was actually made of lion pelts, but I'm fairly certain the monkey coat was not made of monkey. That term refers to the short, nipped waist jackets worn by sailors pre Civil War.

The store also featured goat hair coats, boiled camel hair coats, merino wool, velvet vests, and "fancy colored pants." Collars, bosoms, suspenders, gloves, hosiery, fancy cravats, pocket handkerchiefs, "and a variety of fancy articles not enumerated" were all available for cash or "approved credit."

The ads make clear that then, as now, a premium was placed on being up to date with the latest fashions. For the most part, the merchants are appealing to the folks with land and money. And clearly, based on the number of ads that mentioned fashions from New York, those people wanted to be wearing what the hoi poloi in New York were wearing.

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Ben Raines

Mobile's downtown was a hub for goods of all kinds, most destined for distribution throughout the interior of Alabama. In these early days, before the arrival of railroads, and when Native tribes and outlaws still posed a threat for overland travel, most of the goods used by the early Alabamian settlers came up the rivers, with Mobile as the departure point.

Throughout the Mercantile Advertiser, you'll find listings for huge quantities of exotic sounding compounds. For instance, a ship arriving on Dec. 6, two weeks away,  is advertised to be carrying all sorts of dyes and pigments. White lead was a basic white paint, and full of toxic lead. The ship was carrying 10,000 pounds of white lead in kegs. There were other colors as well, including Dutch madder, a European plant thought to make the richest red dyes. Verdigris and "chrome green" were both dyes used to impart greens and blues to cloth. The ship also carried 25 barrels of "green copperas," which was basically ink for writing.

Dozens of merchants sold sperm oil, which was derived from sperm whales and considered the premier fuel for lanterns in the days before kerosene. Sperm oil was reported be more like a wax, and produce a clear and bright light with little or now smoke.

One could also find perfumes, camphor, nutmeg, varnishes, neats foot oil for waterproofing, and something described as "chlorine tooth wash."

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Speaking of teeth, get a load of this advertisement placed by Dr. I. Francis, a dentist based in New York City.

Dr. Francis is searching far abroad indeed for patients, advertising his services in faraway Mobile, Alabama. Dentistry as we know it was a long way from becoming a common practice, as evidenced by other ads for chlorine teeth washing products. What sets Dr. Francis apart is his invention, the "Teri Metalic Incorruptible Teeth." Essentially, he is offering metal dentures.

"Having passed through the ordeal of fire in making them, they do not absorb the saliva so as to become offensive either to the taste or smell: no particle of food can adhere to them, so the breath remains sweet. These Incorruptible Teeth retain color, solidity, durability, polish, strength, and beauty not surpassed by any."

Dr. Francis  has other skills. He "cleans, scales, divides and fills hollow teeth in the neatest manner," and sells a mouthwash he claims can cure gum disease, fasten loose teeth, and provide a certain cure for toothaches.

Perhaps most astonishingly, Dr. Francis is also expert in making fake eyes! "He also sets Artificial Human Eyes, which cannot be distinguished from real, and will perform every motion of the eye without giving the slightest pain."

Capping it all off, for those lucky enough to live in New York, "The poor attended to every morning from 7 to 8 o'clock gratis."

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A dentist based in a drug store on Dauphin Street, a Dr. Lee, advertises his services with a special twist: "Operations performed at the residence of the patient without extra charge."

While there are no advertisement for medical doctors or their services, the tools of the trade were for sale in Mobile. The ship Oceana was scheduled to arrive with a broad assortment of medical tools, including tools for "amputating, trefinning (a tool for cutting a round hole in your skull), accouching (giving birth), cupping and disecting (means of bloodletting) turnkeys (with a self-adjusting fulcrum), trocars (used to poke a hole in your body for drainage), and scarificators (used for lancing and cutting skin).

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Mike Brantley

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One of the most notable things about the goods advertised in the Mobile Mercantile is the hint of luxury. Again and again, items destined only for the homes of the very rich are highlighted. It paints an indisputable picture of Antebellum Alabama as a place with a landed gentry, as many of the fine clothes, fabrics and foodstuffs would have been prohibitively expensive for the average farmer, shipyard worker or laborer.

Case in point is the listing for Comet Champagne.

"Of the celebrated Comet Brand, a new and very superior article from the house of Ruinart Pere et Fils at Rheim," brags the ad. Understand that Rheim is in the center of France's Champagne region, and further, Ruinart is the oldest champagne producer in the world, typically making its beverages for the king of France.

"This wine has acquired great celebrity in New York, and will be found equal, if not superior, to any Champagne every imported into this market."

Likewise for the items sold at the "Comb and Variety Store." French perfume, hand made toys, make up and make up brushes, and combs hand carved from seashells, were far too expensive for most of Alabama's residents.

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If you visit the University of South Alabama's Archeology Museum, one of the most striking exhibits details all the stuff scientists have dug up along the waterfront. This area was the oldest part of Mobile, and one of the first spots settled by Europeans in all of the new world. Faced with an eroding shoreline, the fledgling city encouraged residents to dispose of broken plates, glasses and other items near the wharf as part of an effort to armor the shoreline.

The mix of debris found there includes a wide assortment of crockery, from rough clay pots to fine china dishes and bits of crystal. The ads in the Mercantile Advertiser include numerous merchants trading in glassware, silverware, china and oil lamps. These were, of course, fragile items and would have commanded high prices after a journey over the ocean from Europe.

Blue willow patterns were offered for sale, featuring the famous design with weeping willows, a small bridge, and two doves that represented a young couple torn apart by their parents.

"Splendid dining and tea setts of ornamental and plain China, Liverpool ware, Blue and common ware of every description, cut and plain glass," reads one ad. "Table and desert knives and forks. Platted Britannia table and tea spoons... sets of ivory... China gilt... promptly executed and  put up by expert packers."

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The paper also served as a sort of message board for people looking for work as teachers, or accountants, or for folks who had lost items.

For instance, examine this ad for a lost $100 bill. "The owner can have by applying to James Wilkins and describing said bill and paying for this advertisement." The ad rates were fairly reasonable. The above ad for the $100 would have cost 37 cents, according to rates published in the paper.

A Mr. Schoolcraft offers his services as a dance teacher in his Dancing School. "Persons wishing lessons at their own dwellings can be accommodated. Mr. S can be found at his office, one door below the Catholic Church on Dauphin Street." Another ad offers "Gentlemen's Prunella and Morocco Dancing Pumps.

There are calls for old bottles, promising the "highest prices paid for old bottles," and calls for livery stables, horses for rent by the day or journey. There is even an ad for Thibetan handkerchiefs and shawls.

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Numerous ships and steamers called regularly on Mobile, then and now one of the busiest ports on the Gulf Coast. The copper hulled brig the Treaty was offered for hire for anyone needing to move 400 bales of cotton, while the steamboats the Mazeppa and the Dover both ran regular routes up the Alabama River to Montgomery and Wetumpka.

The Convoy left for Mobile for New Orleans every Sunday at 9 a.m., and made the return journey every Wednesday at 4 p.m. Numerous other ships destined for ports in Europe and the Caribbean also issued calls for passengers or cargo in the paper.

No matter where you were trying to go, the first leg of your journey from Alabama likely began in the port of Mobile.

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That was true even if you planned to travel by stagecoach, for Mobile was surrounded by swamps and rivers.

For instance, to get to Pensacola by stagecoach, which is now about a 45 minute trip by car, required taking the twice weekly ferry from Mobile to the lost city of Blakeley, which was located on the eastern side of the Mobile-Tensaw Delta. Now today, the U.S. 98 Causeway and Interstate 10 both cross the Delta via a series of bridges and earthern dams. Not so in 1835.

Then, the Delta was a 13 mile-wide river, crossed by six significantly large rivers. For a traveler looking to head east from Mobile, the first leg of the journey was a trip aboard the mail steamer to Blakeley, which was then a thriving town with four hotels. Those hotels and Blakeley itself are long gone, the entire town abandoned after most of the population was wiped out by yellow fever epidemics.

For a time, Blakeley was actually the larger city, home to about 4,000 people compared to Mobile's 2,800 in 1920. The fourth newspaper in the state, the Blakeley Sun was based there. The buildings were made of brick. It appeared to most that Blakeley, not Mobile, would be the most prominent port in Alabama. But a combination of disease and greed managed to turn that tide and promote Mobile's growth.

So, by 1835, Blakeley's population had reached its zenith and was already in decline. Mobile's port, by contrast had grown. For a traveler looking to head east, the route involved boarding the Mobile-Blakeley mail ferry on either a Monday or Thursday afternoon, staying in a hotel in Blakeley for the night, and boarding the stagecoach on either Tuesday or Friday morning.

The trip to Pensacola took 11 hours over a muddy dirt road. There are numerous small creeks and rivers between Blakeley and Pensacola, that would have to have been either forded or crossed on wooden bridges. There are some dark swamps along that route, which perhaps explains the note in the advertisement for the trip, No NIGHT travelling in this Stage."

Interestingly, a steamboat for Tallahasse was available from Pensacola, leaving one hour after the twice weekly arrival of the stagecoach. Similarly, some of the New Orleans-bound passenger boats left from Coden, on the Mississippi Sound south of downtown Mobile. Leaving from there would have saved as much as six hours of travel over water, including the entire transit up Mobile Bay. Numerous hotels based around Coden catered both to travelers headed west and vacationing families from Mobile.

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The mercantile carries more than a dozen ads for hotels in "Portersville," which was how the area now known as Coden was described, taking its name from Portersville Bay on the edge of the Mississippi Sound. Some of the vacation houses catered to families, others to single men pursuing the twin sports of fishing and drinking.

"From the peculiar favorable situation of the place, on the gulph, no one who is acquainted with the salubrity of its atmosphere, will for one moment doubt the health of the place," reads an ad, in apparent reference to the yellow fever outbreaks that had recently decimated the population of Blakeley. "The southerly, or trade winds, prevail incessantly in the summer months, and consequently, bring with them the very purest exhalation of the salt water."

The ad goes on to note, falsely, "in its vicinity there cannot be found a single freshwater river, lake, or pond, from which can possibly emanate any deleterious effluvia." Of course the notion that mosquitoes were behind the yellow fever outbreaks was still not understood, and most dwellings, including those in Portersville, still did not possess window screens.

The ad above was for the Union Hotel, dedicated to vacationing families. In keeping with such, the ad states, "the strictest order and decorum will be kept, and persons of intemperate or bad habits, will not be admitted." Such was not the case at other nearby establishments.

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The Hampton appears designed to cater specifically to men, and makes no mention of the family atmosphere present at other hotels. Instead, it stresses that "an assortment of the very best of liquors will be found at Hampton."

Located at a spot then known as Choctaw Point, the Hampton sat approximately where the McDuffie Coal Terminal now sits.

"The situation is desirable on account of the sea breezes, saltwater bathing, good sport for those fond of shooting, excellent water, and above all these, the most perfect health may be reasonably calculated on. For the accommodation of gentlemen disposed to amuse themselves with fishing parties, an excellent seine has been provided."

The use of a seine for fishing is a fun historical note, as rods and reels were then in primitive state. Most were designed for use in small streams, where casts might average a few feet and your quarry was probably visible to you in the shallow water. They were not yet up to the task of casting to schools of trout or redfish off in the distance.

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Speaking of Mobile, naturally oysters come up. At the time, Mobile's oyster industry was just beginning. Within a few decades, the first canneries would open on Mobile Bay, and by the 1900s, there would be five canneries operating year round, sending Mobile Bay oysters far and wide.

But in 1835, they were a delicacy you had to come to Mobile to enjoy. Hence, the Shakespeare, designed specifically to cater to the oyster lover.

"The Rooms on the 2d floor are appropriated for the accommodation of parties, large or small, where OYSTERS, and other refreshments will be served up in any variety of style that may be desired. Families will be supplied with Oysters any hour of the day or evening."

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For the news of the day, the Mercantile provided several dispatches from Texas, where the Mexican Army was battling General Austin, Sam Houston, Davy Crockett, and other famous figures from the frontier.

These dispatches appeared in the Mercantile about two and a half months before the Alamo fell.

"A letter just received from General Austin, dated the 20th (three days prior) informs us that a division of teh army had advanced and taken up a position at Salado, within five miles of San Antonio," reads the news account. "General Austin continues to urge reinforcements to hasten as fast as possible."

Other accounts from Texas published in the same issue make clear the situation was dire. A force of "seventeen hundred men" was fast approaching, "and we can only muster fifty men strong at this point... if attacked by the force we are threatened with, aided, as we have reason to believe, by heavy artillery, to open breaches in the walls of the fort, less than 200 men can hardly hope to make a successful defence. Let all, therefore, who love their country, all who value their homes, now rally and unite: let them repair to the post of danger... If all who can will come, a few days will settle the question. Not a moment or a day should be lost. Fifty, nay, thirty men, may turn the scale and save the country."

Alas, such as not the case. So today, as we celebrate Thanksgiving, let's remember all those lost at the Alamo, in the Civil War, and the wars since. For Thanksgiving, when the holiday was created by President Abraham Lincoln, was actually about celebrating the end of Civil War and the peace that had settled across the land.

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