In Ontario, the recent provincial election at the beginning of October (2011) was a real nail biter in some regions.  In fact, it was reported on the website www.viewmag.com that some candidates barely won their seats.

In Thunder Bay–Atikokan, Liberal Bill Mauro held on again by the skin of his teeth, although this time he increased his plurality to 452 votes over the NDP.

The Democratic Convention back in 1956 also had its nail biting moments during their primaries.  In fact, the Pittsburgh Post-Gazette reported the following in an article entitled, “Adlai Skins His Teeth” in their May 31, 1956 edition:

By the skin of his teeth, Adlai Stevenson has taken 22 of Florida’s 28 Democratic convention votes in an apathetic primary contest with Senator Estes Kefauver.  The closeness of the vote, however, will soon be forgotten.  The important thing is that Mr. Stevenson won.

It seems that the world of politics like to use the phrase moreso than others.  The phrase is found in the New York Times article of June 22, 1912 in an article entitled, “Democrats’ Method Of Nomination Best” where the following appears:

The Democratic way is really the better way.  It prevents a mere majority, by whatever means obtained, by bribery or force or promise, from compelling the party to accept the leadership of the candidate chosen by the skin of his teeth to do battle for the party.  Better make the choice of candidates a little harder than subject the party to defeat, even for the sake of making an Oyster Bay holiday.

On April 11, 1846 the Courrier de la Louisiane published a news story entitled, “Whig Victory” where the newspaper reported the following in part:

But in all the multitudinous and infinitely diversified changes and shiftings of political parties ever imagined, who expected to hear S.J. Peters affect to exult over a triumph of the Second Municipality?  And what is the triumph over which he exults?  He is re-elected by the skin of his teeth Alderman in the second ward, and two sound Democrats are elected in the same ward, where, four years ago, Peters would have told any man he was made who should have thought of opposing him or his Whig followers: Crossman is elected Mayor although is in a very small minority — other branch of this magnificent “triumph of the people!”

Now the phrase did appear in the King James Bible of 1611 with the entire verse being:

Yea, young children despised me; I arose, and they spake against me. All my inward friends abhorred me: and they whom I loved are turned against me. My bone cleaveth to my skin and to my flesh, and I am escaped with the skin of my teeth.

However, before the King James Bible, the phrase appeared in 1560 in the Geneva Bible, where, in Job 19:20, the literal translation of the original Hebrew is given as being:

I haue escaped with the skinne of my tethe.

That being said, the phrase appears in Latin in the Medieval Latin Bibles produced by hand before the invention of printing and in Greek in Greek texts.  And so, the phrase dates back to Biblical times but how far back? 

Based on information provided in the Book of Job, readers know that it happened well after Noah and the flood and it happened in the time of Esau who was the son of Isaac and the grandson of Abraham.  The name of Job is found in the Amarna letters of 1350 B.C. and in the Egyptian Execration texts of 2000 B.C. 

So while Idiomation is unable to put an exact date on the first use of the phrase skin of his teeth, it absolutely dates back far enough for readers to know it’s a very ancient saying.

What’s more, back in William Shakespeare‘s time the jargon of thieves was called “broken French” and “pedlar’s French” which implied that the French in Shakespeare’s plays underscored the belief held by most Englishmen at the time that the French were broken, thieving pedlars.  To add insult to injury, the only characters who do not speak proper English are cowards.

In Part 1, Act III, Scene iii the French noblemen appeal to Joan to help them turn the tables on the English who have taken Rouen. Joan says that this can be done if the noblemen can convince the Duke of Burgundy to forsake the English in favour of their side however she has her doubts about the Duke of Burgundy and his sincerity should he decide to side with French.

Duke of Burgundy:
I am vanquished; these haughty words of hers
Have batter’d me like roaring cannon-shot,
And made me almost yield upon my knees.
Forgive me, country, and sweet countrymen,
And, lords, accept this hearty kind embrace:
My forces and my power of men are yours:
So farewell, Talbot; I’ll no longer trust thee.

Joan la Pucelle:
[Aside] Done like a Frenchman: turn, and turn again!

Charles, King of France:
Welcome, brave duke! thy friendship makes us fresh.
 
Bastard of Orleans:
And doth beget new courage in our breasts.

And so, while the expression done like a Frenchman doesn’t seem to be a popular idiom in written English, it enjoys, and has enjoyed, a healthy life in spoken English as an insult towards the French.

That being said, until at least World War II, the British Army used the euphemism to take French leave when referring to a soldier deserting his company.  According to the Merriam Webster dictionary, to take French leave comes from an 18th century custom in France where guests left a reception without thanking the host or hostess for having invited them.  The dictionary states that the first known use of this phrase to take French leave dates back to 1771.

On July 23, 1942 the Lawrence Journal World newspaper published Harry Grayson‘s column “The Scoreboard.”  The article read in part:

Ed Barrow and Joy McCarthy don’t care for ball players who take French leave, especially when an injury has left the outfit with no one else for the position.  Rosar’s offense was particularly flagrant inasmuch as he was receiving and swinging for the everwilling Bill Dickey, out with a torn ligament in his shoulder.

In 1920, Edith Wharton published a book entitled “The Age Of Innocence” which had this passage in Book I, Chapter XVII:

“Look at him — in such hot haste to get married that he took French leave and rushed down to implore the silly girl on his knees!  That’s something like a lover — that’s the way handsome Bob Spicer carried off my poor mother; and then got tired of her before I was weaned –though they only had to wait eight months for me! But there — you’re not a Spicer, young man; luckily for you and for May. It’s only my poor Ellen that has kept any of their wicked blood; the rest of them are all model Mingotts,” cried the old lady scornfully.

In the Robert Louis Stevenson book “Treasure Island” published on May 23, 1883 after having been published in a children’s magazine in 1881 and 1882 as a serial story,  the expression to take French leave is found in Part V, Chapter 22 entitled, “My Sea Adventure.”

As for the scheme I had in my head, it was not a bad one in itself. I was to go down the sandy spit that divides the anchorage on the east from the open sea, find the white rock I had observed last evening, and ascertain whether it was there or not that Ben Gunn had hidden his boat, a thing quite worth doing, as I still believe. But as I was certain I should not be allowed to leave the enclosure, my only plan was to take French leave and slip out when nobody was watching, and that was so bad a way of doing it as made the thing itself wrong. But I was only a boy, and I had made my mind up.

The Colonist newspaper in New Zealand published the column “Spirit Of The Press” on December 21, 1858 with the following interesting bit of information about taking French leave.

We read that “the Bombay Geographical Society announce in their proceedings, that they have received a specimen of the Walking leaf from Java.”  A person who walks off is said to take French leave.  You may be sure that this tree is originally in France, and not liking a soil that was subject to so many political up-heavings, it took French leave, and walked off.  Hence, probably the origin of that term; or perhaps, the phrase of “cutting one’s stick” may be owing to the habits of this Walking-leaf.  It “cuts its stick” and walks away.  We think we have very cleverly explained two very vulgar idioms, the exact meaning of which has never till now been properly accounted for.  By-the-by, the Birnam Wood that walked into Macbeth, must have been a perambulating forest of these Walking-leaves.

Eliza Southgate Bowne was known for the many letters she wrote in her lifetime.  They were compiled by Clarence Cook and published in a book in 1887 entitled, “A Girl’s Life Eighty Years Ago.”  In a letter dated Sunday, May 25, 1806 to Miss Miranda Southgate, Eliza Southgate Bowne had written in part:

Now for news, which I suppose you are very anxious to hear.  Iin the first place — Miss Laurelia Dashaway is married to Mr. Hawkes.  On Saturday morning, 8 o’clock, Trinity Church was opened on purpose for the occasion; something singular, as it would not be like Miss Laurelia.  But what do you think — Mr. Grellet has taken French leave of New York — sailed for France about a fortnight ago, without anybody’s knowing their intention till they were gone.  There are many conjectures upon the occasion not very favorable to the state of their finances.  “Tis said his friends were very averse to her going with him.  If she had not, I suspect she might have sympathized with Madame Jerome Buonoparte and many other poor Madames that have founded their hopes on the fidelity of a Frenchman.

In the book “Letters from America” which is a compilation of the letters written by William Eddis.  In a letter to his wife written at Annapolis on September 26, 1775, William Eddis wrote in part:

Mr. L, who had actually embarked for England, with full permission from the ruling powers, has been obliged to relinquish his intention, and return on shore, some clamours having been excited by the populace to his prejudice; and it being though necessary he should remain to vindicate his conduct.  Many of our friends have found it expedient to take French leave.  I trust you will speedily meet them in perfect safety.

However even earlier than this, there are written discussion in the late 1760s on the meaning of the phrase and its origins.  Since a guest is not bound by etiquette to seek leave from the party’s host or hostess, it is proper protocol to seek out the host or hostess when one is about to leave.  It was determined that the phrase implies that the person who uses it or of whom it is used has done something that, strictly speaking, should not have done or for which the person should be ashamed.

Since the Merriam-Webster dictionary attributes the first use of the expression to take French leave to 1771, it appears the expression was alive and well in the years leading up to 1771.  Idiomation guesses that the earliest use may have been sometime in the 1760s.

For example, on September 11, 2009 the Daily Record of Glasgow, Scotland published an article by Grant Lauchlan entitled, “Cookery Kookery” which reviewed the movie “Julie and Julia.”  The lead off paragraph read:

Pardon my French but if you don’t know your poulet sauté aux herbes de Provence from your pissaladire, then you probably won’t have heard of Julia Child. She was America’s answer to Delia Smith and Fanny Craddock combined, a national treasure who wrote Mastering The Art Of French Cooking.

On August 24, 1987 the Milwaukee Journal ran a story written by Calvin Trillin for his column “Uncivil Liberties” entitled, “French Verbs? You Can Get Along Beautifully  Without ‘Em.”

My two years of high school French seemed to consist mainly of looking through the Kansas City Star for articles mentioning France, cutting them out and gluing them into a scrapbook — an experience that left me with few verbs but a nearly tournament-level skill in gluing.  We didn’t have any Francophones in our family — although anytime my Uncle Oscar used words that caused my mother to say, “Oscar! The children!” he followed them quickly with “Pardon my French.” 

Maybe the Milwaukee Journal was more partial to running stories with pardon my French in it than other newspapers.  In the July 22, 1939 edition carried the column written by Louella O. Parsons, Motion Picture Editor for the International News Service. Among the tidbits of news was this:

The exhibitors from Maine to California who have been raising heck (pardon my French) with MGM because Greer Garson hasn’t started a picture since her success in “Mr. Chips” will be glad to know that she faces the camera on Monday, with Robert Taylor as her co-star and Lew Ayres importantly featured.  The paying customers will see the captivating lady with the red hair in “Remember” authored and directed by Normal McLeod, with Milton Bren producing.

Back on August 2, 1908 the New York Times ran a story entitled, “Cock Of The Walk” that used a variation of the expression pardon my French.  In the story, the following exchange happens between Bridget the cook and the master of the house.

“I haven’t accused you of anything of the sort.  All I want to know is what became of that bottle, Bridget!”

“Then Oi’ll tell ye about that bottle, and then, mind ye, Oi’ll leave.  Last night Oi had company in the kitchen.  ‘Twas the cook and another iv the serants from the Van Bullion house across the street.  Oi had been telling them how much leeway Oi had in this house, even to being considered as one above the pale iv servants in any mansion, not excludin’ the White House.  There was a sneer on the face iv the Van Bullion cook, Sir, that Oi was tempted to efface wid a smash iv me fist; but, as is becoming a cook iv yours, Sir, Oi held my dignity and resolved to rub it in.  Excuse my French, Sir!”

However, the expression seems to have first appeared in the March 1895 edition of Harper’s Magazine in a story by Francis Hopkinson Smith entitled, “A Waterlogged Town.”  The story read in part:

“Do not the palaces interest you?” I asked inquiringly, in my effort to broaden his views.

“Palaces be durned!  Excuse my French.  Palaces!  A lot of cave-in old rookeries; with everybody living on the second floor because the first one’s so damp ye’d get your die-and-never-get-over-it if you’d lived in the basement, and the top floors so leaky that you go to bed under an umbrella; and they all braced up with iron clamps to keep ‘em from falling into the canal, and not a square inch on any one of ‘em clean enough to dry a shirt on!  What kind of holes are they for decent — Now see here, “haying his hand confidingly on my shoulder, “just answer me one question — you seem like a level-headed young man, and ought to give it to me straight.  Been here all summer, ain’t you?”

Now even though Idiomation was unable to find an earlier published version of the expression, that it would be used so easily in Harper’s Magazine in 1895 suggests that it was a common expression for the era and as such it is not unreasonable to place it at a generation or more prior to this, dating it to least 1875.

In 1949, the expression was used in “The Royal Engineers Journal” where the following can be found with regards to the post D-Day invasion of northern France.

Often frozen and wet through by night, they proceeded to march and fight at top speed for days on end. This was the 6th Airborne, with wings on its feet as well as its shoulders, and a spirit which said, ‘Bash on regardless.’

Jack London (1876 – 1916) wrote and published “Adventure” in 1911.  In Chapter XVII entitled, “Making The Books Come True” the following passage is found:

The steamer from Sydney, the Kammambo, broke the quietude of Berande for an hour, while landing mail, supplies, and the trees and seeds Joan had ordered. The Minerva, bound for Cape Marsh, brought the two cows from Nogi. And the Apostle, hurrying back to Tulagi to connect with the Sydney steamer, sent a boat ashore with the orange and lime trees from Ulava. And these several weeks marked a period of perfect weather. There were days on end when sleek calms ruled the breathless sea, and days when vagrant wisps of air fanned for several hours from one direction or another. The land-breezes at night alone proved regular, and it was at night that the occasional cutters and ketches slipped by, too eager to take advantage of the light winds to drop anchor for an hour.

In Sir Arthur Conan Doyle‘s book “A Study In Scarlet” which was published in 1887, the following is found in Part I, Chapter 1 where Dr. Watson, late of the Army Medical Department, reminiscences about Sherlock Holmes in this fashion:

Sherlock Holmes seemed delighted at the idea of sharing his rooms with me. “I have my eye on a suite in Baker Street,” he said, “which would suit us down to the ground. You don’t mind the smell of strong tobacco, I hope?”

“I always smoke `ship’s’ myself,” I answered.

“That’s good enough. I generally have chemicals about, and occasionally do experiments. Would that annoy you?”

“By no means.”

“Let me see — what are my other shortcomings. I get in the dumps at times, and don’t open my mouth for days on end. You must not think I am sulky when I do that. Just let me alone, and I’ll soon be right. What have you to confess now? It’s just as well for two fellows to know the worst of one another before they begin to live together.”

I laughed at this cross-examination. “I keep a bull pup,” I said, “and I object to rows because my nerves are shaken, and I get up at all sorts of ungodly hours, and I am extremely lazy. I have another set of vices when I’m well, but those are the principal ones at present.”

Various books, documents, stories, newspaper accounts et al make use of the expression days on end.  Idiomation’s research unearthed that the word end comes from the Old English word ende which is from the Old Norse word endir which means “the opposite side” or “boundary.” The original sense of the word means “outermost part” and dates back to the 900s however this sense is obsolete except in phrases such as days on end.

According to the American Heritage Dictionary of Idioms, the expression dates back to some time in the 1300s.

In fact, back in 1665 there was a British pamphlet entitled “The Dutch Boare Dissected” that was filled with what would be considered hate speech in today’s society.  Most of the English idioms negatively referring to the Dutch first appear around this era.  The sentiment continued in a number of literary works including John Arbuthnot’s 1712 story, “The History of John Bull.”  It took until the 18th century for the French to replace the Dutch as the bull’s-eye of English insults, once the French had established themselves as a major naval adversary of the British.

On May 9, 1880 the New York Times published a news story entitled, “The Dutch And Their Land: Holland Through A Telescope.”  The date line reads Utrecht, April 23 and the reporter dedicates the entire story to extolling the virtues of Holland and the people who call the country home.  The reporter writes in part:

The area of their possessions amounts to 660,000 square miles, and the population to 23,500,000 souls.  The towers of Amsterdam, which we see through the sacristan’s telescope, common views of Zuyder Zee, which furnishes the ballad-monger with the similie as to a Hollander’s capacity for drinking:

“Singing, O, that a Dutchman’s draught might be
 As deep as the rolling Zuider Zee.”

In the January 29, 1870 edition of Punch’s Almanack, in the column “More Happy Thoughts” the following is found:

German, English and French is being spoken freely; English, I think, predominating. There are three languages that puzzle me; I subsequently find they are Russian, Dutch and Greek.  The Dutch I always though was a rolling sort of tongue, so to speak; but, on reflection, I fancy this idea was mainly founded upon the remembrance of having heard, “Oh, that a Dutchman’s draught should be,” by a bass singer, late at night, years ago.

The Examiner was promoted as “A Sunday Paper on Politics, Domestic Economy and Theatricals.“  In the edition published on January 1, 1826 the paper referenced the expression on page 357 in the theatrical column, where readers can find this passage:

The music being chiefly selection, requires little notice; it wanted what Wzaza has recently taught us to look for in operas, — we mean sounds in ideal association with the story.  Miss Stephens was once encored; and the old glee of the “Dutchman’s Draught” with new words, was well sung by Yarnold, Nicol and G. Smith, and also loudly encored.

The song “Dutchman’s Draught” appeared in a play in three acts entitled, “The Law Of Java” which was first performed at the Theatre Royal in Covent Garden on May 11, 1822.  Act I begins with Dutch soldiers singing:

Mynheer Vandunck, though he was never drunk
Sipp’d Brandy and Water, gaily;
And he quench’d his thirst
With two arts of the first
To a pint of the latter daily;
Singing, “Oh, that a Dutchman’s Draught could be
As deep as the rolling Zuyder-Zee!”

Water well mingled with spirit, good store
No Hollander dreams of scorning;
But, of water alone, he drinks no more
Than a rose supplies when a dew-drop lies
On its bloom, in a summer morning;
For a Dutchman’s Draught should potent be,
Though deep as the rolling Zuyder-Zee.

Now English playwright, George Colman the Younger (1762 — 1836) was educated at Westminster School, Oxford and Aberdeen and he is the composer of “Mynheer Van Dunck” which starts off the play “The Law of Java.” It was a popular singing song that is found in numerous song books over the years including John McClure‘s “The Stag’s Hornbook” published in 1925 that listed the song as one of the 40 classics.

That the expression Dutchman’s draught was used easily in a song in a play back in 1822 indicates that the audience was familiar with the expression which dates it to somewhere in the mid 1700s.  And because it’s a fact that most negative idioms about the Dutch sprung up after 1665, the expression dates to somewhere between 1665 and 1750.

Idiomation was unable to establish an exact date for the expression Dutchman’s draught.  At the very least, however, it’s an expression of the 18th century and quite possible of the 17th century.

Now oddly enough, from 1849 until 1892, there was an express train that ran between London and Bristol which was known as “The Flying Dutchman.”  It was the companion train of “The Flying Scotchman” which traveled between London and Edinburgh.  Not to be outdone, out in British Columbia in 1862, the first steamship to enter the Stikine River was none other than “The Flying Dutchman.”  What’s more, an English thoroughbred racehorse who won all of his first two season’s race starts back in the 1840s was named “The Flying Dutchman.”  And most recently, in 2007 an amusement park in Efteling in the Netherlands named its water coaster ride constructed by Dutch manufacturer Vekoma.

From all of this, we know that the expression “Flying Dutchman” has been around since the early 1800s at least.  But how far back can we trace the expression?  The Baltimore Sun announced the performance of “The Flying Dutchman” in the April 15, 1839 edition of the newspaper.  Now we know that the reference wasn’t to German composer Richard Wagner‘s opera “Der fliegende Holländer” since the composer claimed in his autobiography in 1870 that he had been inspired to create the opera following a sea crossing he made from Riga to London in July and August 1839. 

There was, however, a novel by Heinrich Heine entitled, “The Memoirs of Mister von Schnabelewopski” published in 1834 that contained within its pages the story of “The Flying Dutchman.”  However, he was not the first to mention the character in question.  In fact, the first print reference is found in the book by George Barrington entitled “A Voyage To Botany Bay” published by 1795.  The following excerpt can be found in Chapter VI:

I had often heard of the superstition of sailors respecting apparitions, but had never given much credit to the report; it seems that some years since a Dutch man of war was lost off the Cape of Good Hope, and every soul on board perished; her consort weathered the gale, and arrived soon after at the Cape.  Having refitted, and returning to Europe, they were assailed by a violent tempest nearly in the same latitude. In the night watch some of the people saw, or imagined they saw, a vessel standing for them under a press of sail, as though she would run them down: one in particular affirmed it was the ship that had foundered in the former gale, and that it must certainly be her, or the apparition of her; but on its clearing up, the object, a dark thick cloud, disappeared. Nothing could do away the idea of this phenomenon on the minds of the sailors; and, on their relating the circumstances when they arrived in port, the story spread like wild-fire, and the supposed phantom was called the Flying Dutchman.

Now it’s possible that the Captain in question was indeed Bernard Fokke but it’s also just as possible that the captain in question was Van der Decke, the captain of a Dutch ship that sank off the cost of Cape of Good Hope back in 1641.  Folkore has it that as the ship began to sink in stormy waters, the Captain shouted out, “I will round this Cape even if I have to keep sailing until Doomsday!“

Regardless of who the captain of the ghost ship happens to be, it has been sighted a number of times including on 1881 by the crew of the HMS Bacchante as the ship rounded the tip of Africa; in 1879 by the crew of the SS Pretoria; in 1911 by the crew of a whaling ship; in 1923 by members of the British Navy who then provided documentation to the Society of Psychical Research; in 1939 by people on shore as well as German Admiral Karl Doenitz as he maintained his U-boat; in 1941 by a group of people at Glencairn Beach; in 1942 by four people at Table Bay; and in 1959, it’s alleged that the Magelhaen nearly collided with “The Flying Dutchman.”

What Idiomation can confirm is that while the legend of “The Flying Dutchman” has been around for at least 100 years more than the first printed reference, there does not appear to be an earlier printed reference than the one by George Barrington (1755–1804) in 1795.  However, that an Irishman should happen upon the story and write it down suggests that the legend he heard was at least 50 years old, pegging it to the mid 1700s. 

Interestingly enough, the spoken word tradition of passing stories down from generation to generation with only a few written comments found along the way tags the beginning of the tale of “The Flying Dutchman” to the turn of the 18th century …. the early 1700s … and with both captains separated by a mere generation, the legend could easily be about either captain.

Now the word Dutchman is an archaic term that dates back to the 14th century that refers to a member of any of the Germanic people of Germany, Austria, Switzerland, and the Low Countries.  These days, it refers to someone from the Netherlands and usually Holland.  As readers of Idiomation now know,  by the 17th century the Dutch and the English were hated military and commercial rivals and so many barbs and insults were thought up with which to insult each other.

Back on January 15, 2005 journalist Ian Youngs wrote an article for the BBC News entitled, “How Busted Rocked The Pop Scene.”  The article was about a British pop trio that formed in late 2002 and over the course of three years, they had eight UK Top 3 singles.  The article began with kudos to the trio for writing their own songs and playing their own instruments.  But not everyone believed that.  In fact, Darren Stephens of lliria, Spain had this to say about the trio:

Talentless trash! If they were playing those instruments, I’m a Dutchman! Good riddance!

Back on March 18, 1976 the Chicago Tribune ran an article in the sports section written by Art Dunn.  It was entitled, “Hawks Rally, Nip Leafs” and reported on events happening in the National Hockey League‘s 50th season.  As is always the case as things draw closer to the Stanley Cup final, things were heating up with the teams, the coaches, the owners and the fans.  Some were less pleased with the final results of the game that night and one person was quoted as saying:

If that’s neutral officiating, I’m a Dutchman.

Now the Chicago Tribune appears to like this expression quite a bit.  On July 25, 1934 the newspaper ran a story written by author, Elizabeth York Miller entitled, “Her Husband’s Fiancee.”  It was the story of Cecily Marshall of Bellchester, England who returned to her husband, Bellchester’s leading merchant prince, after a year’s absence.  What she didn’t know was that Audrey Lowe and her cousin Reggie Davies had ideas of their own about breaking up Cecily’s marriage.  The story provides this tidbit when one of the characters says:

Then his jolly little divorce would go west, or I’m a Dutchman. I told her to go to David and be dammed to her.

The Tuapeka Times published another excerpt of murder mystery story by author, Harold M. Mackie entitled, “A Story Of North Queensland” on June 13, 1891.  He was the author of “The Squatter’s Daughter” and well-known to the Tuapeka Times readers.  On this day, the story continued with more from Chapter XVIII where the following was found:

“There’ll have to be an exhumation of the remains in order to see if there are any traces of poisoning in the stomach,” said Popham.  “That’ll be another job for Brook, and not a pleasant one either.  No one guessed of such a thing as poisoning or attempted poisoning.  This case promises some rather interesting features, and looks very black against Prescott.  He’ll have to give a clear account of how Liscombe came to be in possession of this flask full of drugged whisky.  Of course, circumstances may have occurred by which Liscombe was the rightful owner of the article, but as we have said before it is not likely that Prescott made him a present of it.”

“He might have done so,” remarked Tulloch, “when it contained poison.”

“That, my friend, we’ll prove, or I’m a Dutchman.  A man who’s drugged might certainly have an inclination to dash his brains out against a tree, and whether Maurice Liscombe’s death has been that of his own doing or the work of another this vile compound is indirectly the cause.”

The expression is found in the 1857 book by J.D. Borthwick, “Three Years California” where the invective “damned” is sometimes added to make the expression more colourful.  The expression is identified as a typical sailor’s oath for the day and so it dates back at least to the early 1800s to be used to easily and with such conviction that the expression will be understood by all who hear it.

This makes sense as author George Elliot — the pseudonym for Mary Ann Evans — published a book in 1860 entitled, “The Mill On The Floss.”  In Chapter 4, “Tom Is Expecting” the following conversation is found:

“But they’re our fellow-creatures, Luke; we ought to know about our fellow-creatures.”

“Not much o’ fellow-creaturs, I think, Miss; all I know – my old master, as war a knowin’ man, used to say, says he, ‘If e’er I sow my wheat wi’out brinin’, I’m a Dutchman,’ says he; an’ that war as much as to say as a Dutchman war a fool, or next door. Nay, nay, I aren’t goin’ to bother mysen about Dutchmen. There’s fools enoo, an’ rogues enoo, wi’out lookin’ i’ books for ‘em.”

That it should be used by an author of the fairer sex in the mid 1800s certainly speaks loudly to the fact that the expression was indeed known to much of the population at the time.  Now, knowing what the times were like for someone of the fairer sex to have heard such an expression most often spoken by sailors, it had to be an expression that was around for quite some time … at least 2 generations which pegs the expression to the late 1700s.

And so it is!  In the book, “The Old Sailor’s Jolly Boat” published in 1790, the story has this excerpt in it:

“Well, there they are,” declared Phillips, ” and an unrolled ball of spun-yarn from one to the other to keep up the relationship.”

“Capital,” exclaimed the boatswain, rubbing his hands together with greater pleasure than he had enjoyed for some time past; ” if that don’t let her into the secret in spite of all the Tartars, aye and cream of Tartars in the world, then I’m a Dutchman; but there’s a space atwixt the two gallon measures, Jack.”

With it being part of the vernacular back in 1790, how far back does relating the Dutch with something unbelievable go?  Surely it reaches back at least another 2 generations putting the expression to the early to mid 1700s.

English Renaissance dramatist, Ben Jonson (1572 – 1637) was William Shakespeare’s junior by nearly a decade.  In Act I, Scene I of Ben Jonson’s satirical play “Volpone” published in 1606 and performed in 1607, the following exchange is found which embraces the spirit of the expression:

VOLPONE:
True, my beloved Mosca. Yet I glory
More in the cunning purchase of my wealth,
Than in the glad possession; since I gain
No common way; I use no trade, no venture;
I wound no earth with plough-shares; fat no beasts,
To feed the shambles; have no mills for iron,
Oil, corn, or men, to grind them into powder:
I blow no subtle glass; expose no ships
To threat’nings of the furrow-faced sea;
I turn no monies in the public bank,
Nor usure private.

MOSCA:
No sir, nor devour
Soft prodigals. You shall have some will swallow
A melting heir as glibly as your Dutch
Will pills of butter, and ne’er purge for it;

And so the expression dates back to sometime between 1606 and the early 1700s and the spirit of the expression dates back to before 1606.

Captain John Smith – he of Pocahontas fame — wrote a book entitled, “An Accidence or The Pathway to Experience Necessary for all Young Sea-men, or those that are desirous to goe to Sea” that was first published in London in 1626.  In this book, he makes mention of the Dutchman’s log.

According to the “Houghton Mifflin Guide to Science & Technology” the term Dutchman’s log was in use in 1575.  Two years later, Humphry Cole invented the ship’s log which kept track of a ship’s speed with respect to the water.  This invention was known as the log-and-line and consisted of a float attached to a line that was a specific length and that was paid out for a specific length of time.

In the end Idiomation tracked down that the Dutchman’s log was invented by Portuguese inventor, Bartolomeu Crescêncio, near the end of 15th century putting in the late 1400s.

The expression is part of traditional sea-going weather lore where it’s believed that in bad weather, two patches of blue sky is a hopeful sign as long as the patches are big enough to “mend a pair of Dutchman’s breeches.”  Back in the day, sailors wore wide trousers, and Dutch sailors were known to wear even wider trousers which just happened to be blue like the the sky on a clear day.

The expression has fallen out of favour over the past couple of generations but back on October 20, 1935 the Hartford Courant used the expression in a news story entitled, “A Patch Of Blue Sky.”  It spoke of the international crisis that was looming at every turn and how Great Britain had recently refused to remove a ship from the Mediterranean while Italy was rushing troops to the border of Libya.  In the article, the following was included:

Will the patch of blue sky above be us; large as a Dutchman’s breeches and a sign of fair weather to come?

On February 3, 1900 the Dubuque Daily Herald ran an article entitled, “Winter Six Weeks More: Famous Ground Hog Saw His Shadow at 12 O’Clock To-day.”  The story felt compelled to include a number of old superstition weather proverbs which included this one:

When there is enough clear sky to patch a Dutchman’s breeches expect fair weather.

A couple of year prior to that news story, the New York Times published an article on June 6, 1897 entitled, “Names Of The Clouds.”  What’s particularly interesting is that the expression Dutchman’s breeches is referred to as an old saw. 

The strato-cumulus clouds were formerly designated with the words combined in the inverse order, and the name, with its abbreviation s-cu, is bestowed upon large globular masses or rolls of dark cloud frequently covering the whole sky.  They are especially noticable in Winter, and occasionally give the sky a wavy appearance.  It is not a very thick layer of cloud, and occasionally blue patches of sky are visible through the intervening spaces.  The old saw is that when there is enough blue sky to make a pair of Dutchman’s breeches, the following day will surely be a pleasant one.

As a side note, the expression “old saw” refers to a proverb and that expression (old saw) dates back to some time in the 1400s.  So if a journalist in the 1890s referred to the expression Dutchman’s breeches as an old saw, it means it goes back farther than the 1890s.

The expression is found in the book “Reading The Weather” written by T. Morris Longstreth and published in 1915.  He dedicated the book to his grandmother, Mary Gibson Haldeman.  The author credits his grandmother for passing along the proverbs which puts the expression at least to the early 1800s.

In Idiomation’s research, however, it was learned that the expression dates back to the Anglo-Dutch naval wars of the 17th century.  And so this all-but-forgotten, four-hundred-year-old conflict is enshrined for all time in the passionate dislike the English had for the Dutch back in the day.