Let us continue the story of Chuang-tsze, the great master of magic.
Before many days, as I have stated, Chuang-tsze became suddenly and severely attacked, by some unaccountable disease. The symptoms were full of evil. His devoted wife was ever near her sick husband, sobbing bitterly, and bathing him in tears. “It is but too plain,” said the philosopher, “that I cannot survive—I am upon the bed of death—this very night, perhaps—at farthest, tomorrow—we shall part forever—what a pity, that you should have destroyed that fan—it would have answered so well, for the purpose of drying the earth upon my tomb!”
“For heaven’s sake,” exclaimed the weeping wife, “do not, weak and feeble as you are, harrass yourself, with these horrible fancies. You do me great wrong. Our books I have carefully perused. I know my duties well. You have received my troth—it shall never be another’s. Can you doubt my sincerity! Let me prove it, by dying first. I am ready.” “Enough,” said the philosopher—“I now die in peace—I am satisfied ofyour constancy. But the world is fading away—the cold hand of death is upon me.” The head of Chuang-tsze fell back—the breath had stopped—the pulse had ceased to beat—he was already with the dead.
If the piercing cries of a despairing, shrieking widow could have raised the dead, Chuang-tsze would have arisen, on the spot. She sprang upon the corpse, and held it long, in her fond embrace. She then arrayed her person in the deepest mourning, a robe of seamless white, and made the air resound with her cries of anguish and despair. She abjured food; abstained from slumber; and refused to be comforted.
Chuang-tsze had the wide-spread fame of an eminent sage—crowds gathered to his obsequies. After their performance, and when the vast assemblage had all, well nigh, departed—a youth of comely face, and elegantly arrayed, was observed, lingering near the spot. He proclaimed himself to be of most honorable descent, and that he had, long before, declared to Chuang-tsze his design of becoming the pupil of that great philosopher. “For that end,” said he, “and that alone, I have come to this place—and behold Chuang-tsze is no more. Great is my misfortune!”
This splendid youth cast off his colored garments, and assumed the robes of lamentation—he bowed himself to the earth, before the coffin of the defunct—four times, he touched the ground with his forehead; and, with an utterance choked by sobs, he exclaimed—“Oh Chuang-tsze, learned and wise, your ill-fated disciple cannot receive wisdom and knowledge from your lips; but he will signify his reverence for your memory, by abiding here an hundred days, to mourn, for one he so truly revered.” He then again bent his forehead, four times, to the earth, and moistened it with his tears.
The youthful disciple, after a few days, desired permission to offer his condolence to the widow, which she, at first declined: but, upon his reference to the ancient rites, which allow a widow to receive the visits of her late husband’s friends, and especially of his disciples, she finally consented. She moved with slow and solemn steps to the hall of reception, where the young gentleman acquitted himself, with infinite grace and propriety, and tendered the usual expressions of consolation.
The elegant address and fine person of this young disciple were not lost upon the widow of Chuang-tsze. She wasfascinated. A sentiment of tenderness began to rise in her bosom, whose presence she had scarcely the courage to recognize. She ventured, in a right melancholy way, to suggest a hope, that it was not his purpose immediately to leave the valley of Soong. “I have endured much in the loss of my great master,” he replied. “Precious forever be his memory. It will be grateful to my heart to seek here a brief home, wherein I may pass those hundred days of mourning, which our rites prescribe, and then to take part in the obsequies, which will follow. I may also solace myself the while, by perusing the works of my great master, of whose living instructions I am so unhappily deprived.”
“We shall feel ourselves highly honored, by your presence, under our roof,” replied the lady; “it seems to me entirely proper, that you should take up your abode here, rather than elsewhere.” She immediately directed some refreshments to be brought, and caused the works of Chuang-tsze to be exhibited, on a large table, together with a copy of the learned Taou-te-King, which had been a present to her late husband, from Laou-keun himself.
The coffin of Chuang-tsze was deposited, in a large hall; and, on one side, was a suite of apartments, opening into it, which was assigned to the visitor. This devoted widow came, very frequently, to weep over the remains of her honored husband; and failed not to say a civil word to the youth, who, notified of her presence, by her audible sobs, never omitted to come forth, and mingle his lamentations with hers. Mutual glances were exchanged, upon such occasions. In short, each, already, was effectually smitten with the other.
One day, the pretty, little widow sent privately for the old domestic, who attended upon the young man, in the capacity of body servant, and inquired, all in a seemingly casual way, if his master was married. “Not yet”—he replied.—“He is very fastidious, I suppose”—said the lady, with an inquiring look.—“It is even so, madam,” replied the servant—“my master is, indeed, not easily suited, in such a matter. His standard is very high. I have heard him say, that he should, probably, never be married, as he despaired of ever finding a female resembling yourself, in every particular.”—“Did he say so?” exclaimed the widow, as the warm blood rushed into her cheeks.—“He certainly did,” replied the other, “and much more, which I do not feel at liberty to repeat.”—“Dear me,” said the widow,“what a bewitching young man he is! go to him, and if he really loves me, as you say, tell him he may open the subject, without fear, for his passion is amply returned, by one, who is willing, if he so wishes, to become his wife.”
The young widow, from day to day, threw herself repeatedly, and as if by accident, into the old servant’s way; and began, at last, to feel surprised, and somewhat nettled, that he brought her no message from his master. At length, she became exceedingly impatient, and asked him directly, if he had spoken to his master on the subject. “Yes, madam,” the old man replied.—“And pray,” asked the widow, eagerly, “what said he?”—“He said, madam, that such an union would place him upon the pinnacle of human happiness; but that there was one fatal objection.”—“And do, for pity’s sake, tell me,” said she, hastily interrupting the old man, “what that objection can be.”—“He said,” rejoined the old domestic, “that, being a disciple of your late husband, such a marriage, he feared, would be considered scandalous.”—“But,” said she, briskly, “there is just nothing in that. He was never a disciple of Chuang-tsze—he only proposed to become one, which is an entirely different thing. If any other frivolous objections arise, I beg you to remove them; and you may count upon being handsomely rewarded.”
Her anxiety caused her to become exceedingly restless. She made frequent visits to the hall, and, when she approached the coffin, her sobs became more audible than ever—but the young disciple came not forth, as usual. Upon one occasion, after dark, as she was standing near the coffin, she was startled, by an unusual noise. “Gracious Heaven!” she exclaimed, “can it be so! Is the old philosopher coming back to life!” The cold sweat came upon her lovely brow, as she started to procure a light. When she returned, the mystery was readily explained. In front of the coffin there was a table, designed as an altar, for the reception of such emblems and presents, as were placed there by visitors. The old servant, had become tipsy, and finding no more convenient place, in which to bestow himself, while waiting his master’s bidding, he had thrown himself, at full length, upon this altar; and, in turning over, had occasioned the noise, which had so much alarmed the young widow. Under other circumstances, the act would have been accounted sacrilegious, and the fellow would have been subjected to the bastinado. But, as matters stood, the widow passed it by, and even suffered the sot to remain undisturbed.
On the morning of the following day, the widow encountered the old domestic, who was passing her, with as much apparent indifference, as though she had never entrusted him, with any important commission. Surprised by his behavior, she called him to her private apartment—“Well,” said she, “have you executed the business, which I gave you in charge?”—“Oh,” said he, with an air of provoking indifference, “that is all over, I believe.”—“How so,” inquired the widow—“did you deliver my message correctly?”—“In your own words,” he replied—“my master would make any sacrifice to make you his wife; and is entirely persuaded, by your arguments, to give up the objection he stated, in regard to his being the disciple of Chuang-tsze; but there are three other objections, which it will be impossible to overcome; and which his sense of delicacy forbids him to exhibit before you.”—“Poh, poh,” said the widow, “let me hear what they are, and we shall then see, whether they are insurmountable or not.”—“Well, madam,” said the old man, “since you command me, I will state them, as nearly as I can, in the words of my young master. The first of these three objections is this——”
We were about to exhibit those three objections of the young disciple, to his marriage, with the widow of Chuang-tsze, when we were summoned away, by professional duties. Let us proceed—“The first of my master’s objections,” said the old domestic, “is this—the coffin of Chuang-tsze is still in the hall of ceremony. A sight, so sad and solemnizing, is absolutely inconsistent with the nuptial celebration. The world would cry out upon such inconsistency. In the second place, the fame of your late husband was so great—his love for you so devoted—yours for him so ardent and sincere, and founded, so obviously, upon his learning and wisdom—that my master fears it will be impossible for him, to supply the place of so good, and so great, a man; and that you will, ere long, despise him, for his inferiority; and that your affections will be entirely and unchangeably fixed, on the memory of the great defunct. The third and lastobjection, named by my master, whose passion for you knows no bounds, is serious indeed. Though of lofty pedigree, he is very poor. He has neither money nor lands; and has not the means of purchasing those marriage gifts, which custom requires him to offer.”
“And are these the only objections?” said she. “There are no others,” he replied; “if it were not for these insurmountable objections, the happiness of my master would be complete, and he would openly manifest that passion, by which he is now secretly consumed.”
“They are, by no means, insurmountable,” said the young widow, with animation. “As for the coffin, what is it? A mere shell, containing the remains of poor Chuang-tsze. It is not absolutely necessary, that it should remain in the hall, during these one hundred days. At the farther end of my garden is an ancient smoke-house. It is quite dilapidated, and no longer in use. Some of my people shall carry the coffin thither, without farther delay. So you may inform your sweet, young master, that his first objection will be instantly removed. And why should he distress himself so needlessly, in regard to the second? Chuang-tsze certainly passed, with the world, for a great philosopher, and a wonderful man. The world sees from a distance. A sort of haze or mist impedes its vision. Minute particulars escape its observation. That, which is smooth and fair, seen from afar, may appear full of inequalities to one, who is near at hand. God forbid, that I should undervalue the dead; but it is well known, that Chuang-tsze repudiated his second wife, because she did not precisely suit his humor, and then married me. His great reputation induced a certain sovereign, to appoint him his chief minister. But the philosopher was not deficient in shrewdness—he knew his incapacity, and resolved to hide himself, in that solitude, where we have vegetated, so long.”
“About a month ago, he encountered a young widow, who, with a large fan, was endeavoring to dry up her husband’s grave, because she could not marry again, under the condition her husband had imposed upon her, until this was done. Chuang-tsze, if you will believe it, made the acquaintance of this shameless woman; and actually assisted her, in drying up her husband’s grave. She gave him a fan, as a keepsake; and he valued it highly. I got possession of it however, and tore it to tatters. You see how great my obligations are to this wonderful philosopher;and you may judge of the real affection, which I must feel, for the memory of such a man.”
“The last objection,” continued the widow, “is easily disposed of. I will furnish your master with all the means he can desire. Chuang-tsze, to do the man justice, has left me the absolute mistress of an ample fortune—here, present these twenty taels to your master, from me, with such expressions of devotion, as may befit the lips of one, whose heart is all his own; and say to him, unless he himself is desirous of a longer delay, that, as the whole of life is not too long for love, I shall be happy, if he desires it, to become his bride, this very day.”
Thus far the course of true love, in despite of the proverb, certainly ran smooth.
“Here,” said the young disciple, upon sight of the twenty taels, as he turned them over, “is something substantial—run back immediately to the widow, and tell her my passion will endure the curb no longer. I am entirely at her disposal.” The widow was quite beside herself, upon receiving these tidings; and, casting off her garments of heaviness, she began to embellish her fine person. The coffin of Chuang-tsze, by her directions, was immediately transferred to the old smoke-house.
The hall was made ready, for the approaching nuptials. If murmurs occasionally arose, among the old, faithful domestics of Chuang-tsze, the widow’s passion was more blind than moonless midnight, and deafer than the time-stricken adder. A gorgeous feast was made ready. The shades of evening drew on apace—the lanterns were lighted up, in all directions—the nuptial torch cast forth its bright beams from an elevated table.
At the appointed signal, the bridegroom entered, most skilfully and splendidly arrayed,—so that his fine, manly figure was exhibited, to the greatest advantage. The young widow soon appeared, her countenance the very tabernacle of pleasure, and her bewitching form, adorned in the most costly silks, and splendid embroidery. They placed themselves, side by side, in front of the hymeneal taper, arrayed in pearls, and diamonds, and tissue of gold. Those salutations, which custom demands, having been duly performed, and the bride and bridegroom having wished each other eternal felicity, in that manner, which the marriage rites prescribe, the bridegroom holding the hand of the bride, they proceeded to the festal hall; and having drunk from the goblet of mutual fidelity, they took their places, at the banqueting board.
The repast went joyously forward—the darkest cloud—how suddenly will it come over the smiling face of the bewitching moon! The festival had not yet passed, when the bridegroom fell to the floor, in horrible convulsions. With eyes turned upward, and mouth frightfully distorted, he became an object of horror. The bride, whose passion for the young disciple was ardent and sincere, screamed aloud. She threw herself, in all her bridal array, upon the floor, by his side; clasped him in her arms; covered him with kisses; and implored him, to say what she could do, to afford him relief. Miserable youth! He was unable to reply, and seemed about to expire.
The old domestic rushed into the apartment, upon hearing the noise, and taking his master from the floor, proceeded to shake him with violence. “My God,” cried the lady, “has this ever happened before?” “Yes, Madam,” he replied, “he has a return of it about once, in every year.” “And, for Heaven’s sake, tell me what remedies do you employ?” she eagerly inquired. “There is one sovereign remedy,” the old man replied; “his physician considers it a specific.” “And what is it? tell me, in the name of Confucius,” she passionately exclaimed, for the convulsions were growing more violent. “Nothing will restore him, but the brains of a man, recently dead, taken in warm wine. His father, who was governor of a province, when his son was last attacked, in this way, caused a criminal to be executed, that his brains might be thus employed.” “Good God!” exclaimed the agonizing bride, for the convulsions, after a short remission, were returning, with redoubled violence, and the bridegroom was foaming terribly, at the mouth. “Tell me instantly, will the brains of a man who died a natural death answer as well?” “Undoubtedly,” the old servant replied. “Well then,” said she, in a tone somewhat subdued—“there is Chuang-tsze in the smoke-house.” “Ah, Madam,” said the old domestic, “I am aware of it—it occurred to me—but I feared to suggest it.” “And of what possible use,” she exclaimed, “can the brains of old Chuang-tsze be to him now, I should like to know?”
At this moment, the convulsions became absolutely terrific. “These returns,” said the old man, “will become more and more violent, till they destroy my poor master. There is no time to be lost.” The wretched bride rushed from the apartment, and, seizing a hatchet, which happened to be lying in theouter passage, she hastily made her way to the old smoke-house. Elevating the hatchet above her head, she struck a violent blow, on the lid of the coffin.
If the whole force of the blow had descended upon a secret spring, the lid could not have risen more suddenly. It seemed like the power of magic. The bride turned her eyes upon the closed lids of the corpse—they gradually opened; and the balls were slowly turned, and steadily fixed, upon her. In an instant Chuang-tsze sat, bolt upright, in his coffin! She sent forth a shriek of terror—the hatchet fell from her paralyzed hand—the cold sweat of confusion gathered thickly upon her brow.
“My beloved wife,” said the philosopher, with perfect calmness, “be so obliging as to lend me your hand, that I may get out.—I have had a charming nap,” continued he, as he took the lamp from her hand, and advanced towards the hall. She followed, trembling at every step, and dreading the meeting, between the old philosopher and the young disciple.
Though the air of unwonted festivity, under the light of the waning tapers, still hung over the apartment, fortunately the youth and the old servant seemed to have departed. Upon this, her courage, in some measure, revived, and, turning a look of inexpressible tenderness upon Chuang-tsze—“Dearest husband,” said she, “how I have cherished your memory! My day thoughts and dreams have been all of you. I have often heard, that the apparent dead were revived, especially if not confined within closed apartments. I therefore caused your precious coffin to be removed, where the cool, refreshing air could blow over it. How I have watched, and listened, for some evidence of returning life! And how my heart leaped into my mouth, when my vigilance was at last rewarded. I flew with a hatchet to open the coffin; and, when I saw your dear eyes turned upon me, I thought I should”—“I can never repay your devotion,” said the philosopher, interrupting her, with an expression of ineffable tenderness, “but why are you thus gaily apparelled—why these robes—these jewels—my love?”
“It seemed to me, my dear husband,” she readily replied, “that some invisible power assured me of your return to life. How, thought I, can I meet my beloved Chuang-tsze, in the garments of heaviness? No; it will be like a return of our wedding day; and thus, you see, I have resumed my bridal array, and the jewels you gave me, during our honeymoon.”—“Ah,”said the philosopher, “how considerate you are—you always had your thoughts about you.” He then drew near the table. The wedding taper, which was then burning low in its socket, cast its equivocal rays upon the gorgeous bowls and dishes, which covered the festal board. Chuang-tsze surveyed them attentively, in silence; and, calling for warm wine, deliberately drained the goblet, while the lady stood near him, trembling with confusion and terror.
At length, setting down the goblet, and pointing his finger—“Look behind you!” he exclaimed. She turned her head, and beheld the young disciple, in his wedding finery, with his attendant—a second glance, and they were gone. Such was the power of this mighty master of magic. The wife slunk to her apartment; and, resolving not to survive her shame and disappointment, unloosened her wedding girdle, and ascending to the garret, hung herself therewith, to one of the cross-beams, until she was dead. Tidings were soon brought to Chuang-tsze, who, deliberately feeling her pulse, and ascertaining that she was certainly dead, cut her down, and placed her precious remains, in the coffin, in the old smoke-house.
He then proceeded to indulge his philosophical humor. He sat down, among the flickering lamps, at the solitary board, and struck up a dirge, accompanying his voice, by knocking with the chopsticks, and whatever else was convenient to his purpose, upon the porcelain bowls and dishes, which he finally broke into a thousand pieces, and setting fire to his mansion, he consumed it to ashes, together with the smoke-house, and all its valuable contents.
He then, abandoning all thoughts of taking another wife, travelled into the recesses of Latinguin, in pursuit of his old master, Laoukeun, whom, at length, he discovered. There he acquired the reputation of a profound philosopher; and lay down, at last, in the peaceful grave, where wicked widows cease from troubling, and weary widowers are at rest.
A grasshopper was not the crest of Peter Faneuil’s arms. I formerly supposed it was; for a gilded grasshopper, as half the world knows, is the vane upon the cupola of Faneuil Hall; and a gilded grasshopper, as many of us well remember, whirled about, of yore, upon the little spire, that rose above the summer-house, appurtenant to the mansion, where Peter Faneuil lived, and died. That house was built, and occupied, by his uncle, Andrew; and he had some seven acres, for his garden thereabouts. It was upon the westerly side of oldTreamountStreet, and became the residence of the late William Phillips, whose political relations to the people of Massachusetts, as their Lieutenant Governor, could not preserve him from the sobriquet ofBilly.
I thought it not unlikely, that Peter’s crest was a grasshopper, and that, on that account, he had become partial to this emblem. But I am duly certified, that it was not so. The selection of a grasshopper, for a vane, was made, in imitation of their example, who placed the very same thing, upon the pinnacle of the Royal Exchange, in London. The arms of the Faneuils I have seen, upon the silver castors, which once were Peter’s own; and, upon his decease, became the property of his brother, Benjamin, from whom they descended to his only daughter, Mary Faneuil, who became, October 13, 1754, the wife of George Bethune, now deceased; and was the mother of George Bethune, Esquire, who will complete his eighty-second year, in April, 1851. From this gentleman, whose grand-uncle Peter Faneuil was, and from other descendants of old Benjamin Faneuil, of Rochelle, I have received some facts and documents—interesting to me—possibly to others.
In conversation with an antiquarian friend, not long ago, we agreed, that very much less was generally known of Peter Faneuil, than of almost any other great, public benefactor. His name, nevertheless, is inseparably associated, with the cradle of American liberty. Drs. Eliot and Allen, in their Biographical Dictionaries, have passed him over, very slightingly, the former finishing up this noble-hearted Huguenot, with fifteen lines; and the latter, with eight; while not a few of their pages have beendevoted, to the very dullest doctors of the drowsiest theology, and to—
“Names ignoble, born to be forgot.”
Mr. Farmer, in his Genealogical Register, does not seem to be aware, that the name of Faneuil existed, for he has not even found a niche for it there. His Register, I am aware, purports to be a register of the “First Settlers.” But he has found room for the Baudouins (Bowdoins) and their descendants. They also were Huguenots; and came hither, with the Faneuils, after 1685. One of that family, as will be more fully shown, Claude Baudoin, presented Peter Faneuil in baptism. Yet, such was the public sense of Peter’s favors,when they were green, that John Lovell—that same Master Lovell, who retired with the British army, in 1776—delivered, under an appointment of the town, an oration, to commemorate the virtues, and laud the munificence of Peter Faneuil. Such, in truth, was the very first occasion, upon which the citizens were summoned to listen to the voice of an orator, in Faneuil Hall; and then, in honor of him, who perfected the noble work, at his own proper cost, and whose death so speedily followed its completion—for a noble work assuredly it was, relatively to the times, in which it was wrought.
The Faneuils were Huguenots. The original pronunciation of this patronymic must have been somewhat different from the present: there was an excusablenaïveté, in the inquiry of a rural visitant of the city—if a well known mechanical establishment, with a tall, tubular chimney, were notFunnelHall?
After the revocation of the edict of Nantes, by Louis XIV., in 1685, the Faneuils, in common with many other Huguenots of France,—the Baudouins, the Bernons, the Sigourneys, the Boudinots, the Pringles, the Hugers, the Boutineaus, the Jays, the Laurenses, the Manigaults, the Marions, the Prioleaus, and many others, came to these North American shores—as our pilgrim fathers came—to worship God, in security, and according to their consciences. Many of these persecuted men conferred, upon their adopted home, those blessings, which the exercise of their talents, and the influence of their characters, and of the talents and characters of their descendants have confirmed to our common country, for many generations.
They came, by instalments, and arrived at different points. Thirty families of these expatriated Protestants came hither, and settled upon a tract, eight miles square, in the “Nipmugcountry,” where now stands the town of Oxford, in the County of Worcester. This settlement commenced, in Gov. Dudley’s time, and under his particular auspices; but continued only till 1696, when it was broken up, by the inroads of the savages. In the overthrow of this settlement, rum was a material agent, and occasioned, though upon a very small scale, a second massacre of some of these Huguenots. There is a letter to Gov. Dudley, from M. Bondet, the Huguenot clergyman, dated July 6, 1691, complaining bitterly of the unrestricted sale, among the Indians, of this fatal fire water; and giving a graphic account of the uproar and outrage it produced.
After the failure of this attempt, many of the scattered planters collected, in Boston. For several years, they gathered, for devotional purposes, in one of the larger school-houses. Jan. 4, 1704, they purchased a piece of land, in South School Street, of John Mears, a hatter, for “£110 current silver money of New England;” but, for several years, the selectmen, for some cause, unknown to us, refused their consent, that these worthy French Protestants should build their church thereon. About twelve years after the purchase of the land, the little church—the visible temple—went up. It was of brick, and very small. Monsieur Pierre Daillé was their first pastor, André Le Mercier the second; and, if there be any truth, in tradition, these Huguenot shepherds were pure and holy men. Daillé died testate, May 20, 1715. His will bears date May 15, of that year. He directs his body to be interred, at the discretion of his executor, James Bowdoin, “with this restriction, that there be no wine at my funeral, and that none of my wife’s relations have mourning cloaths.” He empowers his executor to give them gloves; and scarfs and gloves to all the ministers of Boston. To his wife, Martha, he gives £350, Province bills, and his negro man, Kuffy. His Latin and French books he gives to the French Church, asthe nucleus of a library. £100 to be put at interest for the use of the minister. £10 to be improved by the elders, for the use of the church, and should a meeting-house be built, then in aid of that object. To John Rawlins the French schoolmaster, £5. He then makes his brother Paul, of Armsfort, in Holland, residuary legatee. His “books and arms” were appraised at £2. 10. The whole estate at £274. 10. sterling.
Le Mercier dedicated his book, on Detraction, to his people. Therein he says, “You have not despised my youth, when I firstcame among you; you have since excused my infirmities; and, as I did the same, in respect to yours, it has pleased our Saviour, the head of his church, to favor us with an uninterrupted peace and union in our church, for the almost eighteen years that I have preached the word of salvation to you.” His book was published in 1733. He therefore became their pastor between 1715, when Daillé died, and 1716. He died March 31, 1764, aged 71. He was therefore born in 1693, and ordained about the age of 22.
Le Mercier’s will is dated, at Dorchester, Nov. 7, 1761. A codicil was added, at Boston, Feb. 3, 1764. He left his estate to his four children, “Andrew, Margaret, Jane, and my son Bartholomew, if living.” He enjoins upon his heirs the payment of Bartholomew’s debt to Thomas Hancock, for which he had become responsible, and which he had partly paid. By his will, he appointed Jane and Margaret to execute his will. In the codicil, he refers to the disordered state of Margaret’s mind, and appoints Zachariah Johonnot, in her stead, requesting him to be her guardian. The whole estate was appraised at £232. 18. 6. sterling.
Years rolled on: juxtaposition and intermarriage were Americanising these Huguenots, from month to month; and, ere long, they felt, less and less, the necessity of any separate place of worship. On the 7th of May, 1748, “Stephen Boutineau, the only surviving elder,” and others, among whom we recognize the Huguenot names of Johonnot, Packinett, Boudoin, and Sigourney, conveyed their church and land to Thomas Fillebrown, Thomas Handyside Peck, and others, trustees for the “new congregational church, whereof Mr. Andrew Croswell is pastor.” After a while, this church became the property of the Roman Catholics; and mass was first celebrated there, Nov. 2, 1788. The Catholics, in 1803, having removed to Franklin Place, the old Huguenot church was taken down; and, upon the site of it, a temple was erected, by the Universalists; showing incontrovertibly, thank God, that the soil was most happily adapted to toleration.
The reader fancies, perhaps, that I have forgotten Peter Faneuil. Not so: but I must linger a little longer with these Huguenots, who attempted a settlement in the Nipmug country. In the southwesterly part of Oxford, there rises a lofty hill, whose summit affords an extensive and delightful prospect. Beneath,at the distance of a mile, or more, lies the village of Oxford; and the scenery, beyond, is exceedingly picturesque. Upon this eminence, which now bears the name of Mayo’s Hill, are the well-defined remains of an ancient fort. Its construction is perfectly regular. The bastions are clearly marked; and the old well, constructed within the barrier, still remains. As recently, as 1819, says the Rev. Dr. Holmes, in his able and interesting account of the Huguenots, “grapevines were growing luxuriantly, along the line of this fort; and these, together with currant bushes, roses, and other shrubbery, nearly formed a hedge around it. There were some remains of an apple orchard. The currant and asparagus were still growing there.”
Such were the vestiges of these thirty families, who, in 1696, fled from a foe, not more savage and relentless, though less enlightened, than the murderers of Coligny, in 1572.
The Faneuils formed no part of these thirty families; but, not many years after the little Oxford colony was broken up, and the fugitive survivors had found their way to Boston, the Faneuils, one after another, seem to have been attracted hither, from those points of our country, where they first arrived, after the revocation of the edict of Nantes, in 1685, or from other, intermediate stations, to which they had removed.
There are not elements enough, I fear, for a very interesting memoir of Peter Faneuil. The materials, even for a brief account, are marvellously few, and far between; and the very best result, to be anticipated, is a warp and woof of shreds and patches.
But, if I am not much mistaken, I know more of Peter Faneuil, than Master Lovell ever wot of, though he delivered the funeral oration; and, albeit the sum total is very small, it seems but meet and right, that it should be given to the world. I think it would so be decided, by the citizens, if the vote were taken, this very day—inFaneuil Hall.
Ourneighbors, all over the United States have heard ofFaneuil Hall; and, though, of late years, since we have had a race, or breed, of mayors, every one of whom has endeavored to beworthieror moreconcedingthan his predecessor, Faneuil Hall has been converted into a sort of omnibus without wheels; yet the glory of its earlier, and of some, among its latter days, is made, thank God, of that unchangeable stuff, that will never shrink, and cannot fade.
No man has ever heard of Faneuil Hall, who will not be pleased to hear somewhat of that noble-minded, whole-souled descendant of the primitive Huguenots—and such indeed he was—who came, as a stranger and sojourner here, and built that hall, at his own proper cost and charge, and gave it—the gift of a cheerful giver—to those, among whom he had come to dwell—and all this, in the midst of his days, in the very prime of his life, not waiting for the almond tree to flourish, and for desire to fail, and for the infirmities of age to admonish the rich man, that he must set his house in order, and could carry nothing with him, to those regions beyond.
Faneuil Hall has been called theCradle of Liberty, so long and so often, that it may seem to savor of political heresy, to quarrel with the name—but, for the soul of me, I cannot help it. If it be intended to say, that Faneuil Hall is thebirth placeof Liberty, I am not aware of a single instance, on record, of a baby,born in a cradle. The proverbial use of the cradle has ever been to rock the baby to sleep; and Heaven knows our old fathers made no such use of Faneuil Hall, in their early management of the bantling; for it was an ever-wakeful child, from the very moment of its first, sharp, shrill, life cry.
General Jackson has been reported—how justly I know not—upon some occasion, in a company of ladies, to have given a brief, but spirited, description of all his predecessors, in the Presidential chair, till he came down to the time of President Tyler, when, seizing his hat, he proceeded to bow himself out of the room. The ladies, however, insisted upon his completing the catalogue—“Well, ladies,” said he, “it is matter of history, and may therefore be spoken—President Tyler, ladies, was—pretty much nothing.”
A very felicitous description; and not of very limited application to men and things. I cannot find a better, for Master John Lovell’s funeral oration, upon Peter Faneuil. This affair, which Dr. Snow, in his history of Boston, calls “a precious relic,” is certainly a wonderfully flatulent performance. A time-stainedcopy of the original edition of 1743 lies under my eye. I hoped, not unreasonably, that it would be a lamp to my path, in searching after the historical assets of Peter Faneuil. But not one ray of light has it afforded me; and, with one or two exceptions, in relation to theHall, and the general beneficence of its founder, it is, in no sense, more of a funeral oration, upon Peter Faneuil, than upon Peter Smink. In their vote of thanks to Master Lovell, passed on the day of its delivery, the committee speak of “his oration,” very judiciously abstaining from all unwarrantable expletives. From this oration we can discover nothing of Faneuil’s birth-place, nor parentage, nor when, nor whence, nor wherefore he came hither; nor of the day of his birth, nor of the day of his death, nor of the disease of which he died; nor of his habits of life, nor of the manner, in which he acquired his large estate; nor of his religious opinions, nor of his ancestors.
We collect, however, from these meagre pages, that Mr. Faneuil meditated other benefactions to the town—that his death was sudden—that votes of thanks had been passed, for his donation of the Hall, “a few months before”—that the meeting, at which the oration was pronounced, March 14, 1742, was the very first annual meeting, in Faneuil Hall—that Peter Faneuil was the owner of “a large and plentiful estate”—that “no man managed his affairs with greater prudence and industry”—that “he fed the hungry and clothed the naked; comforted the fatherless and the widows, in their affliction, and his bounty visited the prisoner.”
Master Lovell, not inelegantly, observes of Faneuil’s intended benefactions, which were prevented by his death—“His intended charities, though they are lost to us, will not be lost to him. Designs of goodness and mercy, prevented as these were, will meet with the reward of actions.” This passage appears to have found favor, in the eyes of the late Dr. Boyle, who has, accordingly, on page 21, of his memoir of the Boston Episcopal Charitable Society, when speaking of Faneuil, made a very free and familiar appropriation of it, with a slight verbal variation.
Master Lovell’s fervent aspirations, in regard to Faneuil Hall, one hundred and nine years ago, have not been fulfilled, to the letter. The gods have granted the orator’s prayer—“May Liberty always spread its joyful wings over this place”—but not with Master Lovell’s conditions annexed; for he adds—“MayLoyaltyto aKing,under whom we enjoy that Liberty, ever remain our character.”
In this particular, Master Lovell was not to be indulged. Yet he steadily adhered to his tory principles; and, like many other conscientious and honorable men, whom it is much less the fashion to abuse, at present, than it was, of yore, adhered to his royal master; and relinquished his own sceptre, as monarch of the South Grammar School, with all the honors and emoluments thereof, choosing rather to suffer affliction, with his thwarted and mortified master, than to enjoy the pleasures of rebellion, for a season. He retired to Halifax, with the British army, in 1776, and died there, in 1778.
Original copies of Master Lovell’s oration are exceedingly rare; though the “precious relic” has been reprinted, by Dr. Snow, in his history of Boston. The title may be worth preserving—“A funeral oration, delivered at the opening of the annual meeting of the town, March 14th, 1742. In Faneuil Hall, in Boston. Occasioned by the death of the founder, Peter Faneuil Esq. By John Lovell, A. M., Master of the South Grammar School, in Boston.Sui memores alios fecere merendo.Boston, printed by Green, Bushell & Allen, for S. Kneeland & T. Green, in Queen Street, 1743.”
As an eminent historian conceived it to be a matter of indifference, at which end he commenced his history, I shall not adhere to any chronological arrangement, in the presentation of the few facts, which I have collected, relating to Peter Faneuil and his family. On the contrary, I shall begin at the latter end, and, first, endeavor to clear up a little confusion, that has arisen, as to the time of his death. Allen, in his Biog. Dic., says, that Peter Faneuil died, March 3, 1743. I am sorry to say, that, in several instances, President Allen’sdatesresemble Jeremiah’sfigs, in the second basket; though, upon the present occasion, he is right, on a certain hypothesis. In a note to the “Memoir of the French Protestants,” also, M. H. C. vol. xxii. p. 55, Peter Faneuil is said to have died, March 3, 1743. Pemberton, in his “Description of Boston,” Ibid. v. 3, p. 253, by stating that the funeral oration was delivered, March 14, 1742, makes 1742 the year of Faneuil’s death. The title page of the oration itself, quoted above, fixes the death, in 1742. Dr. Eliot, in his Biog. Dic., says 1742. The Probate records of Suffolk show administration granted, on Peter Faneuil’s estate, March 18, 1742. Hisobiit, on a mourning ring, that I have seen, is 1742.
Now, if all dealers in dates, of the olden time, would discriminate, between the old style and the new, we should be spared a vast deal of vexation; and the good people of Boston, notional as they proverbially are, would not appear, in their creditable zeal to do honor to a public benefactor, to have given him a funeral oration, a twelve month before he was dead. If the year be taken to begin, on the first of January, then Dr. Allen is right; and Peter Faneuil died March 3, 1743. But if it did not begin, till the twenty-fifth of March, and, legally, it certainly did not, before 1752, when the new style was adopted, in Great Britain, and the Provinces, then Eliot, and Pemberton, and the title page of the oration, and the records of the court, and the mourning ring are right, and Peter Faneuil died, in 1742.
An illustration of this principle may be found, on the title page of the oration itself. It is stated to have been delivered, March 14, 1742, and printed in 1743. Having been delivered near the close of the year 1742, it was printed, doubtless, soon after March 25, which was New Year’s day for 1743.
The public journals, nevertheless, seem to have adopted, and adhered to the idea, that January 1, was the first day of the historical year, long before the style was altered; and thus, in the Weekly News Letter, published in Boston, Faneuil is stated to have died, in 1743. This journal contains an obituary notice. A few imperfect numbers of this paper are all that remain, and its extreme rarity leads me to copy the obituary here:—
“Thursday, March 10, 1743. On Thursday last, dyed at his seat in this Town,Peter Faneuil, Esq., whose remains, we hear, are to be enterred this afternoon; a gentleman, possessed of a very ample fortune, and a most generous spirit, whose noble benefaction to this town, and constant employment of a great number of tradesmen, artificers and labourers, to whom he was a liberal paymaster; whose hospitality to all, and secret unbounded chirity to the poor—made his life a public blessing, and his death a general loss to, and universally regretted by, the inhabitants; who had been so sensible of their obligations to him, for the sumptuous edifice, which he raised at his private expence, for their Market house and Town Hall, that, at a general town meeting, as a testimony of their gratitude, they voted, that the place of their future consultations should be called by his name forever: in doing which they perpetuated their own honor as much as his memory; for, by this record posterity will knowthe most publick spirited man, in all regards, that ever yet appeared on the Northern continent of America, was a member of their community.”
In the Boston Evening Post of March 7, 1743, in a brief notice of Peter Faneuil’s death, the disease of which he died is said to have been “dropsey.”
Now that we have established the period of Peter’s death, it may be well, to establish the period of his birth; and this we can do, with certainty, even to an hour, from authentic documents. In addition to other means, for ascertaining dates, and various particulars, respecting Peter Faneuil, and the members of his family—through the kindness of the Genealogical Society, I have, before me, a folio volume of his commercial correspondence: mutilated, indeed it is, by some thoughtless hand, but furnishes some curious and interesting matter. Many of his letters are written in French; and those, which are in English, are well composed. I have found but a single instance, in which he writes our language, like a Frenchman. Upon that occasion, he was in a passion with a certain judge of the admiralty, complained of his ill usage, and charged him with “capporice.”
I am indebted to Mr. Charles Faneuil Jones, a grandson of Mary Ann Jones, Peter Faneuil’s sister, for the use of some ancient papers, and family relics; and to George Bethune, Esquire, of Boston, the grandson ofBenjamin Faneuil, Peter’s brother, for the loan of a venerable document—time worn, torn, and sallow—the record of the birth of Peter Faneuil, and of his brothers and sisters. This document, from its manifest antiquity, the masculine character of the hand writing, and the constant use of the parental expressions—notre fils—notre fille—I, at first, supposed to be the original autograph ofBenjamin, the father of Peter. This conjecture was, of course, demolished, by the last entry, on the record, which is of oldBenjamin’sdecease, but in the same peculiar hand.
The document is in French; and, after a careful comparison—literatim—with the volume of Peter’s commercialcorrespondence, now in my possession—I have very little doubt, that this record was copied, by Peter, from the paternal original, with the additional entry, by himself, of the date of his father’s death. At the bottom, and beneath a line of separation, and by another hand, with a fresher ink, is the following entry—“Le 6 D’Aout 1725, M. Gillam Phillips de Boston a epousee ma Fille Marie Faneuil agée de dix sept et quatre mois.” The 6th of August, 1725, Mr. Gillam Phillips, of Boston, married my daughter, Marie, aged seventeen and four months. The expressionma file, shows this entry to have been made by Peter’s mother, then the widow ofBenjamin, who appears, by this record, to have died, at New York, March 31, 1718-9, aged 50 years and 8 months.
This unusual prænomen,Gillam, I, at first, supposed to be a corruption ofGuillaume. But there was a merchant, of that day, in Boston, bearing the name ofGillam Phillips. In the Registry of Deeds, for Suffolk, lib. 43, fol. 13, there is recorded a deed, from “Wentworth Paxton, and Faith, his wife, formerly Faith Gillam,” in which, reference is made to Faith’s father,Benjamin Gillam. Mr. Gillam Phillips is thus named, in the will of his wife’s uncle, Andrew Faneuil, to which I shall have occasion to refer. Jan 22, 1738, Peter, in a letter to Lane & Smethurst, of London, speaks of his brother-in-law,Mr. Gillam Phillips.
This gentleman was the elder brother ofMr. Henry Phillips, who was indicted, for killing Mr. Benjamin Woodbridge, in a duel, fought with swords, and without seconds, on Boston Common, upon the evening of July 3, 1728. This extremely interesting affair cannot be introduced, as an episode here, on account of the space it must necessarily occupy. The original documents, relating to this encounter, which terminated in the immediate death of Mr. Woodbridge, have fallen into my possession; and, as Peter Faneuil personally assisted, in the escape of the survivor, who found a city of refuge, in Rochelle, and a friend and protector, in Peter’s uncle,Jean Faneuil; it seems, in some degree, related to the history of Peter and his kinsfolk. I may, possibly, refer to it hereafter.
In 1685, the period of the revocation of the edict of Nantes, there were living, in or near Rochelle, in France, three brothers and two sisters of the Faneuil family. One of these,Benjamin, became the father ofourPeterFaneuil—the others, his uncles and aunts, when the persecution commenced, so ably and touchingly described, by James Saurin, fled for safety to foreign lands. Andrew, the elder brother, escaped into Holland, and took up his abode in Amsterdam; where he married that preëminently beautiful lady, whose portrait is now in the possession of Col. Benjamin Hunt, whose mother was Jane Bethune, a daughter of Mary Faneuil, the neice of Peter.
Andrew Faneuil, before many years, came to this country—precisely when, I cannot say. That he was here, as early as 1709, is evident, from the proposals of Oliver Noyes and others, to build a wharf from the bottom of King Street, to low-water mark, “of the width of King Street, between Mr. East Apthorp’s and Mr. Andrew Faneuil’s.” These proposals are dated Feb. 20, 1709, and are inserted in Dr. Snow’s History of Boston, p. 209.
In Holland, doubtless, Andrew acquired that passion, for flowers, which he gratified, in his seven-acre Eden, on the westerly side of Treamount Street, where he is said to have erected the first hothouse, that ever existed in New England. His warehouse, the same, by him devised, for the support of the minister of the French Church, was at the lower end of King Street, near Merchant’s Row, from which Butler’s Wharf then extended, as laid down, by John Bonner, in 1722. This warehouse, under the will of Andrew, reverted, to his heirs, upon the extinction of the French Church. It was then, just where we find it, in the New England Weekly Journal, of Jan. 13, 1729. “Good New York Flower. To be sold, at Mr. Andrew Faneuil’s Warehouse, at the lower end of King Street, at 35s per Hundred, as also good chocolate, just imported.” He was engaged in commerce; and, for those days of small things, acquired a large estate, which his forecast taught him to distribute, among the public funds of France, England, and Holland. His warehouse was purchased of one of his descendants, by the late John Parker.
Jean Faneuil, another of Peter’s uncles, held fast to the faith of his fathers; and lived, and died, a Roman Catholic. He died in Rochelle, of apoplexy, June 24, 1737, about four months after the decease of his brother Andrew, as appears by Peter’s letter of Sept. 8, 1737.
Susannah Faneuilalso continued, in the Roman Catholicfaith, and remained in Rochelle; where she became the wife, and the widow, of Abraham de la Croix. She survived her brother Andrew, the date of whose decease is clearly shown to have been Feb. 13, 1737, by Peter’s letter to S. & W. Baker, of London, giving them the inscription, “for the handsomest mourning rings.”
Jane Faneuilwas a Huguenot. She became the wife of Pierre Cossart, and took refuge, with her husband, in Ireland, where she died.
Benjamin Faneuil, the father ofourPeter, was closely associated with that little band of Huguenots, who clustered about the town of Narragansett, otherwise called Kingstown, and the region round about, at the very close of the seventeenth century. In that village, in 1699, he married a French lady, whose name was Anne Bureau. The record, in Peter’s transcript from his father’s original, is now upon my table—“Le 28 de Juillet 1699. Benjamin Faneuil et Anne Bureau ont eté marié a Narragansett, en nouvelle Angleterre, en la maison de Mons. Pierre Ayross, par Mons. Pierre Daillé ministre de L’Eglise francoise de Boston.” The 28th of July, 1699, Benjamin Faneuil and Ann Bureau were married at Narragansett, in New England, at the house of Mr. Peter Ayross, by Mr. Peter Daillé, minister of the French Church in Boston. Three years before, in 1696, Sept. 4, the name of this Benjamin Faneuil will be found, M. H. C., xxii. 60, attached to a certificate, in favor of Gabriel Bernon, referring to the massacre of John Johnson and his three children, at New Oxford. Johnson had married the sister of oldAndré Sigournay.
ThisBenjamin Faneuil, the præpositus, or stirps, became the father of eleven children, by his wife,Anne Bureau, who were all born in New Rochelle, in the State of New York, and of whomourPeter was the first born. Their names, in the order of birth, are these—Peter,Benjamin,Francis,Anne,Anne,Marie,John,Anne,Susannah,Mary Anne, andCatherine. The two first Annes, John, and Catherine, died in infancy.
The birth of our Peter is thus chronicled, in the family record—“Le 20 de Juin, 1700, Estant Jeudy a 6 heures du soir est né nostre fils Pierre Faneuil, et a eté baptisé le 14 Juillet, par M. Peyret, ministre de l’Eglisse francoise de la Nouvelle York, presenté au Bâpteme par M. Claude Baudoin et par Sa Mere.” The 20th of June, 1700, being Thursday, at 6 o’clockin the evening, was born our son, Peter Faneuil, and he was baptized the 14th of July, by Mr. Peyret, minister of the French Church, in New York; presented in baptism, by Mr. Claude Bowdoin and its mother.
Benjamin,ourPeter’s brother, was born Dec. 29, 1701. He was a merchant in Boston, about the time of his uncle Andrew’s death, in 1737. Shortly after that event, he went to England, and France, and returned, about two years before the death of his brother Peter, in 1742-3, upon whose estate he administered. His nephew, Edward Jones, in a letter to his mother, June 23, 1783, informs her, that “Uncle Faneuil seems to be growing very low; I think he will not continue long.” He was then in his eighty-second year. He died in October, 1785.
After Peter’s death, Benjamin resided in Brighton, then Cambridge, in the street, which now bears the family name, where he erected an expensive mansion, successively occupied, after his decease, by Messieurs Bethune, English, Parkman, and Bigelow. By his wife, Mary Cutler, he had three children, Benjamin, Mary, and Peter.
ThisBenjamin, nephew ofourPeter, is the “Benjamin Faneuil, junior,” whose name appears, among the signers of the “Loyall Address” to Gov. Gage on his departure Oct. 6, 1775. He left Boston for Halifax, with the British army, in March, 1776. He is the person, referred to, by Ward, in his Memoirs of Curwen—“the merchant of Boston, and with Joshua Winslow, consignee of one third of the East India Company’s tea, destroyed in 1773, a refugee to Halifax, afterwards in England.” He married Jane, daughter of Addington Davenport, by his first wife, Jane, who was the daughter of Grove Hirst, and sister of the Lady Mary Pepperell; and, with his wife, lived many years, abroad, chiefly in Bristol, England, which became the favorite resort of many refugees, and where he died. I have, in my possession, several of his letters, written to his relatives, during his exile. These letters are spiritedly written; and, to the very last, in the most perfect assurance, that the colonies must submit.
Mary,ourPeter’s niece, became the wife of George Bethune, Oct. 13, 1754, and died in 1797. A portrait, by Blackburn, of this beautiful woman, is in the possession of her son, George Bethune, Esquire, of Boston. After a very carefulinspection of this portrait, not long ago, I went directly to the rooms of the Historical Society, to compare it with the portrait there of her uncle Peter, to which it seems to me to bear a strong family resemblance. This portrait of Peter was presented to the Society, by Miss Jones, the grand niece ofourPeter, now the wife of Dr. Cutter of Pepperell. It has been erroneously ascribed to Copley. If its manifest inferiority to the works of that eminent master were not sufficiently germaine to this question—Copley was born in 1738, and not quite five years old, when Peter Faneuil died.
Peter, the youngest child of Benjamin, and, of course, the nephew ofourFaneuil Hall Peter, who may be otherwise distinguished, as Peter the Great—was baptized, in Trinity Church, in Boston, in 1738, and entered the Latin School, in 1746. He entered into trade—went to Montreal—failed—resorted to the West Indies—and, after his father’s death, returned to Boston.
Let us conclude our post mortem examination of the brothers and sisters of Peter Faneuil.
Francis, the third son ofBenjamin, the old Rocheller, Peter’s father, was born Aug. 21, 1703, of whom I know nothing, beyond the fact, that he was baptized, by M. Peyret, minister of the French church in New York, and presented “par son grand pere, Francois Bureau, et Mad’selle Anne Delancey.”
Mary, the eldest sister ofourPeter, that came to maturity, was born April 16, 1708, and is theMarie, to whom I have already referred, as having married Mr. Gillam Phillips, Aug. 6, 1725. Their abode, before the revolution, was in the mansion, more recently occupied by Abiel Smith, at the corner of State and Devonshire Streets; or, as they are called, on Bonner’s plan of 1722, King Street and Pudding Lane. Her husband was a refugee. After his death, she resided in Cambridge, Mass., where she died, in April, 1778.
Anne, the next, in order of time, was born Oct. 9, 1710, and married Addington Davenport. This fact is stated, by Peter, in a letter, of Sept. 26, 1738. This is the same gentleman,undoubtedly, to whom the ancient record of King’s Chapel refers: “Oct. 11, 1733. Voted, that the brass stand for the hourglass be lent to the church at Scituate, as also three Diaper napkins, provided the Rev. Mr. Addington Davenport, their minister, gives his note to return the same,” &c. He was, afterwards, promoted, to be assistant minister of King’s Chapel, in 1737, and Rector of Trinity Church, in 1740, and was, probably, the son of Addington Davenport, who was the Register of Deeds, for Suffolk, in 1706.
Susannah, the third sister ofourPeter, in the order of birth, was born March 14, 1712, and became the wife of James Boutineau, the son of Stephen Boutineau, that “only surviving elder,” who joined in the conveyance of the French Church, in 1748. James was a royalist; and, according to Ward’s Curwen, died in exile. This marriage is also referred to, by Peter, in his letter of Sept. 26, 1738. Mr. James Boutineau was a lawyer, in Boston; and occupied the “old Dorr house,” so called, in Milk Street.
Mr. Sabine, in his “American Loyalists,” sayshis fate is unknown, but he was in England, in 1777. An original letter from his widow, “Susanna Boutineau,” now before me, is datedBristol, Eng., Feb. 20, 1784, and refers to the recent decease of her husband there.
Mary Annwas the last of Peter’s sisters, that survived her infancy. She was born April 6, 1715, and died October, 1790. She became the wife of John Jones, who died at Roxbury, in 1767, and whose son, Edward, died in Boston, in 1835, at the age of 83.Shewas a refugee; and resided, for some time, in Windsor, Nova Scotia. She is omitted by Mr. Sabine, in his list of refugees; but named by Ward, page 444. A letter, from her son, Edward, dated at Boston, June 23, 1783, advises her, if desirous of returning, not to come directly to Boston, as the law was still in force; but first, to some other State, and thence to Boston.
Such were Peter Faneuil’s brothers and sisters; with whom, so far as I have been able to ascertain, from his correspondence, and from all other sources, he appears to have maintained an amiable and becoming relation, as the file leader of the flock—the elder brother of the house: and it speaks a folio volume, in favor of Benjamin’s equanimity, that he continued to fraternize, as the correspondence abundantly proves, that he did, in the mostcordial and affectionate manner, with his brother Peter, to whom uncle Andrew had, with the exception of a few legacies, willed the whole of his “large and plentiful estate,” as Master Lovell calls it—while five vindictive shillings were all, that were found, after the death of this unforgiving, old gentleman, in the mouth of poor Benjamin’s sack.
Uncle Andrew’s testamentary phraseology, though not so anathematical, as that of some other obstinate, old uncles, is sufficiently uncivil, and even bitter, in relation to his “loving sister, Susannah,” and his nephew, Benjamin.
But, of the will of Andrew Faneuil, and his motive—an exceedingly preposterous motive, to be sure, for cutting his adopted nephew off, with five shillings—in other words, of the cause, manner, and instrument, whereby Benjamin was put in the ablative, I shall treat, more fully, hereafter.
There were collaterals of the Boston Faneuils, residing in St. Domingo, in 1738. There was then, in that island, a Benjamin Faneuil, to whom Peter addressed a letter of mere friendship, in the French language, informing him, that Peter’s brother Benjamin was then in Europe. It was probably a son of the St. Domingo Benjamin, the “Monsieur Fanneuil,” of whom Washington writes to the President of Congress, Feb. 20, 1777, Sparks, iv. 327, as having memorialized, for leave to raise and command troops. The application failed, principally, on the ground of his entire ignorance of the English language.
We have seen, that Peter Faneuil died, at the early age of forty-two. His premature decease becomes the more remarkable, when contrasted with the longevity of all his brothers and sisters, who lived beyond the period of infancy. Marie attained the age of seventy—Susannah was living, in Bristol, at seventy-two—Mary Ann died at seventy-five—Benjamin died, in October, 1735, being two months less than eighty-four years old.
This veteran had been a generous liver, all his days. He was not a man, whose devotion was abdominal—whose God was his belly. He was no anchorite, but an advocate for social worship—he was preëminently hospitable. For more than forty years, from the period, when Peter’s death afforded him the means, his hospitality had been a proverb—a by-word—but never a reproach. There was a refinement about it—it was precisely such hospitality, as Apicius would have practised, had Apicius been a bishop.
His appetite never forsook him. He died suddenly—ate a cheerful dinner, on the day of his death—and went not to his account, on an empty stomach. A post mortem examination, under the autopsy of that eminently shrewd, and most pleasant, gentleman, Dr. Marshall Spring of Watertown, exhibited the whole gastric apparatus, in admirable working order, for a much longer campaign. A nephritic malady occasioned his decease.
The death of Benjamin Faneuil,the elder, in 1718, and the previous adoption of his son Benjamin, Peter’s brother, by Andrew, the wealthy Boston uncle, naturally turned the thoughts of the family, in this direction. Their interest in Boston was necessarily increased, by the marriage of sister Marie with Mr. Gillam Phillips, and her consequent removal hither. The entry of the marriage—“ma fille”—on the family record, shows, that her mother was then living. The time of her death I have not ascertained, but suppose it to have occurred within a year or two after, for all the daughters were wending hither, and I find no mention of the mother. Peter was here, as early, as 1728, in which year, his name is associated, with the duel, in which Woodbridge was killed. Anne had married Mr. Davenport, and Susannah Mr. Boutineau, before uncle Andrew’s death, in 1737. His will was dated, in 1734. From that document, it is evident, that Mary Ann was here then.
The elder Benjamin having died, in 1718,—Andrew, his brother, in 1737,—and Peter, in 1742-3, there were living Peter’s brother and sisters, Benjamin, Anne, Susannah, Marie, and Marianne. They were living, during the revolution. So were their husbands, excepting Mr. Addington Davenport, who died Sept. 8, 1746. Their children also were living. The object of this particular statement is to invite the reader’s attention to the extraordinary fact, that, while a religious persecution, in 1685, drove the Huguenot ancestors of these very individuals hither, for security—in 1776, a political persecution here drove many of their descendants into exile, and confiscated their estates.
That very many of those refugees, during the phrensy of political excitement, were just as truly persecuted, for conscience’ sake, as were the Huguenots, in 1685, is a simple truth, which the calm, impartial voice of an after-age has been willing to concede. Among those refugees, the Huguenot and the old Anglo-Saxon patronymics are blended together. The Boutineaus and the Bethunes, the Faneuils and the Johonnots are mingled withthe Sewalls and the Hutchinsons, the Hollowells and the Paxtons.
While perusing the letters of Samuel Curwen—and a most kind-hearted, conscientious, old gentleman was he—the veriest saint in crape cannot restrain a smile, as he contemplates the conflict, in Curwen’s mind, between the loyal and the patriotic—his most gracious majesty, and his poor bleeding country! Mr. Curwen met frequently with Mr. Benjamin Faneuil, Peter’s nephew, at Bristol. Thus, on page 240, of the Journal, under date, April 28, 1780—“Afternoon and evening at Judge Sewall’s; company, Mrs. Long, of Ireland, Mr. and Mrs. Faneuil, Mr. Oxnard, with young Inman and his wife, a son of Ralph’s, in the military line, and Miss Inman.”
The more intelligent of the refugees, who resorted to Bristol, hovered about the former Attorney General of Massachusetts, Jonathan Sewall, as theirMagnus Apollo. Of all the New England tories he was the most illustrious. He was a man of eminent talents, and easy eloquence. His opinions were the opinions of the rest. As crowed the great tory cock, so crowed the bantams, the Faneuils, the Boutineaus, and the others, around the Attorney General’s hospitable board, at Bristol. I mean not to intimate, that this worthy gentleman maintained, at this period, anything, beyond the most frugal hospitality. He and his associates were mainly dependent upon the British government, for their daily bread.
One or two extracts from the letters of “Benjamin Faneuil junior,” Peter’s nephew, while they establish this fact, may serve to exhibit the confidence, in the entire subjugation of the colonies, entertained—cherished, perhaps—by him and his companions.
March 9, 1777, he writes to his aunt, Mary Ann Jones, at Halifax, thus—“I cannot say I am very sorry, for your disappointment, in missing your passage for England, for unless you could bring a barrel of guineas, you are much better anywhere than here.” * * * * “As soon as the Christmas holidays were over, we presented a petition to the Lords of the Treasury, setting forth our suffering, and praying for a support, till the affairs in America are settled. This method was taken, by the council, and indeed by all the refugees. Within these few days, the Lords of the Treasury have agreed to allow, for the present, Chief Justice Oliver £400 a year, Lieut. Governor Oliver andMr. Flucker £300. The council (Mr. Boutineau among the rest) £200, the refugees in general £100, some only £50. Our affair is not yet absolutely determined, on account of Lord North’s sickness; but we are told we shall be tuckt in, between the council and the refugees, and be allowed £150 a year. This is a very poor affair, and we can by no means live upon it: but there are such a confounded parcel of us, to be provided for, that I am told no more will be allowed.” * * * * “Should there be any opportunity of writing to Boston, I should take it kind, if cousin Betsey would write to my father and let him know what I now write, and give our loves to Mr. Bethune’s family, and my aunt Phillips. I do not mention my poor mother, as, from the accounts I have received, I doubt, whether she be alive at this time.” She died in October, 1777.
“When we shall be able to return to Boston I cannot say; but hope and believe it will not exceed one year more; for, sooner or later, America will be conquered, and on that they may depend.”
May 14, 1777. He writes from London thus—“We were promised, three months ago, that some provision should be made for us; and, about ten days since, we were assured, at the Treasury, that, in a very few days, something should be done for us. As soon as there is, we propose to set out for Bristol, and fix ourselves there, or, at least, in that part of the country, till the American affairs are settled, which, from the last advice from New York, we flatter ourselves will not be longer than this year; though I am not without my doubts, at least as to the time: but submit they must, sooner or later. Mr. Boutineau and my aunt were very well, at their lodging, at Bristol, a few days ago. Mr. Robinson has bought himself a new post chaise, horses, &c., and sets out for Wales, in five or six days; where, I suppose, they will remain, till the American affairs are brought to a conclusion.”
This Mr. Robinson was James Boutineau’s son-in-law, the officer of the customs, who inflicted that fatal blow, upon James Otis, which is said to have affected his brain, and compelled him to retire from public life. The issue of that affair is not generally known. Mr. Sabine, in his “American Loyalists,” p. 169, says—“the jury assessed £2000 sterling, damages. Boutineau appeared, as attorney, for Robinson, and, in his name, signed a submission, asking the pardon of Otis, who, thereupon, executeda free release for the £2000.” The same statement may be found in Allen, and elsewhere.
Mr. Benjamin Faneuil, junior, continues thus—“Mrs. Faneuil received a letter, a few days since, from Mrs. Erving (at Bristol). She sends her the prices of provisions, which are much the same they were in Boston, before the troubles came on. * * * * Miss Peggy Hutchinson has been at death’s door. * * * * All the rest of us Yankees are well, but growl at each other most confoundedly, for want of money.” * * * * “We hope to see you in Boston, in the course of another year.” * * * * “Mrs. Faneuil is sitting by me, trying to transmography an old gown. No money to buy new.”