“But Simon’s wife’s mother lay sick of a fever.” Mark i. 30. From this text, a clergyman—of the old school—had preached just as many, consecutive sermons, as I have already published articles, concerning Peter Faneuil and his family. A day or two after the last discourse, the bell of the village church was tolled, for a funeral; and a long-suffering parishioner, being asked, whose funeral it was, replied, that he had no doubt it was Simon’s wife’s mother’s; for she had been sick of a fever, for nine weeks, to his certain knowledge. Let the reader possess himself in patience—our dealings with the Faneuils cannot last forever.
We have stated, that Peter’s death was sudden, the very death, from which, as a churchman, he had prayed to be delivered. But let us not forget, that no death is sudden, in the sense of the good man’s prayers, however instantaneously the golden bowl may be broken, to him, whose life has been well spent, and who is prepared to die.
In this connection, two interesting questions arise—how Peter Faneuil came to be a churchman—and if his life was a well-spent life, affording him reasonable assurance of admission into Paradise.
The old Huguenots styled themselves “the Reformers,” and embraced the doctrines of Calvin, in full. Oppression commonly teaches even intolerant men the value of toleration. Our Puritan fathers, it is true, who fled from Episcopal, as the Huguenots from Roman Catholic tyranny, profited very little, by the lesson they had learned; and turned upon the Catholics and Quakers, in the spirit of preposterous cruelty. The government of Massachusetts, according to Hazard, received a profitable lesson of moderation, from that of Rhode Island.
The Huguenots soon began to abate somewhat of that exorbitant severity and punctiliousness, in their religion, which, in no slight degree, had brought upon them that persecution, which was gathering, and impending over them, in 1684, a twelvemonth before the revocation of the edict of Nantes; compelling many of them, thus early, to fly from their homes, into other lands. The teachings of James Saurin, the great Huguenot preacher of the refugees, at the Hague, in 1705, and in subsequent years,were of a milder type. He was “a moderate Calvinist.” Such, also, were Daillé and Le Mercier, the ministers of the French Church, in Boston.
Peter Faneuil, undoubtedly, worshipped in this church, during a certain period. We have seen the liberal arrangement of his uncle, in 1734, for the support of its minister, and the testator’s provision for its poor. Even then, he evidently anticipated, that it might cease to be; and shaped his testamentary provisions accordingly. Natural causes were in operation; I have referred to them—intermarriage, with our English people—merging the language of the few, in that of the many—juxtaposition—all tending to diminish the necessity for maintaining a separate church.
There was no dissolution of the society, at first, by any formal vote. The attendance became irregular and scanty—the members went elsewhere—Le Mercier, “a worthy character,” says the Rev. Dr. Holmes, ceased to officiate, and the church broke up. For years, there were no services, within the little temple; and, in 1748, it was sold, as I have stated, to the members of another denomination.
It became a question with these Huguenots, the Faneuils, the Boutineaus, the Johonnots, the Oliviers, the Sigourneys, and their associates, where they should worship God. In 1740-41, the preachers, in Boston, were Charles Chauncey, at the Old Brick—at the Old North, Increase Mather, supplying the place of his brother Samuel, who, though ordained, in 1732, preached but one winter, and parted—at the Old South, Joseph Sewall, and Thomas Prince—at the Baptist, in Back Street, Jeremy Condy—at King’s Chapel, Stephen Roe—at Brattle Street, William Cooper—at the Quaker meeting-house, in Leverett’s Lane, whoever was moved by the Spirit—at the New North, John Webb—at the New South, Samuel Checkley—at the New Brick, Ellis Gray—at Christ Church, Timothy Cutler—at Long Lane, Jonny Moorhead—at Hollis Street, Mather Byles—at Trinity, Addington Davenport—at Lynde Street, William Hooper.
Several of the descendants of the Huguenots, not at all deterred, by the resemblance, whatever that might be, between the forms of Episcopalian worship, and those of their religious persecutors, the Roman Catholics, mingled with the Episcopalians. Thus they clung to the common element, the doctrine of the Trinity; and escaped, like Saurin, from the super-sulphuretted vapors of primitive Calvinism.
It is not very surprising, that the Faneuils should have settled down, upon the new and fashionable temple—Trinity had been erected but a few years before; and the new rector was Peter’s brother-in-law, Mr. Addington Davenport.
Peter therefore became,pro tanto, an Episcopalian—a liberal subscriber to the Charitable, Episcopal fund, and to the fund for the rebuilding of King’s Chapel; and identified himself with the Episcopal interest.
The religious character of Peter Faneuil, and the present whereabouts of this public benefactor, will be determined, by different individuals, according to the respective indications of their spiritual thermometers.
I have already ventured an opinion, that the mantle of charity, which covereth a multitude of sins, should be extended, for Peter’s behoof, over that little affair with Peter Baynton, touching the duties, on those four hogsheads of brandy. But there is another matter, over which, I am aware, that some very worthy people will doubt, if the mantle of charity, can be stretched, without serious danger of lesion—I refer to the importation, about the same time with the prayer books, of that enormous quantity—six gross—of “the very best King Henry’s cards.” I have often marvelled, how the name of the Defender of the Faith ever came to be connected, with such pestilent things.
I am well aware, how closely, in the opinions of some learned divines, cards are associated with the idea of eternal damnation. If it be so; and a single pack is enough to send the proprietor to the bottomless pit, it is truly grievous to reflect how much deeper Peter, our great public benefactor, has gone, with the oppressive weight of six gross of the very best, upon his soul. Now-a-days, there seem to be very few, the Romanists excepted, who believe in purgatory; and it is pretty generally agreed, that all, who attempt the bridge ofAl Sirat, will surely arrive, either at Paradise, or Pandemonium.
How delightful it would be, to have the opinion of good old André Le Mercier, in a case like this. Though Peter no longer waited upon Le Mercier’s ministrations; but, for several years, before the dissolution of the French Church, had settled down, under brother Addington Davenport, first, as the assistant at King’s Chapel, and, afterwards, as the Rector of Trinity; yet Le Mercier could not forget the nephew of his benefactor, Andrew Faneuil. He was, doubtless, at Peter’s funeral, who died oneand twenty years, before the holy man was summoned to his account, in 1764. Yes, he was there.
I have heard of a man, who accounted, for the dryness of his eyes, when all around him wept, at a pathetic discourse, on the ground, that he belonged to another parish. I have known Christian ministers—very—not many, thank heaven—who were influenced, to such a degree, by that spirit, which may be supposed to govern the proprietors of opposition omnibuses, as to consider the chord of human sympathy cut, through and through, and forever, between themselves, and a parishioner, who, for any cause, elected to receive his spiritual treasures out of some other earthen vessel, albeit of the very same denomination of crockery ware.
Poverty, and disease, and death, and misery, in every type, might stalk in, and upon, and over that homestead, and hearth, where these Christian ministers had been warmed, and refreshed, and fostered—but it was no longer a concern of theirs. No visit of condolence—no kind inquiry—not one, cheap word of consolation had they, for such, as had ceased to receive their ideas of damnation from them—enough—these individuals had sold their pews—“crimen difficile expiandum”—they belonged to another parish!
André Le Mercier, was not a man of this description. He was not a holy huckster of spiritual things, having not one crumb of comfort, for any, but his regular customers. André was a man, whose neighbor’s ubiquity was a proverb.
But what he would say, about these six gross of King Henry’s cards, I am by no means, certain. He was a man of a tolerant spirit; but on certain points, the most tolerant are, occasionally, found to be imbued, with unalterable prejudices. On page 85, of his Church History of Geneva, which I have read with pleasure, he quotes approvingly, the maxim of “a doctor of the church.” “In necessariis rebus sit unitas, in dubiis libertas, in omnibus charitas.” This breathes the spirit of toleration:—what aredubia, whatnecessariaare not quite so readily settled, however.
On page 100, I find a passage, not quite so favorable for Peter, in this matter of the six gross. Referring to Calvin’s return to Geneva, in 1536, after his banishment, Le Mercier says—“And thenBalls and Dancesand profane songs were forbidden, by the magistrates. And that form of Discipline remains entire, to the present Time, notwithstanding the repeated Attempts, that havebeen made by wicked People to overset it. King Henry’s cards, I fear, even of the very best quality, would, undoubtedly, fall into this category, of things Calvinized on earth, in the opinion of André Le Mercier.”
The meaning of the words, “profane songs,” may not be universally intelligible. It undoubtedly meant, as used by the Council,all songs not sacred. Calvin, undoubtedly, adopted the commendation of Scripture, to such, as were merry, to sing psalms. It appears, however, that certain persons entertained conservative notions, in those early days; even beyond the dictum of holy writ; for, on page 101, Le Mercier states, that Sebastian Castalio, a preacher, and professor, in the College of Geneva, “condemned Solomon’s Songs, as being profane and immodest;” the very charge, as the reader is aware, which has been so often urged, against the songs of Tom Moore. Moore, at last, betook himself to sacred melodies. Solomon, had his life been spared, would, probably, have done the same thing, to the entire satisfaction of Sebastian Castalio.
I see wisdom, and mercy, and truth, in a part of the maxim, quoted by André Le Mercier—in dubiis libertas. I have long suspected there were some angels in Heaven, who were damned by Calvin, on earth. I verily believe, that Peter Faneuil is in Paradise.
Some of my readers, I doubt not, have involuntarily clenched their fists, and set their teeth hard, while conning over the details of that merciless and bloody duel, so long, and so deliberately projected, and furiously fought, at last, near Bergen op Zoom, by the Lord Bruce, and Sir Edward Sackville, with rapiers, and in their shirts. Gentle reader, if you have never met with this morceau, literally dripping with blood, and are born with a relish for such rare provant—for I fear the appetite is congenital—you will find an ample account of the affair, in numbers 129 and 133 of the Guardian.
This wrathful fight is of an early date, having taken place, in 1613. Who could measure the popular excitement, if tomorrow’s dawn should bring the tidings of a duel, fought thenight before, on Boston Common, by two young gentlemen, with rapiers, not, perhaps, quite so brutal, in its minute details, but quite as deliberately planned, and quite as fatal, in its result! What then must have been the effect of such an announcement, on the morning of the fourth of July, 1728, one hundred and twenty-three years ago, when Boston was a seaport village, just six years, after the “perlustration” of Mr. Salter had rated the population, at 10,670 souls.
It is matter of sober history, that such a duel was actually fought, then and there, on the evening of the third of July, 1728, near the powder-house, which is indicated, on Bonner’s plan of 1722. This was a very different affair from the powder-house, erected at West Boston, in 1774, with walls of seven feet in thickness.
The parties, engaged, in this fatal affair were two young gentlemen, whose connections were highly respectable, whose lives had been amiable, whose characters were of good report, and whose friends were numerous and powerful. The names of Peter Faneuil and of his uncle, Jean Faneuil, of Rochelle, are associated with this transaction.
The parties were very young; the survivor twenty-two, and the victim but little more. The survivor, Henry Phillips, was the brother of Gillam Phillips, who, the reader of the preceding articles will remember, married Marie, the sister of Peter Faneuil. Peter was then just twenty-eight; and, doubtless, if there were dandies in those days, one of the foremost, on the peninsula. The natural interest he felt, in the brother of his sister’s husband, engaged his efforts, to spirit the wretched survivor away. He was consigned to the uncle of Peter, beyond the sea—to whom Marie, his niece, very probably, wrote a few lines, bespeaking kind offices, for the unfortunate brother of her husband. It is not impossible, that old André added a prudential word or two, by way of postscript, confirming brother Jean, as to the safety of the operation. Be this as it may, Henry Phillips escaped from his pursuers, who were speedily put upon the scent, by Governor Dummer. Henry Phillips arrived safely in Rochelle. What befel him, in the strange land, is not the least interesting portion of the narrative.
Benjamin Woodbridge—such was the name of the individual, who was the victim, in this fatal encounter—was a young merchant, in partnership with Mr. Jonathan Sewall. Of his particularorigin I am not entirely satisfied. The name, among us, is of the olden time. Benjamin Woodbridge was the very earliest alumnus of Harvard College: born in England in 1622, and graduated here in 1642.
The originating cause of this duel, like that, which produced the terrible conflict, between the Lord Bruce and Sir Edward Sackville, is unknown.
That the reader may walk along with me, confidingly, upon this occasion, it may be well to indicate the sources, from which I derive my knowledge of a transaction, so exciting at the time, so fatal in its results, and so almost universally unknown, to those, who daily pass over the very spot, on our Common, upon which these young gentlemen met, and where young Woodbridge fell.
I have alluded to the subsequent relation of Peter Faneuil, and of his uncle, Jean, of Rochelle, to this affair. In my investigation into the history of Peter and his relatives, I have been aided by Mr. Charles Faneuil Jones, the grandson of Peter’s sister, Mary Ann. Among the documents, loaned me, by that gentleman, are sundry papers, which belonged to Gillam Phillips, the brother of Henry, the survivor in the duel.
Among these papers, are original documents, in Jean Faneuil’s handwriting, relative to the fate of the miserable wanderer, after his arrival in Rochelle—accounts of disbursements—regularly authenticated copies of the testimony, relative to the duel, and to the finding of the dead body of Woodbridge, and to the coöperation of Peter Faneuil and others, in concealing the survivor, on board the Sheerness, British man of war, and of his indictment, the “Billa Vera,” in August, 1728, by the grand jury of Suffolk, for murder. In addition to these documents, I have found a certified copy of a statement, highly favorable to the character of Henry Phillips, the survivor, and manifestly intended to have an influence upon the public mind. This statement is subscribed, by eighty-eight prominent citizens, several of them holding high official stations, and among the number, are four ministers of the Gospel, with the Rev. Timothy Cutler, of Christ Church, at their head. Appended is the certificate of Governor Burnett, who, in that very month, succeeded Governor Dummer, stating the official, professional and social position of the signers of this document, with which it was clearly intended to fortify an application to George II. for a pardon of the offender.
The discovery of these papers, affording, as they do, some account of a transaction, so very remarkable, for the time and place of its occurrence, and of which I had never heard nor read before, excited my curiosity, and led me to search for additional information.
If my reader is of the fancy, he will readily comprehend my chagrin, when, upon turning over the leaves of Green’s “Boston Weekly News Letter”—the imperfect files—all that time has left us—preserved in the library of the Massachusetts Historical Society—the very paper, that next ensued, after July 3, 1728, the date of the duel, and which, doubtless, referred to an occurrence, so very extraordinary, was among the “things lost upon earth.” I was not less unfortunate with the files of the old “Boston Gazette,” of that early day. I then took up Kneeland’s “New England Weekly Journal,” but with very little confidence of success. The file, however, was there—No. 68—July 8, 1728, and my eyes soon fell, as the reader’s fall at this moment, upon Governor Dummer’s proclamation:—
“Whereas a barbarous murder was last night committed, on the body of Benjamin Woodbridge, a young gentleman, resident in the town of Boston; and Henry Phillips, of said town, is suspected to be the author of said murder, and is now fled from justice; I have therefore thought proper to issue this proclamation, hereby commanding all justices, sheriffs, constables, and all other officers, within this Province, and requiring all others, in his Majesty’s name, to use their utmost endeavors, that the said Henry Phillips may be apprehended and brought to justice; and all persons, whosoever, are commanded, at their utmost peril, not to harbor nor conceal him. The said Henry Phillips is a fair young man, about the age of twenty-two years, well set, and well dressed; and has a wound in one of his hands. Given at Boston, the 4th of July, 1728, in the second year of the reign of our Sovereign Lord and King, George II.” This proclamation bears the signature of his Excellency, William Dummer.
The editor of the journal, which contains the proclamation, expresses himself as follows—“On Thursday last, the 4th current, about 3 in the morning, after some hour’s search, was found dead, near the Powder House, the body of Mr. Benjamin Woodbridge, a young gentleman, merchant of this place. He had a small stab, under the right arm; but what proved fatal to him was a thrust he received, under his right breast, which cameout, at the small of his back. The fore-finger of his left hand was almost cut off, at the uppermost joint, supposed to be done, by grasping a naked sword. The coroner’s inquest immediately set upon the body; and, after the best information and evidence they could obtain, upon their oaths say, that ‘the said Benjamin Woodbridge was killed, with a sword, run through his body, by the hands of Henry Phillips, of Boston, merchant, on the Common, in said Boston, on the third of this instant, as appears to us, by sundry evidences.’ The body was carried to the house of Mr. Jonathan Sewall, (his partner,) and, on Saturday last, was decently and handsomely interred, his funeral being attended, by the Commander-in-Chief, several of the Council, and most of the merchants and gentlemen of the town. There are many and various reports respecting this tragic scene, which makes us cautious of relating any of them. But the above, being plain matters of fact, we thought it not improper to give the public an account thereof. The unhappy gentleman, who is supposed to have committed the act, is not as yet found. This new and almost unknown case has put almost the whole town into great surprise.”
A sermon, upon this occasion, of uncommon length, was delivered July 18, 1728, by the Rev. Dr. Joseph Sewall, of the Old South, at the Public Lecture, and published, with a preface, by the “United Ministers” of Boston. To give dignity to this discourse, it is adorned with a Latin prefix—“Duellum est damnandum, tam in acceptante quam in provocante; quamvis major sit culpa provocantis.” This discourse is singularly barren of all allusion to the cause and circumstances of this event; and appears, like our almanacs, adapted to any meridian.
At his Majesty’s Court of Assize and General Gaol Delivery, on the second Tuesday of August, 1728, the grand jurors, under the Attorney General Hiller’s instructions, found a “Vera Billa” against Henry Phillips, for the murder of Benjamin Woodbridge. Phillips was then far beyond the influence and effect of thevera billa—on the high sea—upon his voyage of expatriation. For some cause, which I am entirely unable to comprehend, and can barely conjecture, a sympathy existed, for this young man, extending far beyond the circle of his personal friends and relatives, and engaging, on his behalf, the disinterested efforts, not only of several persons in high official stations, but in holy orders, who cannot be supposed to have undervalued the crime, ofwhich he was unquestionably guilty, before God and man. The reader, as we proceed, may possibly be more successful than I have been, in discovering the occasion of this extraordinary sympathy.
That strong sympathy, exhibited for Henry Phillips, by whose sword a fellow creature had so recently fallen, in a duel, must have sprung, if I am not greatly mistaken, from a knowledge of facts, connected with the origin of that duel, and of which the present generation is entirely ignorant.
Truth lies not, more proverbially, at the bottom of a well, than, in a great majority of instances, a woman lurks at the bottom of a duel. If Phillips, unless sorely provoked, had been the challenger, I cannot think the gentlemen, who signed the certificate, in his behalf, would have spoken of him thus:—
“These may certify to all whom it may concern, that we, the subscribers, well knew and esteemed Mr. Henry Phillips of Boston, in New England, to be a youth of a very affable, courteous, and peaceable behavior and disposition, and never heard he was addicted to quarrelling, he being soberly brought up, in the prosecution of his studies, and living chiefly an academical life; and verily believe him slow to anger, and with difficulty moved to resentment.”
Among the eighty-eight signers of this certificate, the names of Peter and Benjamin Faneuil, and of their uncle, Andrew, occur, almost as a matter of course. They were family connections. Who the others were, appears, by the Governor’s certificate, under the seal of the Province:—
“By his Excellency, William Burnet, &c. &c. These may certify whom it may concern, that John Wentworth Esquire is Lieut. Governor of the Province of New Hampshire; that William Tailor Esquire was formerly Lieut. Governor of the Province of the Massachusetts Bay, and is now a member of his Majesty’s Council for said Province; that James Stevens is Surveyor General of the Customs, for the Northern district, in America; that Thomas Lechmere Esquire was late SurveyorGeneral of the same; that John Jekyll Esquire is Collector of the Customs, for the port of Boston; that Thomas Steele is Justice of the Peace; that William Lambert Esquire is Controller of the Customs, at Boston; that J. Minzies Esquire was Judge of the Vice Admiralty; that Messieurs Timothy Cutler, Henry Harris, George Pigot, and Ebenezer Miller are ministers of the Gospel; and that the other subscribers to the certificate on the other side, are, some of them merchants and others gentlemen of the town of Boston.” This certificate, bearing the signature of Gov. Burnet, is dated Oct. 21, 1728.
Of the origin of this affair, I have discovered nothing. Immediately after its consummation, Phillips manifested deep distress, at the result. About midnight, of July 3, 1728, with the assistance of his brother, Gillam, Peter Faneuil, and several other persons, Henry Phillips was removed to a place of safety. He was first conducted, by Peter Faneuil, to the house of Col. Estis Hatch, and there concealed. His brother, Gillam, in the meanwhile, applied to Captain John Winslow, of “the Pink, Molly,” for a boat, to carry Henry, on board the British man of war, then lying between the Castle and Spectacle Island. Gillam and the Captain repaired to Hatch’s, and had an interview with Peter and Henry, in the yard. It was then concluded, that Henry should go to Gibbs’ Wharf, probably as the most retired wharf, for embarkation. The reader, who loves to localize—this word will do—will find this little wharf, on Bonner’s plan, of 1722, at the southeastern margin of Fort Hill, about half way between Whitehorn’s Wharf and South Battery. It lay directly northeast, and not far distant from the lower end of Gibbs’ Lane, now Belmont Street.
Henry Phillips, with Peter Faneuil, accordingly proceeded, as quietly as possible, to Gibbs’ Wharf. I see them now, stealing through Hatch’s back gate, and looking stealthily behind them, as they take the darker side of Belcher’s Lane. I trust there was no moon, that night. It was very foggy. The reader will soon be sure, that I am right, in that particular.
Gillam and Captain Winslow had gone to the Long Wharf, where the Molly’s boat lay; and, as the distance was very considerable to the man-of-war, they went first to the Pink, Molly—named, doubtless, for the Captain’s lady. There they took on board, four of the Pink’s crew.
How heavily the moments passed that night! That “fairyoung man,” as Governor Dummer calls him, in thelettres de cachet—too young, it may seem, at twenty-two, to commence a pilgrimage, like Cain’s—how sublimated his misery must have been! What sacrifice would he not have made, to break the dead man’s slumber! There he lay; as yet unfound, stark, and stiff, and with eyes unclosed—
“Cut off, ev’n in the blossoms of my sin,Unhousel’d, unanointed, unanneal’d.”
Bootless sorrow! He had made his bloody bed—and therein must he lie o’nights, and in no other. There were no hops in that pillow, for his burning brain. The undying memory of a murdered victim—what an everlasting agrypnic it must be!
Time, to this wretched boy, seemed very like eternity, that night—but the sound of the splashing oar was audible at last—the boat touched the wharf—for the last time he shook the hand of his friend, Peter Faneuil, and left the land of his birth, which he was destined never to revisit.
The boat was turned from the shore, and the rowers gave way. But so intense was the fog, that night, that they got on shore, at Dorchester Neck; and, not until long after midnight, reached the Sheerness, man of war. They were received on board. Captain Conrad and Lieutenant Pritchard were very naturally disposed to sympathize with “a fair young man,” in a predicament, like this—it was all in their line. Gillam, the elder brother, related the occurrence; and, before day, parted from Henry, whom he was destined to meet no more. Early, on the following morning, the events of the preceding night had been whispered, from man to man; for the pleasure of being among the earliest, to communicate the intelligence of a bloody murder, was precisely the same, in 1728, as it is, at the present day. Mrs. Winslow, the lady of the Captain of the Molly, had learned all the details, doubtless, before the morning watch. The surgeons, who dressed the wounds of Henry Phillips, for he also was wounded, felt themselves under no obligation to be silent. The sailors of the Molly, who had overheard the conversation of several of the party, were under no injunction of secrecy. Indeed, long before the dawn of the fourth of July—not then the glorious Fourth—the intelligence had spread, far and wide; and parties were scouring the Common, in quest of the murdered man. At an early hour, Governor Dummer’s proclamation wasin the hands of some trusty compositor, in the office of Samuel Kneeland, in Queen Street; and soon the handbills were upon all the town pumps, and chief corners, according to the usage of those days.
There is a pleasure, somewhat difficult of analysis, undoubtedly, in gazing for hours upon the stuffed skin of a beast, that, when in the flesh, has devoured a respectable citizen. When good Mr. Bowen—not the professor—kept his museum in the mansion, occupied, before the Revolution, by the Rev. Dr. Caner, and upon whose site the Savings Bank, and Historical Society have their apartments, at present, nothing in all his collection—not even the Salem Beauty—nor Marat and Charlotte Cordé—interested me so much, as a broken sword, with a label annexed, certifying, that, during the horrors of St. Domingo, seven and twenty of the white inhabitants had fallen, beneath that sword, in the hands of a gigantic negro! How long, one of the fancy will linger—“patiens pulveris atque solis” for the luxury of looking upon nothing more picturesque than the iron bars of a murderer’s cell!
It had, most naturally, spread abroad, that young Philips was concealed, on board the man of war. Hundreds may be supposed to have gathered, in groups, straining their eyes, to get a glimpse of the Sheerness; and the officer, who, in obedience to the warrant, proceeded, on that foggy morning, to arrest the offender, found more difficulty, in discovering the man of war, than was encountered, on the preceding evening, by those, who had sought for the body of Woodbridge, upon the Common. At length, the fog fled before the sun—the vista was opened between the Castle and Spectacle Island—but the Sheerness was no longer there—literally, the places that had known her, knew her no more.
Some of our worthy fathers, more curious than the rest, betook themselves, I dare say, to the cupola of theoldtownhouse—how few of us are aware, that the present is the third, that has occupied that spot. There, with their glasses, they swept the eastern horizon, to find the truant ship—and enjoyed the same measure of satisfaction, that Mr. Irving represents the lodger to have enjoyed, who was so solicitous to get a glimpse of the “Stout Gentleman.”
Over the waters she went, heavily laden, with as much misery, as could be pent up, in the bosom of a single individual.
He was stricken with that malady, which knows no remedy from man—a mind diseased. In one brief hour, he had disfranchised himself for ever, and become a miserable exile.
Among the officers of the Sheerness, he must have been accounted a young lion. Hisgallantry, in the estimation of the gentlemen of the wardroom, must have furnished a ready passport to their hearts—he had killed his man!—with thecivilized, not less than with thesavage, this is the proudest mark of excellence! How little must he have relished the approbation of the thoughtless, for an act, which had made him the wretched young man, that he was! How paltry the compensation for the anguish he had inflicted upon others—the mourning relatives of him, whom he had, that night, destroyed—his own connections—his mother—he was too young, at twenty-two, to be insensible to the sufferings of that mother! God knows, she had not forgotten her poor, misguided boy; as we shall presently see she crossed the ocean, to hold the aching head, and bind up the broken heart of her expatriated son—and arrived, only in season, to weep upon his grave, while it was yet green.
It is known, thatoldChief Justice Sewall, who died Jan. 1, 1730, kept a diary, which is in the possession of the Rev. Samuel Sewall, of Burlington, Mass., the son of thelateChief Justice Sewall. As the death of theoldChief Justice occurred, about eighteen months after the time, when the duel was fought, between Phillips and Woodbridge, it occurred to me, that some allusion to it, might be found, in the diary.
The Rev. Samuel Sewall has, very kindly, informed me, that the diary of the Chief Justice does not refer to the duel; but that the event was noticed by him, in his interleaved almanac, and by the Rev. Joseph Sewall, who preached the occasional sermon, to which I have referred—inhisdiary: and the Rev. Mr. Sewall, of Burlington, has obligingly furnished me with such extracts, as seem to have a bearing on the subject, and with some suggestions, in relation to the parties.
On the 4th of July, 1728, Judge Sewall, in his interleavedalmanac, writes thus—“Poor Mr. Benjam. Woodbridge is found dead in the Comon this morning, below the Powder-house, with a Sword-thrust through him, and his own Sword undrawn. Henry Phillips is suspected. The town is amazed!” This wears the aspect of what is commonly called foul play; and the impression might exist, that Phillips had run his antagonist through,before he had drawn his sword.
It is quite likely, that Judge Sewall himself had that impression, when he made his entry, on the fourth of July: the reader will observe, he does not saysheathedbutundrawn. If there existed no evidence to rebut this presumption, it would seem, not that there had been murder, in a duel, but a case of themost atrociousmurder; for nothing would be more unlikely to happen, than that a man, after having received his death wound, in this manner, should have sheathed his own sword. The wound was under the right pap; he was run through; the sword had come out, at the small of his back. How strongly, in this case, the presumptive evidence would bear against Phillips, not that he killed Woodbridge, for of this there is no doubt; but that he killed him, before he had drawn his own sword.
When the reader shall have read the authenticated testimony, which now lies before me, he will see, not only that the swords of both were drawn—but that both were wounded—that, after Woodbridge was wounded, he either dropped his sword, or was disarmed—and, that, when he had become helpless, and had walked some little distance from the spot, Phillips picked up the sword of his antagonist, and returned it to the scabbard. The proof of this, by an eye-witness, is clear, direct, and conclusive.
The next extract, in order of time, is from the diary of the Rev. Joseph Sewall, under date July, 1728—“N. B. On ye 4th (wch was kept, as a Day of Prayr upon ye account of ye Drought) we were surpris’d wth ye sad Tidings yt Mr. Henry Phillips and Mr Woodbridge fought a duel in wch ye latter was slain. O Ld Preserve ye Tow. and Land from the guilt of Blood”.——“In ye Eveng. I visited Mrs. Ph. O Ld Sanctify thine awful judgt to her. Give her Son a thorow Rcpentce.”
These extracts are of interest, not simply because they are historical, but as illustrative of the times.
“1728, July 18. I preached ye Lecture from yese words, Ps. 119, 115, Depart from me ye evil Doers, &c. Endeavdto shew ye evill and danger of wicked Company.—Condemned Duelling as a bloody crime, &c. O Lord, Bless my poor labours.”
“1728-9, January 22. Mr. Thacher, Mr. Prince, and I met at Mrs. Phillips, and Pray’d for her son. I hope G. graciously assisted. Ld Pardon the hainous Sins of yt young man, convert and Heal his soul.”
Writing to a London correspondent, June 2, 1729, Chief Justice Sewall says—“Richard put the Letter on board Capt. Thomas Lithered, who saild this day; in who went Madam Hannah Phillips.” In his interleaved almanac is the following entry—“1729, Sept. 27, Saturday Madam Phillips arrives; mane.” The explanation of these two last entries is at hand. Jean Faneuil of Rochelle had, doubtless, written, either to his brother André, in Boston, or to his nephew, by marriage, Gillam Phillips, giving an account of the wanderer, Gillam’s brother. At length, the tidings came hither, that he was sick; and, probably, in May, 1729, intelligence arrived, that he wasdangerously ill. The mother’s heart was stirred within her. By the first vessel she embarked for London, on her way to Rochelle. The eyes of that unhappy young man were not destined to behold again the face of her, whose daylight he had turned into darkness, and whose heart he had broken.
He died about the twentieth of May, 1729, as I infer from the documents before me. The first of these is the account, rendered by Jean Faneuil, to Gillam Phillips, in Jean’s own hand—“Deboursement fait par Jean faneuil pour feu Monsieur heny Phillipe de Boston,” &c. He charges in this account, for amount paid the physician, “pendant sa maladie.” The doctor’s bill is sent as a voucher, and is also before me. Dr. “Girard De Villars, Aggregé au College Royal des Medicins de la Rochelle” acknowledges to have received payment in fullpour l’honoraire des consultes de mes confreres et moy a Monsieur Henry Phillipe Anglois, from the fourth of April, to the twentieth of May.
The apothecary’s bill of Monsieur Guinot, covering three folio pages, is an interesting document, for something of the nature of the malady may be inferred, from themateria medicaemployed—potion anodine—baume tranquille sant—cordial somnifere. How effectually the visions, the graphic recollections of this miserable young man must havemurdered sleep!
The Rev. Mr. Sewall of Burlington suggests, that Mr. BenjaminWoodbridge, who fell in this duel, was, very probably, the grandson of the Rev. John Woodbridge of Andover, and he adds, that his partner, Jonathan Sewall, to whose house the body was conveyed, was a nephew of theoldChief Justice, and, in 1717, was in business with an elder brother, Major Samuel Sewall, with whom he resided. In 1726, Major Sewall “lived in a house, once occupied by Madam Usher, near the Common;” whither the body of Woodbridge might have been conveyed, without much trouble.
The General Court, which assembled, on the 28th of that month, in which this encounter took place, enacted a more stringent law, than had existed before, on the subject of duelling.
I shall now present the testimony, as it lies before me, certified by Elisha Cook, J. P., before whom the examination was had, on the morning after the duel:—
“Suffolk, ss. Memorandum. Boston, July 4, 1728. Messrs. Robert Handy, George Stewart and others being convented on examination, concerning the murther of Benja. Woodbridge last night, Mr. Handy examined saith—that sometime before night Mr. Benja. Woodbridge come to me at the White horse[3]and desired me to lett him (have) his own sword. I asked ye reason: he replied he had business called him into the Country. I was jealous he made an excuse. I urged him to tell me plainly what occasion he had for a sword, fearing it was to meet with Mr. Henry Phillips, who had lately fell out. He still persisted in his first story, upon which I gave him his sword and belt,[4]and then he left the Compy, Mr. Thomas Barton being in Company, I immediately followed, and went into the Common, found said Woodbridge walking the Common by the Powder house, his sword by his side. I saw no person save him. I againe urged the occasion of his being there. He denied informing. In some short time, I saw Mr. Henry Phillips walking towards us, with his Sword by his side and Cloke on. Before he came nere us I told them I feared there was a Quarrel and what would be the events. They both denied it.
“Mr. Phillips replied again Mr. Woodbridge and he had some particular business that concerned them two onley and desired Iwould go about my business. I still persuaded them to let me know their design, and if any quarrel they would make it up. Mr. Phillips used me in such a manner with slites (slights) that I went of and left them by the powder house, this was about eight in the evening. I went up the Common. They walked down. After some short space I returned, being justly fearful of their designe, in order to prevent their fiteing with Swords. I mett with them about the Powder House. I first saw Mr. Woodbridge making up to me, holding his left hand below his right breast. I discovered blood upon his coat, asked the meaning of it. He told me Mr. Phillips had wounded him. Having no Sword I enquired where it was. He said Mr. Phillips had it. Mr. Phillips immediately came up, with Woodbridge’s sword in his hand naked, his own by his side. I told them I was surprized they should quarrel to this degree. I told Mr. Phillips he had wounded Mr. Woodbridge. He replied yes so he had and Mr. Woodbridge had also wounded me, but in the fleshy part onley, shewing me his cut fingers. Mr. Phillips took Mr. Woodbridge’s scabbard, sheathed the Sword, and either laid it down by him, or gave it to him.
“Mr. Woodbridge beginning to faint satt down, and begged that surgeons might be sent for. I immediately went away, leaving these two together. Phillips presently followed, told me for God’s sake to go back to Woodbridge, and take care of him, till he returned with a surgeon. I prayed him to hasten, but did not care to returne. Mr. Phillips went away as fast as he could and went down the lane by the Pound.[5]I returned to the White Horse. I found Mr. Barton and Geoe Reason together. I told Mr. Barton Phillips and Woodbridge having quarreled, Woodbridge was much wounded. I asked Barton to go and see how it was it with Woodbridge. We went a little way from the house, with a designe to go, but Barton, hearing Phillips was gone for a Chirurgeon, concluded Phillips would procure a Chirurgeon, and so declined going, and went to Mr. Blin’s house where we ware invited to supper. I have not seen Mr. Hy Phillips or (heard) any from him, since I left him going for a Chirurgeon.”
Such is the testimony of Robert Handy; and the reader will agree with me, that, if he and Barton had been choked with their supper at Mr. Blin’s, it would have been a “Providence.”It would be difficult to find the record of more cruel neglect, towards a dying man. When urged to go back and sustain Woodbridge, till a surgeon could be procured, he “did not care to returne.” And Barton preferred going to his supper. The principle, which governed these fellows, was a grossly selfish and cowardly fear of personal implication. Upon an occasion of minor importance, a similar principle actuated a couple of Yorkshire lads, who refused to assist, in righting the carriage of a member of parliament, which had been overturned, because their father had cautioned them never to meddle with state affairs.
I shall present the remaining testimony, in the following number.
Let us proceed with the examination, before Justice Elisha Cook, on the fourth of July, 1728.
“John Cutler, of Boston, Chirurgeon, examined upon oath, saith, that, last evening, about seven, Dr. George Pemberton came to me, at Mrs. Mears’s, and informed, that an unhappy quarrel hapned betwene Mr. Henry Phillips and Benja. Woodbridge, and it was to be feared Mr. Woodbridge was desperately wounded. We went out. We soon mett Mr. Henry Phillips, who told us he feared he had killed Mr. Woodbridge, or mortally wounded him; that he left him at the bottom of the Common, and begged us to repaire there and see if any relief might be given him. Doct. Pemberton and I went, in compy with Mr. Henry Phillips, in search of said Woodbridge, but could not find him, nor make any discovery of the affair. Mr. Phillips left us. I bid him walk in Bromfield’s lane. We went to Mr. Woodbridge’s lodgings, and severall other houses, but heard nothing of him. Upon our return Mr. H. Phillips was at my house. I dresed his wound, which was across his belly and his fingers. Mr. Phillips shew a great concern and fear of having killed Mr. Woodbridge. I endeavored to appease him, and hope better things; but he said, could he think he was alive, he should think himself a happy man.”
“Doct. George Pemberton, sworn, saith that last evening about seven or eight o’clock Mr. Henry Phillips came to the Sun Tavern and informed me, first desiring me to go out wch I did and went to my house, where said Phillips shew me some wounds, and that he had wounded Mr. Benjamin Woodbridge, and feared they would prove mortal—begged of me to repair to the Comon. Accompanied with Dr. Cutler and said Phillips, in quest of said Woodbridge, we went to the Powder house, and searched the ground there, but could make no discovery. Mr. Phillips then left us, and walked towards Mr. Bromfield’s lane. Dr. Cutler and I went to Mr. Woodbridge’s lodging, and several other places, but could hear nothing of him. We returned and found Henry Phillips, at Dr. Cutler’s, who was very greatly concerned; fearing he had killed Mr. Woodbridge. We dressed Mr. Phillips’ wounds which were small.”
“Capt. John Winslow examined saith that last night being at Mr. Doring’s house, Mr. Gillam Phillips, about eleven in the evening, came to me and told me he wanted my boat to carry off his brother Henry, who had wounded or killed a man. I went, by appointment, to Mr. Vardy’s where I soon mett Gillam Phillips. I asked him where his brother was—who he had been fiteing with. He made answer I should see him presently. Went down to Colo. Estis Hatche’s where Mr. Gillam Phillips was to meet me. I gott there first, knocked at Mr. Hatche’s door. No answer. From Mr. Hatche’s house Mr. Peter Faneuil and Henry Phillips came into Mr. Hatche’s yard—Mr. Gillam Phillips immediately after with Mr. Adam Tuck. I heard no discourse about the man who was wounded. They concluded, and sent Mr. Henry Phillips to Gibb’s wharf. Then Gillam Phillips with me to the long wharf. I took boat there, and went on board my ship, lying in the harbor. Mr. Phillips (Gillam) being in the bote, I took four of the Ship’s crew, and rowed to Gibb’s Wharf, where we mett with Mr. Henry Phillips, Peter Faneuil, and Adam Tuck. I came on shore. Henry Phillips and Tuck entred the boat. I understood by discourse with Gillam Phillips, they designed on board his Majestys Ship-Sheerness, Captain James Conrad Comdr. This was about twelve and one of the Clock.”
“Adam Tuck of Boston farier, examined upon oath saith, that, about eleven of the clock, last evening, being at Luke Vardy’s I understood there had bin a quarril betwene Henry Phillipsand Benja. Woodbridge, and that Phillips had killed or mortally wounded Woodbridge. Gillam Phillips Esq. being there, I walked with him towards Colo. Hatches, where we came up with Capt. Jno. Winslow, and Henry Phillips, and Peter Faneuil. We all went to Gibb’s wharf, when we, that is Mr. Gillam and Henry Phillips, with the examinant went on board Capt. John Winslow’s boat. We designed, as I understood, to go on board his Majesie’s ship Sheerness, in order to leave Mr. Henry Phillips on board the man of War, who, as he told me, had, he feared, wounded a man, that evening on the Comon, near the water side. The person’s name I understood was Woodbridge. Soon after our being on board Lt. Pritchard caried us into his apartment, where Gillam Phillips related to the Leut. the rancounter that hapned betwene his brother Henry and Benja. Woodbridge. I took the intent of their going on board the man of War was to conceale Mr. Henry Phillips. We stayed on board about an hour and a half. We left Mr. Henry Phillips on board the Man of War and came up to Boston.”
“John Underwood, at present residing in Boston, mariner, belonging to the Pink Molle, John Winslow Comdr. now lying in the harbour of Boston, being examined upon oath, concerning the death or murther of Mr. Benjamin Woodbridge, saith, that about twelve o’clock last night, his Captn John Winslow, with another person, unknown to him came on board. The Captn ordered the boat with four of our hands, I being one, to go to a Wharf at the South end of the Town, where we went, and there the Capt. went on Shore, and two other persons came into the Boat without the Captn. We put of and by the discourse we were designed to go on board the Man of Whar, but by reason of the fogg or thick weather we gott on shore at Dorchester neck, went up to a house and stayed there about an hour and half, then returned to our boat, took in the three persons affore-named, as I suppose, with our crew, and went on board the Man of War, now lying betwene the Castle & Specta Island. We all went on board with the men we took in at the Wharf, stayed there for the space of an hour, and then came up to Boston, leaving one of the three onley on board, and landed by Oliver’s Dock.”
“Wm. Pavice of Boston, one of the Pink Molly’s crew, examined upon oath, saith as above declared by John Underwood.”
“James Wood and John Brown, mariners, belonging to the Pink Molly, being examined upon oath, declare as above. John Brown cannot say, or knows not how many persons they took from the shore, at Gibb’s wharf, but is positive but two returned to Boston. They both say they cant be sure whether the Capt. went in the boat from the ship to the shoar.”
“Mr. Peter Faneuil examined saith, that, last evening, about twelve, he was with Gillam Phillips, Henry Phillips and Adam Tuck at Gibb’s wharf, and understood by Gillam Phillips, that his brother Henry had killed or mortally wounded Mr. Benja. Woodbridge this evening, that Henry Phillips went into Capt’n Winslow’s boat, with his brother and Adam Tuck with the Boat’s crew, where they went he knows not.”
Such was the evidence, presented before the examining justice, on the fourth of July, 1728, in relation to this painful, and extraordinary occurrence.
I believe I have well nigh completed my operation, upon Peter Faneuil: but before I throw aside my professional apron, let me cast about, and see, if there are no small arteries which I have not taken up. I perceive there are.
The late Rev. Dr. Gray, of Jamaica Plains, on page 8 of his half century sermon, published in 1842, has the following passage—“The third or Jamaica Plain Parish, in Roxbury, had its origin in the piety of an amiable female. I refer to Mrs. Susanna, wife of Benjamin Pemberton. She was the daughter of Peter Faneuil, who, in 1740 erected and gave to the Town of Boston the far-famed Hall, which still bears his name; and who built also the dwelling house, now standing here, recently known, as late Dr. John Warren’s Country seat.”
Nothing could have been farther from the meaning of the amiable Mr. Gray, than a design to cast a reproach, upon the unimpeachable pedigree of this excellent lady. But Peter Faneuil was, unfortunately, never married. He was a bachelor; and is styled “Bachelour,” in the commission, from John, Archbishop of Canterbury, to Judge Willard, to administer the oath to Benjamin Faneuil, as administrator, on Peter’s estate. Peter’s estate was divided, among his brother, Benjamin, and his four sisters, Anne Davenport, Susanna Boutineau, Mary Phillips, and Mary Ann Jones. This fact is established, by the original indenture of marriage settlement, now before me, between John Jones and Mary Ann Faneuil, dated the very month of Peter’s decease.He had no daughter to inherit. Mrs. Susanna Pemberton had not a drop of the Faneuil blood, in her veins. Her nearest approximation consisted in the fact, that George Bethune, her own brother, married, as I have already stated, Mary Faneuil, Peter’s niece, and the daughter of Benjamin. Benjamin occupied that cottage, before he removed to Brighton. He had also a town residence, in rear of the Old Brick Meeting-house, which stood where Joy’s buildings now stand.
Thomas Kilby was the commercial agent of Peter Faneuil, at Canso, Nova Scotia, in 1737, 8 and 9. He was a gentleman of education; graduated at Harvard, in 1723, and died in 1740, and according to Pemberton, published essays, in prose and verse. Not long ago, a gentleman inquired of me, if I had ever heard, that Peter Faneuil had a wooden leg; and related the following amusing story, which he received from his collateral ancestor, John Page, who graduated at Harvard, in 1765, and died in 1825, aged 81.
Thomas Kilby was an unthrifty, and rather whimsical, gentleman. Being without property and employment, he retired, either into Maine, or Nova Scotia. There he made a will, for his amusement, having, in reality, nothing to bequeath. He left liberal sums to a number of religious, philanthropic, and literary institutions—his eyes, which were very good, to a blind relative—his body to a surgeon of his acquaintance, “excepting as hereinafter excepted”—his sins he bequeathed to a worthy clergyman, as he appeared not to have any—and the choice of his legs to Peter Faneuil.
Upon inquiry of the oldest surviving relative of Peter, I found, that nothing was known of the wooden leg.
A day or two after, a highly respectable and aged citizen, attracted by the articles, in the Transcript, informed me, that his father, born in 1727, told him, that he had seen Peter Faneuil, in his garden, and that, on one foot, he wore a very high-heeled shoe. This, probably, gave occasion to the considerate bequest of Thomas Kilby.
The will, as my informant states, upon the authority of Mr. John Page, coming to the knowledge of Peter, he was so much pleased with the humor of it, that, probably, having a knowledge of thetestatorbefore, he sent for him, and made him his agent, at Canso.
Peter was a kind-hearted man. The gentleman who gave methe fact, concerning the high-heeled shoe, informed me, upon his father’s authority, that old Andrew Faneuil—the same, who, in his will, prays God, for “the perfecting of his charities”—put a poor, old, schoolmaster, named Walker, into jail, for debt. Imprisonment then, for debt, was a serious and lingering affair. Peter, in the flesh—not his angel—privately paid the poor man’s debt, and set the prisoner free.
Those words of Horace were the words of soberness and truth—Oh imitatores, vulgum pecus!—I loathe imitators and imitations of all sorts. How cheap must that man feel, who awakenshesterno vitio, from yesterday’s debauch, onimitationgin or brandy! Let no reader of the Transcript suppose, that I am so far behind the times, as to question the respectability of being drunk, on the real, original Scheidam or Cogniac, whether at funerals, weddings, or ordinations. But I considerimitationgin or brandy, at a funeral, a point blank insult to the corpse.
Everybody knows, that old oaks, old friendships, and old mocha must grow—they cannot be made. My horse is frightened, nearly out of his harness, almost every day of his life, by the hissing and jetting of the steam, and the clatter of the machinery, as I pass a manufactory, or grindery, ofimitationcoffee.Imitationcoffee! What would my old friend, Melli Melli, the Tunisian ambassador, with whom—long, long ago—I have taken a cup of his own particular, once and again, at Chapotin’s Hotel, in Summer Street, say to such a thing as this!
This grindery is located, in an Irish neighborhood, and there used to be a great number of Irish children thereabouts. The number has greatly diminished of late. I know not why, but, as I passed, the other day, the story that Dickens tells of the poor sausage-maker, whose broken buttons, among the sausage meat, revealed his unlucky destiny, came forcibly to mind. By the smell, I presume, there is a roastery, connected with the establishment; and, now I think of it, the atmosphere, round about, is filled with the odor of roast pig—a little overdone.
Good things, of all sorts, have stimulated the imitative powers of man, from the diamond to the nutmeg. Even death—and death is a good thing to him, whose armor of righteousness is on,cap-a-pie—death has been occasionally imitated; and really, now and then, the thing has been very cleverly done. I refer not to cases of catalepsy or trance, nor to cases of total suspension of sensibility and voluntary motion, for a time, under the agency of sulphuric ether, or chloroform.
In 1843, at the request of her Majesty’s principal Secretary of State, for the Home Department, Mr. Edwin Chadwick, Barrister at Law, made “a report on the results of a special inquiry into the practice of interment in towns.” This report is very severe upon our fraternity; but, I must confess, it is a most able and interesting performance, and full of curious detail. The demands of the English undertaker, it appears, are so oppressive upon the poor, that burial societies have been formed, upon the mutual principle. It is asserted by Mr. Chadwick, that parents, under the gripings of poverty, have actually poisoned their children, to obtain the burial money. At the Chester assizes, several trials, for infanticide, have occurred, on these grounds. “That child will not live, it is in the burial club,” is a cant and common phrase, among the Manchester paupers.
Some very clever impositions, have been practised, to obtain the burial allowance. A man, living in Manchester, resolved to play corpse, for this laudable object. His wife was privy to the plot, of course,—and gave notice, in proper form, of her bereavement. The agent of the society made the customary domiciliary visit. There the body lay—stiff and stark—and a very straight and proper corpse it was—the jaw decently tied up. The visitor, well convinced, and quite touched by the widow’s anguish, was turning on his heel to depart, when a slight motion of the dead man’s eyelid arrested his attention: he began to smell—not of the body, like the bear in Æsop—but a rat. Upon feeling the pulse, he begged the chief mourner to be comforted; there was strong ground for hope! More obstinate than Rachel, she not only would not be comforted, but abused the visitor, in good Gaelic, for questioning her veracity. Had she not laid out the daar man, her own daar Tooly Mashee, with her own hands! and didn’t she know better than to be after laying him out, while the brith was in his daar buddy! and would she be guilty of so cruel a thing to her own good man! The doctor was called;and, after feeling the pulse, threw a bucket of water, in the face of the defunct, which resulted in immediate resurrection.
The most extraordinary case of imitation death on record, and which, under the acknowledged rules of evidence, it is quite impossible to disbelieve, is that of the East India Fakeer, who was buried alive at Lahore, in 1837, and at the end of forty days, disinterred, and resuscitated. This tale is,prima facie, highly improbable: let us examine the evidence. It is introduced, in the last English edition of Sharon Turner’s Sacred History of the World, vol. iii., in a note upon Letter 25. The witness is Sir Claude M. Wade, who, at the time of the Fakeer’s burial, and disinterment, was political resident, at Loodianah, and principal agent of the English government, at the court of Runjeet Singh. The character of this witness is entirely above suspicion; and the reader will observe, in his testimony, anything but the marks and numbers of a credulous witness, or a dealer in the marvellous. Mr. Wade addressed a letter to the editor of Turner’s History, from which the following extracts are made:—
“I was present, at the court of Runjeet Singh, at Lahore, in 1837, when the Fakeer, mentioned by the Hon. Capt. Osborne, was buried alive, for six weeks; and, though I arrived, a few hours after his interment, I had the testimony of Runjeet Singh, himself, and others, the most credible witnesses of his court, to the truth of the Fakeer having been so buried before them; and from having been present myself, when he was disinterred, and restored to a state of perfect vitality, in a position so close to him, as to render any deception impossible, it is my firm belief that there was no collusion, in producing the extraordinary fact, that I have related.”
Mr. Wade proceeds to give an account of the disinterment. “On the approach of the appointed time, according to invitation, I accompanied Runjeet Singh to the spot, where the Fakeer had been buried. It was a square building, called, in the language of the country,Barra Durree, in the midst of one of the gardens, adjoining the palace at Lahore, with an open verandah all around, having an enclosed room in the centre. On arriving there, Runjeet Singh, who was attended on the occasion, by the whole of his court, dismounting from his elephant, asked me to join him, in examining the building, to satisfy himself that it was closed, as he had left it. We did so. There had been an open door, on each of the four sides of the room, three of whichwere perfectly closed with brick and mortar. The fourth had a strong door, also closed with mud, up to the padlock, which was sealed with the private seal of Runjeet Singh, in his own presence, when the Fakeer was interred. In fact, the exterior of the building presented no aperture whatever, by which air could be admitted, nor any communication held, by which food could possibly be conveyed to the Fakeer; and I may also add, that the walls, closing the doorways, bore no marks of having been recently disturbed or removed.”
“Runjeet Singh recognized the impression of the seal, as the one, which he had affixed: and, as he was as skeptical, as any European could be, of the successful result of such an enterprise, to guard, as far as possible, against any collusion, he had placed two companies, from his own personal escort, near the building, from which four sentries were furnished, and relieved, every two hours, night and day, to guard the building from intrusion. At the same time, he ordered one of the principal officers of his court to visit the place occasionally, and report the result of his inspection to him; while he himself, or his minister, kept the seal which closed the hole of the padlock, and the latter received the reports of the officers on guard, morning and evening.”
“After our examination, and we had seated ourselves in the verandah, opposite the door, some of Runjeet’s people dug away the mud wall, and one of his officers broke the seal, and opened the padlock.”
“On the door being thrown open, nothing but a dark room was to be seen. Runjeet Singh and myself then entered it, in company with the servant of the Fakeer. A light was brought, and we descended about three feet below the floor of the room, into a sort of cell, in which a wooden box, about four feet long, by three broad, with a square sloping roof, containing the Fakeer, was placed upright, the door of which had also a padlock and seal, similar to that on the outside. On opening it, we saw”—
But I am reminded, by observing the point I have reached, upon my sheet of paper, that it is time to pause. There are others, who have something to say to the public, of more importance, about rum, sugar and molasses, turtle soup and patent medicine, children, that are lost, and puppies, that are found.