II. THE OLD FRENCH WAR.
At a period about twenty years subsequent to that of our former sketch,
we again attempt a delineation of some of the characteristics of life and
manners in New England. Our text-book, as before, is a file of antique
newspapers. The volume which serves us for a writing-desk is a folio of
larger dimensions than the one before described; and the papers are
generally printed on a whole sheet, sometimes with a supplemental leaf of
news and advertisements. They have a venerable appearance, being
overspread with a duskiness of more than seventy years, and discolored,
here and there, with the deeper stains of some liquid, as if the contents
of a wineglass had long since been splashed upon the page. Still, the
old book conveys an impression that, when the separate numbers were
flying about town, in the first day or two of their respective
existences, they might have been fit reading for very stylish people.
Such newspapers could have been issued nowhere but in a metropolis the
centre, not only of public and private affairs, but of fashion and
gayety. Without any discredit to the colonial press, these might have
been, and probably were, spread out on the tables of the British coffee-
house, in king Street, for the perusal of the throng of officers who then
drank their wine at that celebrated establishment. To interest these
military gentlemen, there were bulletins of the war between Prussia and
Austria; between England and France, on the old battle-plains of
Flanders; and between the same antagonists, in the newer fields of the
East Indies,--and in our own trackless woods, where white men never trod
until they came to fight there. Or, the travelled American, the petit-
maitre of the colonies,--the ape of London foppery, as the newspaper was
the semblance of the London journals,--he, with his gray powdered
periwig, his embroidered coat, lace ruffles, and glossy silk stockings,
golden-clocked,--his buckles of glittering paste, at knee-band and shoe-
strap,--his scented handkerchief, and chapeau beneath his arm, even such
a dainty figure need not have disdained to glance at these old yellow
pages, while they were the mirror of passing times. For his amusement,
there were essays of wit and humor, the light literature of the day,
which, for breadth and license, might have proceeded from the pen of
Fielding or Smollet; while, in other columns, he would delight his
imagination with the enumerated items of all sorts of finery, and with
the rival advertisements of half a dozen peruke-makers. In short, newer
manners and customs had almost entirely superseded those of the Puritans,
even in their own city of refuge.
It was natural that, with the lapse of time and increase of wealth and
population, the peculiarities of the early settlers should have waxed
fainter and fainter through the generations of their descendants, who
also had been alloyed by a continual accession of emigrants from many
countries and of all characters. It tended to assimilate the colonial
manners to those of the mother-country, that the commercial intercourse
was great, and that the merchants often went thither in their own ships.
Indeed, almost every man of adequate fortune felt a yearning desire, and
even judged it a filial duty, at least once in his life, to visit the
home of his ancestors. They still called it their own home, as if New
England were to them, what many of the old Puritans had considered it,
not a permanent abiding-place, but merely a lodge in the wilderness,
until the trouble of the times should be passed. The example of the
royal governors must have had much influence on the manners of the
colonists; for these rulers assumed a degree of state and splendor which
had never been practised by their predecessors, who differed in nothing
from republican chief-magistrates, under the old charter. The officers
of the crown, the public characters in the interest of the
administration, and the gentlemen of wealth and good descent, generally
noted for their loyalty, would constitute a dignified circle, with the
governor in the centre, bearing a very passable resemblance to a court.
Their ideas, their habits, their bode of courtesy, and their dress would
have all the fresh glitter of fashions immediately derived from the
fountain-head, in England. To prevent their modes of life from becoming
the standard with all who had the ability to imitate them, there was no
longer an undue severity of religion, nor as yet any disaffection to
British supremacy, nor democratic prejudices against pomp. Thus, while
the colonies were attaining that strength which was soon to render them
an independent republic, it might have been supposed that the wealthier
classes were growing into an aristocracy, and ripening for hereditary
rank, while the poor were to be stationary in their abasement, and the
country, perhaps, to be a sister monarchy with England. Such, doubtless,
were the plausible conjectures deduced from the superficial phenomena of
our connection with a monarchical government, until the prospective
nobility were levelled with the mob, by the mere gathering of winds that
preceded the storm of the Revolution. The portents of that storm were
not yet visible in the air. A true picture of society, therefore, would
have the rich effect produced by distinctions of rank that seemed
permanent, and by appropriate habits of splendor on the part of the
gentry.
The people at large had been somewhat changed in character, since the
period of our last sketch, by their great exploit, the conquest of
Louisburg. After that event, the New-Englanders never settled into
precisely the same quiet race which all the world had imagined them to
be. They had done a deed of history, and were anxious to add new ones to
the record. They had proved themselves powerful enough to influence the
result of a war, and were thenceforth called upon, and willingly
consented, to join their strength against the enemies of England; on
those fields, at least, where victory would redound to their peculiar
advantage. And now, in the heat of the Old French War, they might well
be termed a martial people. Every man was a soldier, or the father or
brother of a soldier; and the whole land literally echoed with the roll
of the drum, either beating up for recruits among the towns and villages,
or striking the march towards the frontiers. Besides the provincial
troops, there were twenty-three British regiments in the northern
colonies. The country has never known a period of such excitement and
warlike life; except during the Revolution,--perhaps scarcely then; for
that was a lingering war, and this a stirring and eventful one.
One would think that no very wonderful talent was requisite for an
historical novel, when the rough and hurried paragraphs of these
newspapers can recall the past so magically. We seem to be waiting in
the street for the arrival of the post-rider--who is seldom more than
twelve hours beyond his time--with letters, by way of Albany, from the
various departments of the army. Or, we may fancy ourselves in the
circle of listeners, all with necks stretched out towards an old
gentleman in the centre, who deliberately puts on his spectacles, unfolds
the wet newspaper, and gives us the details of the broken and
contradictory reports, which have been flying from mouth to mouth, ever
since the courier alighted at Secretary Oliver's office. Sometimes we
have an account of the Indian skirmishes near Lake George, and how a
ranging party of provincials were so closely pursued, that they threw
away their arms, and eke their shoes, stockings, and breeches, barely
reaching the camp in their shirts, which also were terribly tattered by
the bushes. Then, there is a journal of the siege of Fort Niagara, so
minute that it almost numbers the cannon-shot and bombs, and describes
the effect of the latter missiles on the French commandant's stone
mansion, within the fortress. In the letters of the provincial officers,
it is amusing to observe how some of them endeavor to catch the careless
and jovial turn of old campaigners. One gentleman tells us that he holds
a brimming glass in his hand, intending to drink the health of his
correspondent, unless a cannon ball should dash the liquor from his lips;
in the midst of his letter he hears the bells of the French churches
ringing, in Quebec, and recollects that it is Sunday; whereupon, like a
good Protestant, he resolves to disturb the Catholic worship by a few
thirty-two pound shot. While this wicked man of war was thus making a
jest of religion, his pious mother had probably put up a note, that very
Sabbath-day, desiring the "prayers of the congregation for a son gone a
soldiering." We trust, however, that there were some stout old worthies
who were not ashamed to do as their fathers did, but went to prayer, with
their soldiers, before leading them to battle; and doubtless fought none
the worse for that. If we had enlisted in the Old French War, it should
have been under such a captain; for we love to see a man keep the
characteristics of his country.
[The contemptuous jealousy of the British army, from the general
downwards, was very galling to the provincial troops. In one of the
newspapers, there is an admirable letter of a New England man,
copied from the London Chronicle, defending the provincials with an
ability worthy of Franklin, and somewhat in his style. The letter
is remarkable, also, because it takes up the cause of the whole
range of colonies, as if the writer looked upon them all as
constituting one country, and that his own. Colonial patriotism had
not hitherto been so broad a sentiment.]
These letters, and other intelligence from the army, are pleasant and
lively reading, and stir up the mind like the music of a drum and fife.
It is less agreeable to meet with accounts of women slain and scalped,
and infants dashed against trees, by the Indians on the frontiers. It is
a striking circumstance, that innumerable bears, driven from the woods,
by the uproar of contending armies in their accustomed haunts, broke into
the settlements, and committed great ravages among children, as well as
sheep and swine. Some of them prowled where bears had never been for a
century, penetrating within a mile or two of Boston; a fact that gives a
strong and gloomy impression of something very terrific going on in the
forest, since these savage beasts fled townward to avoid it. But it is
impossible to moralize about such trifles, when every newspaper contains
tales of military enterprise, and often a huzza for victory; as, for
instance, the taking of Ticonderoga, long a place of awe to the
provincials, and one of the bloodiest spots in the present war. Nor is
it unpleasant, among whole pages of exultation, to find a note of sorrow
for the fall of some brave officer; it comes wailing in, like a funeral
strain amidst a peal of triumph, itself triumphant too. Such was the
lamentation over Wolfe. Somewhere, in this volume of newspapers, though
we cannot now lay our finger upon the passage, we recollect a report that
General Wolfe was slain, not by the enemy, but by a shot from his own
soldiers.
In the advertising columns, also, we are continually reminded that the
country was in a state of war. Governor Pownall makes proclamation for
the enlisting of soldiers, and directs the militia colonels to attend to
the discipline of their regiments, and the selectmen of every town to
replenish their stocks of ammunition. The magazine, by the way, was
generally kept in the upper loft of the village meeting-house. The
provincial captains are drumming up for soldiers, in every newspaper.
Sir Jeffrey Amherst advertises for batteaux-men, to be employed on the
lakes; and gives notice to the officers of seven British regiments,
dispersed on the recruiting service, to rendezvous in Boston. Captain
Hallowell, of the province ship-of-war King George, invites able-bodied
seamen to serve his Majesty, for fifteen pounds, old tenor, per month.
By the rewards offered, there would appear to have been frequent
desertions from the New England forces: we applaud their wisdom, if not
their valor or integrity. Cannon of all calibres, gunpowder and balls,
firelocks, pistols, swords, and hangers, were common articles of
merchandise. Daniel Jones, at the sign of the hat and helmet, offers to
supply officers with scarlet broadcloth, gold-lace for hats and
waistcoats, cockades, and other military foppery, allowing credit until
the payrolls shall be made up. This advertisement gives us quite a
gorgeous idea of a provincial captain in full dress.
At the commencement of the campaign of 1759, the British general informs
the farmers of New England that a regular market will be established at
Lake George, whither they are invited to bring provisions and
refreshments of all sorts, for the use of the army. Hence, we may form a
singular picture of petty traffic, far away from any permanent
settlements, among the hills which border that romantic lake, with the
solemn woods overshadowing the scene. Carcasses of bullocks and fat
porkers are placed upright against the huge trunks of the trees; fowls
hang from the lower branches, bobbing against the heads of those beneath;
butter-firkins, great cheeses, and brown loaves of household bread, baked
in distant ovens, are collected under temporary shelters or pine-boughs,
with gingerbread, and pumpkin-pies, perhaps, and other toothsome
dainties. Barrels of cider and spruce-beer are running freely into the
wooden canteens of the soldiers. Imagine such a scene, beneath the dark
forest canopy, with here and there a few struggling sunbeams, to
dissipate the gloom. See the shrewd yeomen, haggling with their scarlet-
coated customers, abating somewhat in their prices, but still dealing at
monstrous profit; and then complete the picture with circumstances that
bespeak war and danger. A cannon shall be seen to belch its smoke from
among the trees, against some distant canoes on the lake; the traffickers
shall pause, and seem to hearken, at intervals, as if they heard the
rattle of musketry or the shout of Indians; a scouting-party shall be
driven in, with two or three faint and bloody men among them. And, in
spite of these disturbances, business goes on briskly in the market of
the wilderness.
It must not be supposed that the martial character of the times
interrupted all pursuits except those connected with war. On the
contrary, there appears to have been a general vigor and vivacity
diffused into the whole round of colonial life. During the winter of
1759, it was computed that about a thousand sled-loads of country produce
were daily brought into Boston market. It was a symptom of an irregular
and unquiet course of affairs, that innumerable lotteries were projected,
ostensibly for the purpose of public improvements, such as roads and
bridges. Many females seized the opportunity to engage in business: as,
among others, Alice Quick, who dealt in crockery and hosiery, next door
to Deacon Beautiueau's; Mary Jackson, who sold butter, at the Brazen-
Head, in Cornhill; Abigail Hiller, who taught ornamental work, near the
Orange-Tree, where also were to be seen the King and Queen, in wax-work;
Sarah Morehead, an instructor in glass-painting, drawing, and japanning;
Mary Salmon, who shod horses, at the South End; Harriet Pain, at the Buck
and Glove, and Mrs. Henrietta Maria Caine, at the Golden Fan, both
fashionable milliners; Anna Adams, who advertises Quebec and Garrick
bonnets, Prussian cloaks, and scarlet cardinals, opposite the old brick
meeting-house; besides a lady at the head of a wine and spirit
establishment. Little did these good dames expect to reappear before the
public, so long after they had made their last courtesies behind the
counter. Our great-grandmothers were a stirring sisterhood, and seem not
to have been utterly despised by the gentlemen at the British coffee-
house; at least, some gracious bachelor, there resident, gives public
notice of his willingness to take a wife, provided she be not above
twenty-three, and possess brown hair, regular features, a brisk eye, and
a fortune. Now, this was great condescension towards the ladies of
Massachusetts Bay, in a threadbare lieutenant of foot.
Polite literature was beginning to make its appearance. Few native works
were advertised, it is true, except sermons and treatises of
controversial divinity; nor were the English authors of the day much
known on this side of the Atlantic. But catalogues were frequently
offered at auction or private sale, comprising the standard English
books, history, essays, and poetry, of Queen Anne's age, and the
preceding century. We see nothing in the nature of a novel, unless it be
"_The Two Mothers_, price four coppers." There was an American poet,
however, of whom Mr. Kettell has preserved no specimen,--the author of
"War, an Heroic Poem"; he publishes by subscription, and threatens to
prosecute his patrons for not taking their books. We have discovered a
periodical, also, and one that has a peculiar claim to be recorded here,
since it bore the title of "_THE NEW ENGLAND MAGAZINE_," a forgotten
predecessor, for which we should have a filial respect, and take its
excellence on trust. The fine arts, too, were budding into existence.
At the "old glass and picture shop," in Cornhill, various maps, plates,
and views are advertised, and among them a "Prospect of Boston," a
copperplate engraving of Quebec, and the effigies of all the New England
ministers ever done in mezzotinto. All these must have been very salable
articles. Other ornamental wares were to be found at the same shop; such
as violins, flutes, hautboys, musical books, English and Dutch toys, and
London babies. About this period, Mr. Dipper gives notice of a concert
of vocal and instrumental music. There had already been an attempt at
theatrical exhibitions.
There are tokens, in every newspaper, of a style of luxury and
magnificence which we do not usually associate with our ideas of the
times. When the property of a deceased person was to be sold, we find,
among the household furniture, silk beds and hangings, damask table-
cloths, Turkey carpets, pictures, pier-glasses, massive plate, and all
things proper for a noble mansion. Wine was more generally drunk than
now, though by no means to the neglect of ardent spirits. For the
apparel of both sexes, the mercers and milliners imported good store of
fine broadcloths, especially scarlet, crimson, and sky-blue, silks,
satins, lawns, and velvets, gold brocade, and gold and silver lace, and
silver tassels, and silver spangles, until Cornhill shone and sparkled
with their merchandise. The gaudiest dress permissible by modern taste
fades into a Quaker-like sobriety, compared with the deep, rich, glowing
splendor of our ancestors. Such figures were almost too fine to go about
town on foot; accordingly, carriages were so numerous as to require a
tax; and it is recorded that, when Governor Bernard came to the province,
he was met between Dedham and Boston by a multitude of gentlemen in their
coaches and chariots.
Take my arm, gentle reader, and come with me into some street, perhaps
trodden by your daily footsteps, but which now has such an aspect of
half-familiar strangeness, that you suspect yourself to be walking abroad
in a dream. True, there are some brick edifices which you remember from
childhood, and which your father and grandfather remembered as well; but
you are perplexed by the absence of many that were here only an hour or
two since; and still more amazing is the presence of whole rows of wooden
and plastered houses, projecting over the sidewalks, and bearing iron
figures on their fronts, which prove them to have stood on the same sites
above a century. Where have your eyes been that you never saw them
before? Along the ghostly street,--for, at length, you conclude that all
is unsubstantial, though it be so good a mockery of an antique town,--
along the ghostly street, there are ghostly people too. Every gentleman
has his three-cornered hat, either on his head or under his arm; and all
wear wigs in infinite variety,--the Tie, the Brigadier, the Spencer, the
Albemarle, the Major, the Ramillies, the grave Full-bottom, or the giddy
Feather-top. Look at the elaborate lace-ruffles, and the square-skirted
coats of gorgeous hues, bedizened with silver and gold! Make way for the
phantom-ladies, whose hoops require such breadth of passage, as they pace
majestically along, in silken gowns, blue, green, or yellow, brilliantly
embroidered, and with small satin hats surmounting their powdered hair.
Make way; for the whole spectral show will vanish, if your earthly
garments brush against their robes. Now that the scene is brightest, and
the whole street glitters with imaginary sunshine,--now hark to the bells
of the Old South and the Old North, ringing out with a sudden and merry
peal, while the cannon of Castle William thunder below the town, and
those of the Diana frigate repeat the sound, and the Charlestown
batteries reply with a nearer roar! You see the crowd toss up their hats
in visionary joy. You hear of illuminations and fire-works, and of
bonfires, built oil scaffolds, raised several stories above the ground,
that are to blaze all night in King Street and on Beacon Hill. And here
come the trumpets and kettle-drums, and the tramping hoofs of the Boston
troop of horseguards, escorting the governor to King's Chapel, where he
is to return solemn thanks for the surrender of Quebec. March on, thou
shadowy troop! and vanish, ghostly crowd! and change again, old street!
for those stirring times are gone.
Opportunely for the conclusion of our sketch, a fire broke out, on the
twentieth of March, 1760, at the Brazen-Head, in Cornhill, and consumed
nearly four hundred buildings. Similar disasters have always been epochs
in the chronology of Boston. That of 1711 had hitherto been termed the
Great Fire, but now resigned its baleful dignity to one which has ever
since retained it. Did we desire to move the reader's sympathies on this
subject, we would not be grandiloquent about the sea of billowy flame,
the glowing and crumbling streets, the broad, black firmament of smoke,
and the blast or wind that sprang up with the conflagration and roared
behind it. It would be more effective to mark out a single family at the
moment when the flames caught upon an angle of their dwelling: then would
ensue the removal of the bedridden grandmother, the cradle with the
sleeping infant, and, most dismal of all, the dying man just at the
extremity of a lingering disease. Do but imagine the confused agony of
one thus awfully disturbed in his last hour; his fearful glance behind at
the consuming fire raging after him, from house to house, as its devoted
victim; and, finally, the almost eagerness with which he would seize some
calmer interval to die! The Great Fire must have realized many such a
scene.
Doubtless posterity has acquired a better city by the calamity of that
generation. None will be inclined to lament it at this late day, except
the lover of antiquity, who would have been glad to walk among those
streets of venerable houses, fancying the old inhabitants still there,
that he might commune with their shadows, and paint a more vivid picture
of their times.
