The legendary consisting of original pieces, principally illustrative of American history, scenery, and manners |
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NEW OXFORD. |
 | NEW OXFORD. The legendary |  |
NEW OXFORD.
BY THE AUTHOR OF `MORAL PIECES.'
The rash intolerance of Louis the Fourteenth reached
its climax in the revocation of the Edict of Nantz.
That mad persecution of the Huguenots, which he
styled `zeal for the extirpation of heresy,' might not
subside until it had deprived his realm of half a million
of his most valuable subjects. `France,' said Queen
Christina, `is like a diseased man, who submits to the
amputation of legs and arms, to cure a disease, which
gentle treatment might conquer.' The Huguenots had
endured the evils of an insolent soldiery quartered in
their habitations, who, under the pretence of converting
them to the Catholic faith, committed every outrage
upon their property, persons, and families. Many were
forced to become wanderers, or to take shelter in caves,
and others yielded their lives to torture, rather than sin
against the dictates of conscience. Still in their deepest
depression, the edict of Henry of Navarre, which, in
1589, had given peace to their suffering fathers, continued
to administer hope to them, until the fatal
December of 1685, when it was revoked. They now
every moment expected a repetition of the horrors of
and to this many obstacles were opposed. Armed
guards were stationed by the despot, to prevent their
escape from the kingdom. Fathers were forced to immure
their families in damp caverns, for temporary
concealment, whence they issued, pale and emaciated.
Delicate females, whom the breath of heaven had never
before visited roughly, might be seen wandering unprotected
amid the chill of winter; or in the recesses of
some forest, a mother might be discovered hushing her
wailing infant, lest its cries should direct the pursuit of
the brutal soldier. Yet guided by that God whom they
served, hundreds of thousands fled their beloved country
and unnatural monarch, and found a peaceful refuge
among pitying strangers. `What multitudes,' says the
Abbé Millot, `of merchants, mechanics, officers, and
learned men, were thus irrevocably lost to France?'
The New World profited by this prodigality of the
Old; nor was it of slight consequence, that among the
elements of our national character, were blended the
diligence, patience, and piety of a race faithful unto
death for conscience' sake. Among those Huguenots
who brought to our shores a wealth more incorruptible
than silver or gold, were the congregation of the
Reverend Pierre Daillé, a descendant of the learned
John Daillé, author of the celebrated `Apology for the
Reformed Churches.' They had been fortunate in
effecting an escape, with the loss of but few of their
number; and in two small vessels, Le Coligni and La
Marguerete, directed their course to the shores of New
England. The perils of their scantily appointed voyage,
and the dangers of approaching our coast during the
severity of a wintry snow storm, we do not mean to
recount. Suffice it to say, that they arrived in Boston,
worn and weary, but full of gratitude to their Preserver,
makes so strong a feature in the character of that beautiful
city. Little more than threescore years had elapsed
since the first footsteps of our pilgrim ancestors explored
the wilds and rocks of Plymouth. A few of these survived
with hoary locks, to welcome the persecuted
strangers, and bless that martyr spirit, with which their
own had such strong affinity. The remainder of the
winter was passed by the exiles in Boston, during which
negotiations were concluded with Governor Dudley for
the purchase of a tract of land for their future residence.
It comprised the site which the present town of Oxford
now occupies, in the county of Worcester, at the distance
of about thirty miles from Boston. The river
which intersects its beautiful vales, received from the
emigrants the name of French River, which it still retains;
but why they preferred for their settlement the
appellation of New Oxford to some of the more romantic
ones which the recollections of their native clime might
have furnished, tradition does not inform us.
As soon as the season permitted, some of the most
hardy of the strangers, with a guide and assistants from
the coast, went to take possession of their territory, to
erect a few temporary habitations, and, in the technical
language of the country, to `make a clearing.' Spring
had a little advanced when the more delicate part of the
colonists followed. The young turf was springing, and
the silver leaf of the willow had hung out its banner.
They entered on their hardships and privations with a
cheerfulness which nothing could subdue.
In those forests where Silence had reigned since the
creation, they found a temple where God might be
worshipped, free from the tyranny of man; and they
who had been accustomed to the comforts of a luxuriant
clime, went forth to their daily labor amid tangled
everlasting hymn within their souls.' Next to the care
of providing habitations was that of erecting a small fort,
as a refuge in case of an incursion of the aborigines.
The tribe of Nipmuck Indians were borderers upon
their territory, but evinced friendly dispositions toward
the new settlers. A shelter from the storm, or a covert
for the night was occasionally granted these children of
the forest, and this simple hospitality seemed the groundwork
of lasting amity.
A few years wrought manifest changes in this infant
colony. An air of neatness, and even of comfort, began
to pervade the simple dwellings. Each had a spot
devoted to the purposes of horticulture, where the seeds
of France were already springing, as if forgetful that
they grew in a foreign soil, and her vines putting forth
their graceful tendrils, and timidly seeking a support.
The pastor who had led his flock into the wilderness,
took part in their labors and sorrows with a zeal which
knew no declension. He aided them with his advice, or
sat by their bed of disease, soothing their afflictions and
heightening their joys by the hope of heaven. Piety
was not with him merely a garb for the sabbath; every
day it was seen walking with him, and enlightening the
steps of others. It was impossible to be long in his
presence without perceiving that his heart was above,
not by moroseness or contempt of earthly cares, but by
a secret and powerful influence which was ever lifting
upward the thoughts of others. In his familiar visits to
each domestic altar, amid the unrestrained flow of discourse
which prompted every heart to pour out itself to
him, an ejaculation, or the simple raising of his benign
eye to heaven, was a signal to his confiding and half
adoring flock, for the spirit to commune with its Father,
if it were only through the aspiration of a moment.
qualified her to move in courts, found no greater
pleasure than in lending her aid to her beloved partner,
in the instruction of the children of their people, and
the comfort of the sick and the mourner.
The fourteenth anniversary of the settlement of New
Oxford approached. Every thing wore the appearance
of a colony prosperous by its own industry. Some had
exchanged their early dwellings for others of a better
construction; and several had been added, for those
who in childhood quitted their native land, yet had
themselves become the founders of families. In their
simple and unvitiated state of society, marriage, being
solely the result of love, knew none of those obstructions
which fashion and self-interest often interpose in
its path. It was also contracted at an early period, for
where celibacy is considered a dereliction of Nature's
dictates, the approaches toward its boundary are deemed
ungraceful. That false refinement or coldness of calculation,
be it which it may, which prompts the inhabitants
of cities, to defer a union which is to cheer the winter
of life, until the beauties of its spring are past, was
unknown here. An ordinance whose influence is so
powerful over the destinies both of mortality and immortality,
they held it desirable to solemnize ere the heart
was rendered insensible by time, or the affections rigid
by disappointment. Many of the more recently bridal
tenements were tastefully ornamented with flowering
shrubs, and trained vines, and not one in the settlement
was without a garden appropriated to the cultivation of
vegetables. That of Father Daillé was principally a
nursery of young fruit trees and medicinal plants. His
skill in horticulture enabled him to transplant from
among the former many acceptable presents for his
instructed him successfully to apply the latter to the
relief of their physical infirmities. As yet no diseases
of a serious nature had appeared among them. They
forcibly illustrated how much industry promotes health
of body, and moderated desires, health of mind. All
were zealous to impart to their beloved pastor those
productions for which they could not endure that a care
should enter his mind, or divide his thoughts from their
spiritual welfare. He created also another claim upon
their affections, by assuming, in a great degree, the
instruction of their children. His mind, deeply imbued
with science, could not tolerate the idea that the rising
generation should grow up in that ignorance which is so
often the misfortune of new colonies. He appointed,
therefore, to the boys and young men, stated lessons in
the necessary departments of knowledge, judiciously
adapted to their difference of age or capacity, and regularly
convened them at his house for examination. His
pastoral visits were always so conducted as to be subservient
to the pursuits in which his pupils were engaged.
It was then his delight to bestow explanation, to encourage
perseverance, and to rouse indolence from slumber.
An ardor to excel was thus strongly excited, and amid
the daily processes of agricultural labor, animated conversations
might be heard founded on their respective
studies. Those whose proficiency was respectable, were
admitted to his familiar lectures upon the higher branches
of science and literature, and this was an honor sufficient
to stimulate every exertion. Thus the good man had
the satisfaction of perceiving his young charge initiated
into that general knowledge which gives to thought
liberality and resource. He could not fail to perceive
that his influence over their opinions and affections was
becoming unbounded; and he often thought, as he contemplated
of my planting?'
Madame Daillé also extended the same care over the
young females. Each, after being taught to read by the
mother, attended her stated recitations. Here they repeated
the lessons which had been assigned, and were
questioned respecting their practical knowledge of the
various departments of female industry and virtue. To
gain her approbation was an object worthy to stimulate
every effort, while her frown was dreaded like the reproof
of conscience. Having herself received a finished
education, it was impossible for her to maintain
an intercourse of this nature, without imparting its benefits.
Not only superior intelligence marked the more
distinguished among her scholars, but all under her care
displayed a correctness of deportment, and courtesy of
manner, which are usually acquired only among the
more polished classes of society. It was her custom at
the close of her weekly examinations, to relate either
some historical fact, or some invention of her own prolific
imagination, which, in the form of a concise story,
illustrated moral truth, reproved the errors which fell
under her observation, or enforced the principles of piety.
Yet it was not the intention of this highly cultivated
lady, to turn the attention of her pupils too exclusively
to literature, aware that in a new colony there are
duties to be discharged, by her sex, for which no intellectual
eminence will compensate.
She would sometimes point to the fields of flax, whose
blossoms tinged with a fine blue the vale around them,
and expatiate on the excellence of those arts which
could render this plant so subservient to the comfort of
those whom they loved. Hence the distaff, the loom,
and the needle, were considered honorable and graceful
appendages, and every household was desirous that
to its own wants, but to the aid of those whom sickness
might preclude from their accustomed diligence. On
Saturday evening the two schools met each other, to
receive instruction in those principles of religion which
are of common concern, and to practise sacred psalmody,
it being the wish of Father Daillé, that all his congregation
should be qualified to lift up, as with one
voice, the high praises of God. There was something
inexpressibly affecting in the pouring forth of that foreign
music in this new land; the soft summer breezes,
and the echo of the woods, seemed to prolong the cadence,
as if they strove to naturalize the stranger melody.
Thus peaceful and happy were the Huguenots whose
fortunes we have hitherto pursued. The simple toils of
agriculture gave them health and subsistence, the vain
pursuit of wealth had not diseased their imaginations,
nor the poison of ambition corrupted their hearts. Each
householder considered the portion of ground attached
to his habitation as his own. The remainder was an
undivided, undisputed possession. Their herds drew
nutriment from one common pasture; and on the plantations
of maize or fields of grain, each man bestowed his
portion of labor, and without jealousy divided the harvest.
Lycurgus might have here seen illustrated his
favorite theory of the Laconian brotherhood. No dissonance
of opinion had hitherto arisen, which the advice
of the elders could not harmonize, and the patriarch
Daillé gave daily thanks in his prayer, that one
soul of love seemed infused into all his children.
It is with grief that we darken this scene of more
than Arcadian felicity. In the spring of 1700 it was
deemed expedient to prepare for planting a large piece
of land, at some distance from their earliest clearings,
and thither one fine morning almost all the effective
man greatly respected for his serene gravity of deportment,
and amiable disposition, having been detained at
home later than his associates, was about taking his
departure to join them, when the report of a musket
was heard, and he fell weltering upon the green turf
that skirted his threshold. Several Indians from an adjoining
thicket then rushed into the house, and a scene
of slaughter and desolation ensued, unparalleled, but in
the annals of savage warfare. Those beautiful children,
the infant in its cradle, the mother, intent upon their
protection, not one was spared. The blood of the innocents
empurpled the hearth stone of their murdered
parents. At the sudden alarm, the colonists collected
with agonized haste, yet too late to overtake the spoilers,
whose flight was as rapid, as their deeds had been
destructive.
The mourning among the colonists it would be in
vain to describe. Each man felt that he had lost a
brother, and as he looked upon his dearest ones, shuddered
lest they also might be stretched before his eyes,
in the same terrible array of death. Apprehensive of
a repetition of evil, necessary measures of precaution
were taken; the more helpless retired to the fort, armed
sentinels were placed for protection during the
night, and the elders of the people met in consultation.
Their countenances, usually so serene, were now variously
marked with grief and indignation.
`Let us,' said Johonnet, with impassioned gestures,
`pursue with the dawn of morning, these barbarians.
We will leave our wives and children in the fort, and
not return until our brother's blood is fully avenged.
The shades of the great Condé and Coligni shall not
reproach us with suffering the lawless murderers to
live.'
Boutineau spoke next, an elder whose hair was silvered.
`Their mode of warfare is as peculiar as their
habits of life. They never meet in open battle, and
who can pursue them into their wilds, and hope to return?
While we are seeking to carry retribution into
their wigwams, they might suddenly fall upon the precious
pledges whom we leave behind, and extinguish
our light forever. Surely our only mode of defence is
in perpetual vigilance, and in never losing sight of our
habitations.'
`That our movements are narrowly watched,' said
Sejourneé, `is evident, from their having waited for the
absence of almost every man able to bear arms, ere
they hazarded this attack. It is not to be supposed
that poor Jeanson had awakened their vindictive feelings,
he, whose intercourse with all mankind was so
peaceful. But the situation of his house, on the outskirts
of the settlement, furnished apparent facility for
satiating their cruelty with the least danger of retaliation.
Does not this create suspicion of latent hostility
towards the whole? And if it exist, will not a foe so
subtle find fitting occasions to gratify it? Who can endure
a life of perpetual watchfulness and dread, yet
which of us will dare to lose sight of his home, lest at
returning he should find his dearest blood flowing
around his threshold?'
Others expressed their opinions, yet ceased by an
anxious appeal to Father Daillé as umpire.
`The tribe upon our boundary,' he answered, `is
powerful, and much influenced by a vindictive prophet,
who strives to instigate them to the extermination of all
white men. This is probably the commencement of a
series of aggressions. Your valor I know. It has been
proved when men's souls were tried in the furnace.
All that mortals could do, for the protection of their domestic
fear or of repining. Yet ere we enter upon such a
course, it becomes us to count the cost. While you
stand in perpetual armor, the toils by which you gain
subsistence, must decline, or be laid aside. To a peaceful
people, this state of military watchfulness, and sleepless
dread, would rob our brief life of half its value.
Yet should a season of quiet, at any time lull our vigilance,
who could assure us that the war whoop of the
savage, or the midnight conflagration enwrapping our
cottages, would not break our miserable slumbers?
`Brethren and sons, let us return to that city, which
first gave us welcome, when as exiles we came to this
new world. There we shall find that safety, which we
may be either too weak to secure, or forced to purchase
at the expense of the blood of some, who are far dearer
to us than life. Other employments than those of agriculture,
may there procure subsistence for our families,
and eventually we may dispose of these lands to colonists
of more effective strength, or who may more readily
command the aid of government in repelling the aggressions
of the aborigines. Yet if in these prudential
calculations I should be mistaken, still I cannot endure
the thought that another of that number, who are as
jewels in my heart, should be thus sacrificed. Merciless
sons of the forest! “Me have ye bereaved of my children!”
It is enough! However tender may be the ties
which we sunder in leaving this beloved spot, I cannot
consent to remain here, with the hazard of yielding to
the scalping knife of the Indian, one more of these my
children.'
After a protracted consultation, the wish of the pastor
became the decision of all, and the opinion was
unanimous, that if the removal were made, it had better
be immediate. They lingered but to make such preparations
obsequies to the departed.
The succeeding day drew near its close, when, bearing
the mangled bodies of the slaughtered family, the
whole colony in solemn procession entered the humble
building which had served for a church. When the six
coffins were laid side by side, the burst of grief was
deep and universal. The man of God waited until the
waves of agony were broken. Furrows of painful
thought were upon his brow, but his bearing was as one
whose heart is in heaven. When there was silence, he
stretched forth his hand to the people.
`Ye come, as the Israelites to their passover, with
loins girded, and staves in your hands, as men in haste
for a journey. He who past through the land of Egypt
in judgment, hath been among us. The blood of our
firstborn is upon the posts and doors of our houses.
Lambs without blemish have been slain, and ye this
day garnish them with bitter herbs. Yet let us not go
forth despairing, though we must journey beneath the
cloud. We will not say, Jehovah hath forgotten us.
So long the recipients of his bounty on this very spot, is
it meet that we should part hence, without once more
uniting in his worship? Ye know that tomorrow is
the fourteenth birthday of this village. We hoped to
have celebrated it with hymns of thanksgiving. Now,
if our incense be robbed of its fragrance, and our melody
mingled with the voices of them that weep, there is
One who hath compassion upon our infirmities, and will
not break the leaf driven before the tempest.
`Many things press upon me to be spoken. But ye
cannot bear them now. Ye are called this day to pass
over the swelling of Jordan. Take the Ark of the Covenant
upon your shoulders. Place yourselves beneath
and depart, for this is not your rest.
`Scene of our refuge, when our native land cast us
out! thou little Zoar where we prayed that we might
enter from the storm of the Lord! vales where the song
of our industry hath arisen! forests which have yielded
to our stroke! homes of our happiness every year more
dear, hallowed by the smile of joy, and the voice of supplication!
we bid you all adieu. Holy church! consecrated
by our humble prayers, our sacred symphonies,
our hopes that rested not upon this earth, we bid thee
farewell in the name of the Lord. Wherever we wander,
though our tears should drop in the fountains of
strange waters, never will we forget thee, our Zion in
the wilderness! Lifeless remains of the brave and the
beautiful, the virtuous and the beloved, severed branches!
crushed blossoms! what shall we say? Ah! how
often will our sorrowing hearts recall your images, as
they once were—as they now are, stretched before us.
What shall we say? Oh! our souls! nothing is without
God. The Prophet saw him in the whirlwind, and
the fire rending the rock in pieces. Though he maketh
darkness his pavilion, let us wait, as those who yet
hope to see the clear shining of his throne.
`Souls of the departed! if ye have attained that heaven
where the storm beateth not, where tears are wiped
from all eyes forever; if from that clime of bliss, ye behold
us, compassed with infirmity and woe, oh! teach
us how slight all the thorns, the tempests, of this pilgrimage
seem, now ye are at rest. My children, what avails it,
where we pitch our tents for the remnant of this shadowy
life, if the angel who removeth their curtains in a
moment, but find the pure spirit ready to meet its God?'
He ceased, and the services of devotion rose in deep
and solemn response from among the people. Fathers
voice invoked and blessed the King of kings. The
memory of their sorrows and their fears arose in the
soul's high aspiration, as the flame beareth on its
spire the vanishing smoke towards heaven. Hands
hardened with labor, and faces pale with watching,
the eye of the mother and of the babe, were alike lifted
upward, while they gave thanks to the Father of Mercies.
Then ensued a pause of deep silence, and every
head was bowed down, while the unuttered individual
orison ascended. Still there was a pause. The people
waited for their wonted benediction.
`Part we hence,' said the pastor, `part we hence forever,
without one holy song? While the fountain of our
breath is unsealed, let it give praise to the Preserver.'
He designated a plaintive anthem from the seventh
of Job. It burst forth in sweetness, but soon the dirge-like
melody became tremulous. After the strain, `Oh
remember that our life is wind,' the cadence was so
protracted as to be almost inaudible.
Still feebly and slowly the chant proceeded; `As the
cloud vanisheth away, so he that goeth down to the
grave shall come up no more; he shall not return to his
house, his place shall know him no more.' But music
could not long survive amid the swell of such agitating
emotions. It trembled—one or two quivering voices
prolonged it; but they sank, and tones of sorrow arose
in their stead.
The man of God stood up, and blessed the people,
and with eyes bent to earth, led the way to the churchyard.
There, upon the fresh springing turf, each
coffin was laid by its open cell. Every head was humbled
to the earth, while the pastor, kneeling among the
graves, poured forth fervent supplications, like the
prophet who lifted his censer between the dead and the
deposited in their narrow house. Children sobbed
aloud, and groans burst from manly bosoms, when the
earth, falling upon the coffins, sent forth that hollow
sound, which he who hath paid the last duties to beloved
dead, hath felt in his soul.
Again the man of God spoke, extending his hand
toward the grassy mounds that surrounded them.
`Graves of our friends! those that have been long
sealed, and those now enriched with new treasure, we
thought that our bones should here have rested with
you. Looking upon you, we have often said, Here too
shall we also be gathered unto our people. Jehovah
humbleth the foresight of man. He knoweth not even
where his bed shall be, when this frail tabernacle falleth
like a frittered garment. Yet what avails it, with what
portion of clay our bodies mingle, if our souls gain the
mansion prepared by their Redeemer? What avails it
whether to the bosom of earth or ocean we resign the
image of the earthly, if we are at last found worthy to
bear the image of the heavenly?
`But, oh! what were man without the promise of a
resurrection! What were he, when the grave whelms
his joys, but for the sure hope of eternal life! What
were we, if now forced to ask in uncertainty and
anguish, Who shall roll us away the stone from the
the door of these sepulchres?
`Mourning souls! come, return unto your God.
He hath smitten, and he alone can heal. He hath
troubled the waters which were at rest, but the Angel
of Mercy still waiteth there, and the wounded spirits
shall be made whole.'
They turned from the place of sepulchres, and the
next sun saw their simple habitations desolate. Not a
sound of rural labor was heard, and no young children
had awakened. Scarcely the striking of the Arab tents
produces deeper silence, or a wider solitude. The red
men of the forest roamed at will among those tenantless
dwellings, wreaking an unsatisfied vengeance upon each
vestige of their former inhabitants.
The Huguenots, thus a second time exiled, found in
Boston the welcome reception and peaceful asylum
which they had anticipated.
Their excellences of character were also fully appreciated,
and laid the groundwork of many lasting and
valuable friendships with the native Bostonians. Competence,
and in some cases comparative wealth, rewarded
their diligent application to business; and to
this day, their descendants look back with reverence to
the persevering, unostentatious virtues of their ancestors.
In the course of the year 1713, the lands which
they had vacated were occupied by a second colony,
who retained the name of Oxford, omitting the appellation
of New, which had originally been attached to it.
Their house for public worship, erected four years after
their return to Boston, was situated near the spot where
the present Universalist Church in School Street now
stands, and is designated in the records of those times,
as the French Protestant Church. Father Daillé continued
his accustomed ministrations to his flock, winning
friends by his ardent piety and affable deportment, until
summoned by death to his reward, in 1715. His successor
was the Reverend Andrew le Mercier, author
of the `Church History of Geneva, with a Political
and Geographical Account of that Republic.'
In the Granary Burying Ground in Boston, the graves
of the venerable `Pierre Daillé and Seyre his wife,'
are distinctly visible, with their simple inscriptions.
But it is amid the fair scenery of Oxford, that we are
their patience, their lives devoted to the service of God
and to the good of mankind. There also a gray haired
man points out to the traveller a deep hollow in the turf,
and tells him, `Here stood the house of Jeanson, the
French Protestant, who, with his family, perished by the
Indians.' The most aged inhabitants of that pleasant
vale say, that within their remembrance, the hearth
stone on which the brains of those beautiful babes
gushed out, still retained its crimson stain, resisting the
action of the elements long after the dwelling was
dilapidated by time.
But among the most interesting vestiges of this
settlement of the Huguenots, are the ruins of the
rustic fort constructed for their defence, and bearing
the antiquity of nearly a century and an half. There,
within a quadrangle of ninety feet, from whence the
stones have been removed for the convenience of agriculture,
may still be traced the well from whence they
first drew water in this foreign home. Asparagus,
whose seed was originally brought from France, continues
annually to burst the investing mould, a simple witness
of the truth of this history; and peach and apple trees,
probably the descendants of their ancient nurseries,
are entwined by the coarse vine, and varied by the indigenous
rose of this country. Should any one doubt the
veracity of these assertions, let him explore the spot;
trace, through tangled grass, the path of the persecuted
emigrants; behold the monuments of their industry,
their consolation, their defence; put his hand, as it
were, `into the print of the nails, and be no longer
faithless but believing.'
Should he also to skepticism add indifference, let him
seat himself upon those disjointed stones, once the rude
barrier against the ruder savage; recline beneath those
recall their firmness in danger, their fortitude in affliction,
their chastened joy in prosperity; impress on his
imagination their image, bowing beneath perils in the
wilderness for conscience' sake; and see, if, like the
Lawgiver of Israel, he feel not inclined to `put his
shoes from his feet, because the ground whereon he
standeth is holy.'
| NEW OXFORD. The legendary | |