University of Virginia Library

2. 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 the duskiness of more than seventy
years, and discolored, here and there, with the deeper
stains of some liquid, as if the contents of a wine-glass
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
code 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 protents 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.[1]

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 of

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
Beautineau'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 southend;
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 reäppear 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 copper-plate
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 side-walks, 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 on 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 kettledrums,
and the tramping hoofs of the Boston troop of
horse-guards, 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 of
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 bed-ridden 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.