OLD BOSTON TAVERNS AND TAVERN CLUBS
[Illustration: CAPTAIN JOHN MARSTON, 1715-1786
Landlord of the "Golden Ball" and "Bunch of Grapes"]
OLD BOSTON TAVERNS AND TAVERN CLUBS
BY SAMUEL ADAMS DRAKE
NEW ILLUSTRATED EDITION
WITH AN ACCOUNT OF
"COLE'S INN," "THE BAKERS' ARMS," AND "GOLDEN BALL"
BY WALTER K. WATKINS
ALSO A LIST OF TAVERNS, GIVING THE NAMES OF THE
VARIOUS OWNERS OF THE PROPERTY, FROM MISS THWING'S
WORK ON "THE INHABITANTS AND ESTATES OF THE TOWN
OF BOSTON, 1630-1800," IN THE POSSESSION OF THE
MASSACHUSETTS HISTORICAL SOCIETY
W. A. BUTTERFIELD
59 BROMFIELD STREET, BOSTON
1917
COPYRIGHT, 1917, BY
W. A. BUTTERFIELD.
FOREWORD.
The Inns of Old Boston have played such a part in its history that an
illustrated edition of Drake may not be out of place at this late date.
"Cole's Inn" has been definitely located, and the "Hancock Tavern"
question also settled.
I wish to thank the Bostonian Society for the privilege of reprinting Mr.
Watkin's account of the "Bakers' Arms" and the "Golden Ball" and valuable
assistance given by Messrs. C. F. Read, E. W. McGlenen, and W. A. Watkins;
Henderson and Ross for the illustration of the "Crown Coffee House," and
the Walton Advertising Co. for the "Royal Exchange Tavern."
Other works consulted are Snow's History of Boston, Memorial History of
Boston, Stark's Antique Views, Porter's Rambles in Old Boston, and Miss
Thwing's very valuable work in the Massachusetts Historical Society.
THE PUBLISHER.
CONTENTS.
PAGE
I. UPON THE TAVERN AS AN INSTITUTION 9
II. THE EARLIER ORDINARIES 19
III. IN REVOLUTIONARY TIMES 33
IV. SIGNBOARD HUMOR 52
V. APPENDIX; BOSTON TAVERNS TO THE YEAR 1800 61
VI. COLE'S INN 73
VII. THE BAKERS' ARMS 76
VIII. THE GOLDEN BALL TAVERN 80
IX. THE HANCOCK TAVERN 89
X. LIST OF TAVERNS AND TAVERN OWNERS 99
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.
CAPT. JOHN MARSTON _Frontispiece_
PAGE
THE SIGN OF THE LAMB 17
THE HEART AND CROWN 18
ROYAL EXCHANGE TAVERN 24
PORTRAIT OF JOSEPH GREEN 26
PORTRAIT OF JOHN DUNTON 28
THE BUNCH OF GRAPES 34
CROMWELL HEAD BOARD BILL 44
THE CROMWELL'S HEAD 44
THE GREEN DRAGON 46
THE GREEN DRAGON SIGN 47
THE LIBERTY TREE 50
THE BRAZEN HEAD 51
THE GOOD WOMAN 52
THE DOG AND POT 53
HOW SHALL I GET THROUGH THIS WORLD? 54
THE CROWN COFFEE HOUSE 62
OLD NEWSPAPER ADVERTISEMENT 64
JULIEN HOUSE 65
THE SUN TAVERN 68
THE THREE DOVES 70
JOLLEY ALLEN ADVERTISEMENT 70
THE BAKERS' ARMS 75
SIGN OF BUNCH OF GRAPES 80
SIGN OF GOLDEN BALL 80
MAP SHOWING LOCATION OF COLE'S INN 88
COFFEE URN 90
MAP OF BOSTON, 1645 98
BROMFIELD HOUSE 102
FIREMAN'S TICKET 104
PORTRAIT OF GOVERNOR BELCHER 106
EXCHANGE COFFEE HOUSE, 1808-18 108
EXCHANGE COFFEE HOUSE, 1848 110
HATCH TAVERN 112
LAMB TAVERN 114
SUN TAVERN (DOCK SQUARE) 122
BONNERS' MAP OF BOSTON, 1722 124
OLD BOSTON TAVERNS.
I.
UPON THE TAVERN AS AN INSTITUTION.
The famous remark of Louis XIV., "There are no longer any Pyrenees," may
perhaps be open to criticism, but there are certainly no longer any
taverns in New England. It is true that the statutes of the Commonwealth
continue to designate such houses as the Brunswick and Vendome as taverns,
and their proprietors as innkeepers; yet we must insist upon the truth of
our assertion, the letter of the law to the contrary notwithstanding.
No words need be wasted upon the present degradation which the name of
tavern implies to polite ears. In most minds it is now associated with the
slums of the city, and with that particular phase of city life only, so
all may agree that, as a prominent feature of society and manners, the
tavern has had its day. The situation is easily accounted for. The simple
truth is, that, in moving on, the world has left the venerable institution
standing in the eighteenth century; but it is equally true that, before
that time, the history of any civilized people could hardly be written
without making great mention of it. With the disappearance of the old
signboards our streets certainly have lost a most picturesque feature, at
least one avenue is closed to art, while a few very aged men mourn the
loss of something endeared to them by many pleasant recollections.
As an offset to the admission that the tavern has outlived its usefulness,
we ought in justice to establish its actual character and standing as it
was in the past. We shall then be the better able to judge how it was
looked upon both from a moral and material stand-point, and can follow it
on through successive stages of good or evil fortune, as we would the life
of an individual.
It fits our purpose admirably, and we are glad to find so eminent a
scholar and divine as Dr. Dwight particularly explicit on this point. He
tells us that, in his day, "The best old-fashioned New England inns were
superior to any of the modern ones. There was less bustle, less parade,
less appearance of doing a great deal to gratify your wishes, than at the
reputable modern inns; but much more was actually done, and there was much
more comfort and enjoyment. In a word, you found in these inns the
pleasures of an excellent private house. If you were sick you were nursed
and befriended as in your own family. To finish the story, your bills were
always equitable, calculated on what you ought to pay, and not upon the
scheme of getting the most which extortion might think proper to demand."
Now this testimonial to what the public inn was eighty odd years ago comes
with authority from one who had visited every nook and corner of New
England, was so keen and capable an observer, and is always a faithful
recorder of what he saw. Dr. Dwight has frequently said that during his
travels he often "found his warmest welcome at an inn."
In order to give the history of what may be called the Rise and Fall of
the Tavern among us, we should go back to the earliest settlements, to the
very beginning of things. In our own country the Pilgrim Fathers justly
stand for the highest type of public and private morals. No less would be
conceded them by the most unfriendly critic. Intemperance, extravagant
living, or immorality found no harborage on Plymouth Rock, no matter under
what disguise it might come. Because they were a virtuous and sober
people, they had been filled with alarm for their own youth, lest the
example set by the Hollanders should corrupt the stay and prop of their
community. Indeed, Bradford tells us fairly that this was one determining
cause of the removal into New England.
The institution of taverns among the Pilgrims followed close upon the
settlement. Not only were they a recognized need, but, as one of the
time-honored institutions of the old country, no one seems to have thought
of denouncing them as an evil, or even as a necessary evil. Travellers and
sojourners had to be provided for even in a wilderness. Therefore taverns
were licensed as fast as new villages grew up. Upward of a dozen were
licensed at one sitting of the General Court. The usual form of
concession is that So-and-So is licensed to draw wine and beer for the
public. The supervision was strict, but not more so than the spirit of a
patriarchal community, founded on morals, would seem to require; but there
were no such attempts to cover up the true character of the tavern as we
have seen practised in the cities of this Commonwealth for the purpose of
evading the strict letter of the law; and the law then made itself
respected. An innkeeper was not then looked upon as a person who was
pursuing a disgraceful or immoral calling,--a sort of outcast, as it
were,--but, while strictly held amenable to the law, he was actually taken
under its protection. For instance, he was fined for selling any one
person an immoderate quantity of liquor, and he was also liable to a fine
if he refused to sell the quantity allowed to be drank on the premises,
though no record is found of a prosecution under this singular statutory
provision; still, for some time, this regulation was continued in force as
the only logical way of dealing with the liquor question, as it then
presented itself.
When the law also prohibited a citizen from entertaining a stranger in his
own house, unless he gave bonds for his guest's good behavior, the tavern
occupied a place between the community and the outside world not wholly
unlike that of a moral quarantine. The town constable could keep a
watchful eye upon all suspicious characters with greater ease when they
were under one roof. Then it was his business to know everybody's, so
that any show of mystery about it would have settled, definitely, the
stranger's _status_, as being no better than he should be. "Mind your own
business," is a maxim hardly yet domesticated in New England, outside of
our cities, or likely to become suddenly popular in our rural communities,
where, in those good old days we are talking about, a public official was
always a public inquisitor, as well as newsbearer from house to house.
On their part, the Puritan Fathers seem to have taken the tavern under
strict guardianship from the very first. In 1634, when the price of labor
and everything else was regulated, sixpence was the legal charge for a
meal, and a penny for an ale quart of beer, at an inn, and the landlord
was liable to ten shillings fine if a greater charge was made. Josselyn,
who was in New England at a very early day, remarks, that, "At the
tap-houses of Boston I have had an ale quart of cider, spiced and
sweetened with sugar, for a groat." So the fact that the law once actually
prescribed how much should be paid for a morning dram may be set down
among the curiosities of colonial legislation.
No later than the year 1647 the number of applicants for licenses to keep
taverns had so much increased that the following act was passed by our
General Court for its own relief: "It is ordered by the authority of this
court, that henceforth all such as are to keep houses of common
entertainment, and to retail wine, beer, etc., shall be licensed at the
county courts of the shire where they live, or the Court of Assistants,
so as this court may not be thereby hindered in their more weighty
affairs."
A noticeable thing about this particular bill is, that when it went down
for concurrence the word "deputies" was erased and "house" substituted by
the speaker in its stead, thus showing that the newly born popular body
had begun to assert itself as the only true representative chamber, and
meant to show the more aristocratic branch that the sovereign people had
spoken at last.
By the time Philip's war had broken out, in 1675, taverns had become so
numerous that Cotton Mather has said that every other house in Boston was
one. Indeed, the calamity of the war itself was attributed to the number
of tippling-houses in the colony. At any rate this was one of the alleged
sins which, in the opinion of Mather, had called down upon the colony the
frown of Providence. A century later, Governor Pownall repeated Mather's
statement. So it is quite evident that the increase of taverns, both good
and bad, had kept pace with the growth of the country.
It is certain that, at the time of which we are speaking, some of the old
laws affecting the drinking habits of society were openly disregarded.
Drinking healths, for instance, though under the ban of the law, was still
practised in Cotton Mather's day by those who met at the social board. We
find him defending it as a common form of politeness, and not the
invocation of Heaven it had once been in the days of chivalry. Drinking
at funerals, weddings, church-raisings, and even at ordinations, was a
thing everywhere sanctioned by custom. The person who should have refused
to furnish liquor on such an occasion would have been the subject of
remarks not at all complimentary to his motives.
It seems curious enough to find that the use of tobacco was looked upon by
the fathers of the colony as far more sinful, hurtful, and degrading than
indulgence in intoxicating liquors. Indeed, in most of the New England
settlements, not only the use but the planting of tobacco was strictly
forbidden. Those who had a mind to solace themselves with the interdicted
weed could do so only in the most private manner. The language of the law
is, "Nor shall any take tobacco in any wine or common victual house,
except in a private room there, so as the master of said house nor any
guest there shall take offence thereat; which, if any do, then such person
shall forbear upon pain of two shillings sixpence for every such offence."
It is found on record that two innocent Dutchmen, who went on a visit to
Harvard College,--when that venerable institution was much younger than it
is to-day,--were so nearly choked with the fumes of tobacco-smoke, on
first going in, that one said to the other, "This is certainly a tavern."
It is also curious to note that, in spite of the steady growth of the
smoking habit among all classes of people, public opinion continued to
uphold the laws directed to its suppression, though, from our stand-point
of to-day, these do seem uncommonly severe. And this state of things
existed down to so late a day that men are now living who have been asked
to plead "guilty or not guilty," at the bar of a police court, for smoking
in the streets of Boston. A dawning sense of the ridiculous, it is
presumed, led at last to the discontinuance of arrests for this cause; but
for some time longer officers were in the habit of inviting detected
smokers to show respect for the memory of a defunct statute of the
Commonwealth, by throwing their cigars into the gutter.
Turning to practical considerations, we shall find the tavern holding an
important relation to its locality. In the first place, it being so nearly
coeval with the laying out of villages, the tavern quickly became the one
known landmark for its particular neighborhood. For instance, in Boston
alone, the names Seven Star Lane, Orange Tree Lane, Red Lion Lane, Black
Horse Lane, Sun Court, Cross Street, Bull Lane, not to mention others that
now have so outlandish a sound to sensitive ears, were all derived from
taverns. We risk little in saying that a Bostonian in London would think
the great metropolis strangely altered for the worse should he find such
hallowed names as Charing Cross, Bishopsgate, or Temple Bar replaced by
those of some wealthy Smith, Brown, or Robinson; yet he looks on, while
the same sort of vandalism is constantly going on at home, with hardly a
murmur of disapproval, so differently does the same thing look from
different points of view.
As further fixing the topographical character of taverns, it may be stated
that in the old almanacs distances are always computed between the inns,
instead of from town to town, as the practice now is.
Of course such topographical distinctions as we have pointed out began at
a time when there were few public buildings; but the idea almost amounts
to an instinct, because even now it is a common habit with every one to
first direct the inquiring stranger to some prominent landmark. As such,
tavern-signs were soon known and noted by all travellers.
[Illustration: SIGN OF THE LAMB.]
Then again, tavern-titles are, in most cases, traced back to the old
country. Love for the old home and its associations made the colonist like
to take his mug of ale under the same sign that he had patronized when in
England. It was a never-failing reminiscence to him. And innkeepers knew
how to appeal to this feeling. Hence the Red Lion and the Lamb, the St.
George and the Green Dragon, the Black, White, and Red Horse, the Sun,
Seven Stars, and Globe, were each and all so many reminiscences of Old
London. In their way they denote the same sort of tie that is perpetuated
by the Bostons, Portsmouths, Falmouths, and other names of English origin.
II.
THE EARLIER ORDINARIES.
As early as 1638 there were at least two ordinaries, as taverns were then
called, in Boston. That they were no ordinary taverns will at once occur
to every one who considers the means then employed to secure sobriety and
good order in them. For example, Josselyn says that when a stranger went
into one for the purpose of refreshing the inner man, he presently found a
constable at his elbow, who, it appeared, was there to see to it that the
guest called for no more liquor than seemed good for him. If he did so,
the beadle peremptorily countermanded the order, himself fixing the
quantity to be drank; and from his decision there was no appeal.
Of these early ordinaries the earliest known to be licensed goes as far
back as 1634, when Samuel Cole, comfit-maker, kept it. A kind of interest
naturally goes with the spot of ground on which this the first house of
public entertainment in the New England metropolis stood. On this point
all the early authorities seem to have been at fault. Misled by the
meagre record in the Book of Possessions, the zealous antiquaries of
former years had always located Cole's Inn in what is now Merchants' Row.
Since Thomas Lechford's Note Book has been printed, the copy of a deed,
dated in the year 1638, in which Cole conveys part of his dwelling, with
brew-house, etc., has been brought to light. The estate noted here is the
one situated next northerly from the well-known Old Corner Bookstore, on
Washington Street. It would, therefore, appear, beyond reasonable doubt,
that Cole's Inn stood in what was already the high street of the town,
nearly opposite Governor Winthrop's, which gives greater point to my Lord
Leigh's refusal to accept Winthrop's proffered hospitality when his
lordship was sojourning under Cole's roof-tree.
In his New England Tragedies, Mr. Longfellow introduces Cole, who is made
to say,--
"But the 'Three Mariners' is an orderly,
Most orderly, quiet, and respectable house."
Cole, certainly, could have had no other than a poet's license for calling
his house by this name, as it is never mentioned otherwise than as _Cole's
Inn_.
Another of these worthy landlords was William Hudson, who had leave to
keep an ordinary in 1640. From his occupation of baker, he easily stepped
into the congenial employment of innkeeper. Hudson was among the earliest
settlers of Boston, and for many years is found most active in town
affairs. His name is on the list of those who were admitted freemen of
the Colony, in May, 1631. As his son William also followed the same
calling, the distinction of Senior and Junior becomes necessary when
speaking of them.
Hudson's house is said to have stood on the ground now occupied by the New
England Bank, which, if true, would make this the most noted of tavern
stands in all New England, or rather in all the colonies, as the same site
afterward became known as the =Bunch of Grapes=. We shall have much
occasion to notice it under that title. In Hudson's time the appearance of
things about this locality was very different from what is seen to-day.
All the earlier topographical features have been obliterated. Then the
tide flowed nearly up to the tavern door, so making the spot a landmark of
the ancient shore line as the first settlers had found it. Even so simple
a statement as this will serve to show us how difficult is the task of
fixing, with approximate accuracy, residences or sites on the water front,
going as far back as the original occupants of the soil.
Next in order of time comes the house called the =King's Arms=. This
celebrated inn stood at the head of the dock, in what is now Dock Square.
Hugh Gunnison, victualler, kept a "cooke's shop" in his dwelling there
some time before 1642, as he was then allowed to sell beer. The next year
he humbly prayed the court for leave "to draw the wyne which was spent in
his house," in the room of having his customers get it elsewhere, and then
come into his place the worse for liquor,--a proceeding which he justly
thought unfair as well as unprofitable dealing. He asks this favor in
order that "God be not dishonored nor his people grieved."
We know that Gunnison was favored with the custom of the General Court,
because we find that body voting to defray the expenses incurred for being
entertained in his house "out of y{e} custom of wines or y{e} wampum of
y{e} Narragansetts."
Gunnison's house presently took the not always popular name of the _King's
Arms_, which it seems to have kept until the general overturning of
thrones in the Old Country moved the Puritan rulers to order the taking
down of the King's arms, and setting up of the State's in their stead;
for, until the restoration of the Stuarts, the tavern is the same, we
think, known as the =State's Arms=. It then loyally resumed its old
insignia again. Such little incidents show us how taverns frequently
denote the fluctuation of popular opinion.
As Gunnison's bill of fare has not come down to us, we are at a loss to
know just how the colonial fathers fared at his hospitable board; but so
long as the 'treat' was had at the public expense we cannot doubt that the
dinners were quite as good as the larder afforded, or that full justice
was done to the contents of mine host's cellar by those worthy legislators
and lawgivers.
When Hugh Gunnison sold out the _King's Arms_ to Henry Shrimpton and
others, in 1651, for £600 sterling, the rooms in his house all bore some
distinguishing name or title. For instance, one chamber was called the
"Exchange." We have sometimes wondered whether it was so named in
consequence of its use by merchants of the town as a regular place of
meeting. The chamber referred to was furnished with "one half-headed
bedstead with blew pillars." There was also a "Court Chamber," which,
doubtless, was the one assigned to the General Court when dining at
Gunnison's. Still other rooms went by such names as the "London" and
"Star." The hall contained three small rooms, or stalls, with a bar
convenient to it. This room was for public use, but the apartments
upstairs were for the "quality" alone, or for those who paid for the
privilege of being private. All remember how, in "She Stoops to Conquer,"
Miss Hardcastle is made to say: "Attend the Lion, there!--Pipes and
tobacco for the Angel!--The Lamb has been outrageous this half hour!"
The =Castle Tavern= was another house of public resort, kept by William
Hudson, Jr., at what is now the upper corner of Elm Street and Dock
Square. Just at what time this noted tavern came into being is a matter
extremely difficult to be determined; but, as we find a colonial order
billeting soldiers in it in 1656, we conclude it to have been a public inn
at that early day. At this time Hudson is styled lieutenant. If Whitman's
records of the Artillery Company be taken as correct, the younger Hudson
had seen service in the wars. With "divers other of our best military
men," he had crossed the ocean to take service in the Parliamentary
forces, in which he held the rank of ensign, returning home to New
England, after an absence of two years, to find his wife publicly accused
of faithlessness to her marriage vows.
The presence of these old inns at the head of the town dock naturally
points to that locality as the business centre, and it continued to hold
that relation to the commerce of Boston until, by the building of wharves
and piers, ships were enabled to come up to them for the purpose of
unloading. Before that time their cargoes were landed in boats and
lighters. Far back, in the beginning of things, when everything had to be
transported by water to and from the neighboring settlements, this was
naturally the busiest place in Boston. In time Dock Square became, as its
name indicates, a sort of delta for the confluent lanes running down to
the dock below it.
Here, for a time, was centred all the movement to and from the shipping,
and, we may add, about all the commerce of the infant settlement.
Naturally the vicinity was most convenient for exposing for sale all sorts
of merchandise as it was landed, which fact soon led to the establishment
of a corn market on one side of the dock and a fish market on the other
side.
The =Royal Exchange= stood on the site of the Merchants' Bank, in State
Street. In this high-sounding name we find a sure sign that the town had
outgrown its old traditions and was making progress toward more citified
ways. As time wore on a town-house had been built in the market-place. Its
ground floor was purposely left open for the citizens to walk about,
discuss the news, or bargain in. In the popular phrase, they were said to
meet "on 'change," and thereafter this place of meeting was known as the
Exchange, which name the tavern and lane soon took to themselves as a
natural right.
[Illustration: THE ROYAL EXCHANGE TAVERN (Merchants Bank site, State
Street)
The tall white building, mail coach just leaving]
A glance at the locality in question shows the choice to have been made
with a shrewd eye to the future. For example: the house fronted upon the
town market-place, where, on stated days, fairs or markets for the sale of
country products were held. On one side the tavern was flanked by the
well-trodden lane which led to the town dock. From daily chaffering in a
small way, those who wished to buy or sell came to meet here regularly. It
also became the place for popular gatherings,--on such occasions of
ceremony as the publishing of proclamations, mustering of troops, or
punishment of criminals,--all of which vindicates its title to be called
the heart of the little commonwealth.
Indeed, on this spot the pulse of its daily life beat with ever-increasing
vigor. Hither came the country people, with their donkeys and panniers.
Here in the open air they set up their little booths to tempt the town's
folk with the display of fresh country butter, cheese and eggs, fruits or
vegetables. Here came the citizen, with his basket on his arm, exchanging
his stock of news or opinions as he bargained for his dinner, and so
caught the drift of popular sentiment beyond his own chimney-corner.
To loiter a little longer at the sign of the _Royal Exchange_, which, by
all accounts, always drew the best custom of the town, we find that, as
long ago as Luke Vardy's time, it was a favorite resort of the Masonic
fraternity, Vardy being a brother of the order. According to a poetic
squib of the time,--
"'Twas he who oft dispelled their sadness,
And filled the breth'ren's hearts with gladness."
After the burning of the town-house, near by, in the winter of 1747, had
turned the General Court out of doors, that body finished its sessions at
Vardy's; nor do we find any record of legislation touching Luke's taproom
on that occasion.
Vardy's was the resort of the young bloods of the town, who spent their
evenings in drinking, gaming, or recounting their love affairs. One July
evening, in 1728, two young men belonging to the first families in the
province quarreled over their cards or wine. A challenge passed. At that
time the sword was the weapon of gentlemen. The parties repaired to a
secluded part of the Common, stripped for the encounter, and fought it out
by the light of the moon. After a few passes one of the combatants, named
Woodbridge, received a mortal thrust; the survivor was hurried off by his
friends on board a ship, which immediately set sail. This being the first
duel ever fought in the town, it naturally made a great stir.
[Illustration: JOSEPH GREEN
Noted Boston merchant and wit, died in England, 1780
SATIRE ON LUKE TARDY OF THE ROYAL EXCHANGE TAVERN
BY JOSEPH GREEN AT A MASONIC MEETING, 1749
"Where's honest _Luke_,--that cook from London?
For without _Luke_ the _Lodge_ is undone;
'Twas he who oft dispelled their sadness.
And fill'd the _Brethren's_ heart with gladness.
For them his ample bowls o'erflow'd.
His table groan'd beneath its load;
For them he stretch'd his utmost art.--
Their honours grateful they impart.
_Luke_ in return is made a _brother_,
As _good_ and _true_ as any other;
And still, though broke with age and wine,
Preserves the _token_ and the _sign_."
--"Entertainments for a Winter's Evening."]
We cannot leave the neighborhood without at least making mention of the
Massacre of the 5th of March, 1770, which took place in front of the
tavern. It was then a three-story brick house, the successor, it is
believed, of the first building erected on the spot and destroyed in the
great fire of 1711. On the opposite corner of the lane stood the Royal
Custom House, where a sentry was walking his lonely round on that frosty
night, little dreaming of the part he was to play in the coming tragedy.
With the assault made by the mob on this sentinel, the fatal affray began
which sealed the cause of the colonists with their blood. At this time the
tavern enjoyed the patronage of the newly arrived British officers of the
army and navy as well as of citizens or placemen, of the Tory party, so
that its inmates must have witnessed, with peculiar feelings, every
incident of that night of terror. Consequently the house with its sign is
shown in Revere's well-known picture of the massacre.
One more old hostelry in this vicinity merits a word from us. Though not
going so far back or coming down to so late a date as some of the houses
already mentioned, nevertheless it has ample claim not to be passed by in
silence.
The =Anchor=, otherwise the "Blew Anchor," stood on the ground now
occupied by the Globe newspaper building. In early times it divided with
the _State's Arms_ the patronage of the magistrates, who seem to have had
a custom, perhaps not yet quite out of date, of adjourning to the ordinary
over the way after transacting the business which had brought them
together. So we find that the commissioners of the United Colonies, and
even the reverend clergy, when they were summoned to the colonial capital
to attend a synod, were usually entertained here at the _Anchor_.
This fact presupposes a house having what we should now call the latest
improvements, or at least possessing some advantages over its older rivals
in the excellence of its table or cellarage. When Robert Turner kept it,
his rooms were distinguished, after the manner of the old London inns, as
the Cross Keys, Green Dragon, Anchor and Castle Chamber, Rose and Sun, Low
Room, so making old associations bring in custom.
It was in 1686 that John Dunton, a London bookseller whom Pope lampoons in
the "Dunciad," came over to Boston to do a little business in the
bookselling line. The vicinity of the town-house was then crowded with
book-shops, all of which drove a thriving trade in printing and selling
sermons, almanacs, or fugitive essays of a sort now quite unknown outside
of a few eager collectors. The time was a critical one in New England, as
she was feeling the tremor of the coming revolt which sent King James into
exile; yet to read Dunton's account of men and things as he thought he saw
them, one would imagine him just dropped into Arcadia, rather than
breathing the threatening atmosphere of a country that was tottering on
the edge of revolution.
But it is to him, at any rate, that we are indebted for a portrait of the
typical landlord,--one whom we feel at once we should like to have
known, and, having known, to cherish in our memory. With a flourish of his
goose-quill Dunton introduces us to George Monk, landlord of the _Anchor_,
who, somehow, reminds us of Chaucer's Harry Bailly, and Ben Jonson's
Goodstock. And we more than suspect from what follows that Dunton had
tasted the "Anchor" Madeira, not only once, but again.
[Illustration: JOHN DUNTON, Bookseller, 1659-1733]
George Monk, mine host of the _Anchor_, Dunton tells us, was "a person so
remarkable that, had I not been acquainted with him, it would be a hard
matter to make any New England man believe that I had been in Boston; for
there was no one house in all the town more noted, or where a man might
meet with better accommodation. Besides he was a brisk and jolly man,
whose conversation was coveted by all his guests as the life and spirit of
the company."
In this off-hand sketch we behold the traditional publican, now, alas!
extinct. Gossip, newsmonger, banker, pawnbroker, expediter of men or
effects, the intimate association so long existing between landlord and
public under the old régime everywhere brought about a still closer one
among the guild itself, so establishing a network of communication
coextensive with all the great routes from Maine to Georgia.
Situated just "around the corner" from the council-chamber, the _Anchor_
became, as we have seen, the favorite haunt of members of the government,
and so acquired something of an official character and standing. We have
strong reason to believe that, under the mellowing influence of the
punch-bowl, those antique men of iron mould and mien could now and then
crack a grim jest or tell a story or possibly troll a love-ditty, with
grave gusto. At any rate, we find Chief Justice Sewall jotting down in his
"Diary" the familiar sentence, "The deputies treated and I treated." And,
to tell the truth, we would much prefer to think of the colonial fathers
as possessing even some human frailties rather than as the statues now
replacing their living forms and features in our streets.
But now and then we can imagine the noise of great merriment making the
very windows of some of these old hostelries rattle again. We learn that
the =Greyhound= was a respectable public house, situated in Roxbury, and
of very early date too; for the venerable and saintly Eliot lived upon one
side and his pious colleague, Samuel Danforth, on the other. Yet
notwithstanding its being, as it were, hedged in between two such eminent
pillars of the church, the godly Danforth bitterly complains of the
provocation which frequenters of the tavern sometimes tried him withal,
and naïvely informs us that, when from his study windows he saw any of the
town dwellers loitering there he would go down and "chide them away."
It is related in the memoirs of the celebrated Indian fighter, Captain
Benjamin Church, that he and Captain Converse once found themselves in the
neighborhood of a tavern at the South End of Boston. As old comrades they
wished to go in and take a parting glass together; but, on searching their
pockets, Church could find only sixpence and Converse not a penny to bless
himself with, so they were compelled to forego this pledge of friendship
and part with thirsty lips. Going on to Roxbury, Church luckily found an
old neighbor of his, who generously lent him money enough to get home
with. He tells the anecdote in order to show to what straits the parsimony
of the Massachusetts rulers had reduced him, their great captain, to whom
the colony owed so much.
The =Red Lion=, in North Street, was one of the oldest public houses, if
not the oldest, to be opened at the North End of the town. It stood close
to the waterside, the adjoining wharf and the lane running down to it both
belonging to the house and both taking its name. The old Red Lion Lane is
now Richmond Street, and the wharf has been filled up, so making
identification of the old sites difficult, to say the least. Nicholas
Upshall, the stout-hearted Quaker, kept the _Red Lion_ as early as 1654.
At his death the land on which tavern and brewhouse stood went to his
children. When the persecution of his sect began in earnest, Upshall was
thrown into Boston jail, for his outspoken condemnation of the authorities
and their rigorous proceedings toward this people. He was first doomed to
perpetual imprisonment. A long and grievous confinement at last broke
Upshall's health, if it did not, ultimately, prove the cause of his
death.
The =Ship Tavern= stood at the head of Clark's Wharf, or on the southwest
corner of North and Clark streets, according to present boundaries. It was
an ancient brick building, dating as far back as 1650 at least. John Vyal
kept it in 1663. When Clark's Wharf was built it was the principal one of
the town. Large ships came directly up to it, so making the tavern a most
convenient resort for masters of vessels or their passengers, and
associating it with the locality itself. King Charles's commissioners
lodged at Vyal's house, when they undertook the task of bringing down the
pride of the rulers of the colony a peg. One of them, Sir Robert Carr,
pummeled a constable who attempted to arrest him in this house. He
afterward refused to obey a summons to answer for the assault before the
magistrates, loftily alleging His Majesty's commission as superior to any
local mandate whatever. He thus retaliated Governor Leverett's affront to
the commissioners in keeping his hat on his head when their authority to
act was being read to the council. But Leverett was a man who had served
under Cromwell, and had no love for the cavaliers or they for him. The
commissioners sounded trumpets and made proclamations; but the colony kept
on the even tenor of its way, in defiance of the royal mandate, equally
regardless of the storm gathering about it, as of the magnitude of the
conflict in which it was about to plunge, all unarmed and unprepared.
III.
IN REVOLUTIONARY TIMES.
Such thoroughfares as King Street, just before the Revolution, were filled
with horsemen, donkeys, oxen, and long-tailed trucks, with a sprinkling of
one-horse chaises and coaches of the kind seen in Hogarth's realistic
pictures of London life. To these should be added the chimney-sweeps,
wood-sawyers, market-women, soldiers, and sailors, who are now quite as
much out of date as the vehicles themselves are. There being no sidewalks,
the narrow footway was protected, here and there, sometimes by posts,
sometimes by an old cannon set upright at the corners, so that the
traveller dismounted from his horse or alighted from coach or chaise at
the very threshold.
Next in the order of antiquity, as well as fame, to the taverns already
named, comes the =Bunch of Grapes= in King, now State Street. The plain
three-story stone building situated at the upper corner of Kilby Street
stands where the once celebrated tavern did. Three gilded clusters of
grapes dangled temptingly over the door before the eye of the passer-by.
Apart from its palate-tickling suggestions, a pleasant aroma of antiquity
surrounds this symbol, so dear to all devotees of Bacchus from immemorial
time. In _Measure for Measure_ the clown says, "'Twas in the Bunch of
Grapes, where indeed you have a delight to sit, have you not?" And Froth
answers, "I have so, because it is an open room and good for winter."
[Illustration: THE BUNCH OF GRAPES]
This house goes back to the year 1712, when Francis Holmes kept it, and
perhaps further still, though we do not meet with it under this title
before Holmes's time. From that time, until after the Revolution, it
appears to have always been open as a public inn, and, as such, is
feelingly referred to by one old traveller as the best punch-house to be
found in all Boston.
When the line came to be drawn between conditional loyalty, and loyalty at
any rate, the _Bunch of Grapes_ became the resort of the High Whigs, who
made it a sort of political headquarters, in which patriotism only passed
current, and it was known as the Whig tavern. With military occupation
and bayonet rule, still further intensifying public feeling, the line
between Whig and Tory houses was drawn at the threshold. It was then kept
by Marston. Cold welcome awaited the appearance of scarlet regimentals or
a Tory phiz there; so gentlemen of that side of politics also formed
cliques of their own at other houses, in which the talk and the toasts
were more to their liking, and where they could abuse the Yankee rebels
over their port to their heart's content.
But, apart from political considerations, one or two incidents have given
the _Bunch of Grapes_ a kind of pre-eminence over all its contemporaries,
and, therefore, ought not to be passed over when the house is mentioned.
On Monday, July 30, 1733, the first grand lodge of Masons in America was
organized here by Henry Price, a Boston tailor, who had received authority
from Lord Montague, Grand Master of England, for the purpose.
Again, upon the evacuation of Boston by the royal troops, this house
became the centre for popular demonstrations. First, His Excellency,
General Washington, was handsomely entertained there. Some months later,
after hearing the Declaration read from the balcony of the Town-house, the
populace, having thus made their appeal to the King of kings, proceeded to
pull down from the public buildings the royal arms which had distinguished
them, and, gathering them in a heap in front of the tavern, made a bonfire
of them, little imagining, we think, that the time would ever come when
the act would be looked upon as vandalism on their part.
General Stark's timely victory at Bennington was celebrated with all the
more heartiness of enthusiasm in Boston because the people had been
quaking with fear ever since the fall of Ticonderoga sent dismay
throughout New England. The affair is accurately described in the
following letter, written by a prominent actor, and going to show how such
things were done in the times that not only tried men's souls, but would
seem also to have put their stomachs to a pretty severe test. The writer
says:--
"In consequence of this news we kept it up in high taste. At sundown about
one hundred of the first gentlemen of the town, with all the strangers
then in Boston, met at the _Bunch of Grapes_, where good liquors and a
side-table were provided. In the street were two brass field-pieces with a
detachment of Colonel Craft's regiment. In the balcony of the Town-house
all the fifes and drums of my regiment were stationed. The ball opened
with a discharge of thirteen cannon, and at every toast given three rounds
were fired and a flight of rockets sent up. About nine o'clock two barrels
of grog were brought out into the street for the people that had collected
there. It was all conducted with the greatest propriety, and by ten
o'clock every man was at his home."
Shortly after this General Stark himself arrived in town and was right
royally entertained here, at that time presenting the trophies now
adorning the Senate Chamber. On his return from France in 1780 Lafayette
was also received at this house with all the honors, on account of having
brought the news that France had at last cast her puissant sword into the
trembling balance of our Revolutionary contest.
But the important event with which the _Bunch of Grapes_ is associated is,
not the reception of a long line of illustrious guests, but the
organization, by a number of continental officers, of the Ohio Company,
under which the settlement of that great State began in earnest, at
Marietta. The leading spirit in this first concerted movement of New
England toward the Great West was General Rufus Putnam, a cousin of the
more distinguished officer of Revolutionary fame.
Taking this house as a sample of the best that the town could afford at
the beginning of the century, we should probably find a company of about
twenty persons assembled at dinner, who were privileged to indulge in as
much familiar chat as they liked. No other formalities were observed than
such as good breeding required. Two o'clock was the hour at which all the
town dined. The guests were called together by the ringing of a bell in
the street. They were served with salmon in season, veal, beef, mutton,
fowl, ham, vegetables, and pudding, and each one had his pint of Madeira
set before him. The carving was done at the table in the good old English
way, each guest helping himself to what he liked best. Five shillings per
day was the usual charge, which was certainly not an exorbitant one. In
half an hour after the cloth was removed the table was usually deserted.
The =British Coffee-House= was one of the first inns to take to itself the
newly imported title. It stood on the site of the granite building
numbered 66 State Street, and was, as its name implies, as emphatically
the headquarters of the out-and-out loyalists as the _Bunch of Grapes_,
over the way, was of the unconditional Whigs. A notable thing about it was
the performance there in 1750, probably by amateurs, of Otway's "Orphan,"
an event which so outraged public sentiment as to cause the enactment of a
law prohibiting the performance of stage plays under severe penalties.
Perhaps an even more notable occurrence was the formation in this house of
the first association in Boston taking to itself the distinctive name of a
Club. The =Merchants' Club=, as it was called, met here as early as 1751.
Its membership was not restricted to merchants, as might be inferred from
its title, though they were possibly in a majority, but included crown
officers, members of the bar, military and naval officers serving on the
station, and gentlemen of high social rank of every shade of opinion. No
others were eligible to membership.
Up to a certain time this club, undoubtedly, represented the best culture,
the most brilliant wit, and most delightful companionship that could be
brought together in all the colonies; but when the political sky grew dark
the old harmony was at an end, and a division became inevitable, the
Whigs going over to the _Bunch of Grapes_, and thereafter taking to
themselves the name of the Whig Club.[1]
Under date of 1771, John Adams notes down in his Diary this item: "Spent
the evening at Cordis's, in the front room towards the Long Wharf, where
the _Merchants' Club_ has met these twenty years. It seems there is a
schism in that church, a rent in that garment." Cordis was then the
landlord.[2]
Social and business meetings of the bar were also held at the
_Coffee-House_, at one of which Josiah Quincy, Jr. was admitted. By and by
the word "American" was substituted for "British" on the _Coffee-House_
sign, and for some time it flourished under its new title of the =American
Coffee-House=.
But before the clash of opinions had brought about the secession just
mentioned, the best room in this house held almost nightly assemblages of
a group of patriotic men, who were actively consolidating all the elements
of opposition into a single force. Not inaptly they might be called the
Old Guard of the Revolution. The principals were Otis, Cushing, John
Adams, Pitts, Dr. Warren, and Molyneux. Probably no minutes of their
proceedings were kept, for the excellent reason that they verged upon, if
they did not overstep, the treasonable.
His talents, position at the bar, no less than intimate knowledge of the
questions which were then so profoundly agitating the public mind,
naturally made Otis the leader in these conferences, in which the means
for counteracting the aggressive measures then being put in force by the
ministry formed the leading topic of discussion. His acute and logical
mind, mastery of public law, intensity of purpose, together with the keen
and biting satire which he knew so well how to call to his aid, procured
for Otis the distinction of being the best-hated man on the Whig side of
politics, because he was the one most feared. Whether in the House, the
court-room, the taverns, or elsewhere, Otis led the van of resistance. In
military phrase, his policy was the offensive-defensive. He was no
respecter of ignorance in high places. Once when Governor Bernard
sneeringly interrupted Otis to ask him who the authority was whom he was
citing, the patriot coldly replied, "He is a very eminent jurist, and none
the less so for being unknown to your Excellency."
It was in the _Coffee-House_ that Otis, in attempting to pull a Tory nose,
was set upon and so brutally beaten by a place-man named Robinson, and his
friends, as to ultimately cause the loss of his reason and final
withdrawal from public life. John Adams says he was "basely assaulted by a
well-dressed banditti, with a commissioner of customs at their head." What
they had never been able to compass by fair argument, the Tories now
succeeded in accomplishing by brute force, since Otis was forever
disqualified from taking part in the struggle which he had all along
foreseen was coming,--and which, indeed, he had done more to bring about
than any single man in the colonies.