In speaking of the changes, in habits and customs, which have
occurred in my day, it will be difficult to draw the line between
those, which only my older readers will remember, and those more
recent ones, which will be recalled by the young. In noting these
changes I shall not confine myself to Plymouth, but shall as far
as possible include those which have elsewhere come under my
observation. The population of Plymouth in 1820, two years before
my birth, was 4,384. Its growth to 11,017, in 1905, is one of the
least remarkable changes in the history of the town during that
period. Turning, however, to the nationality of the population, we
find a change which has kept pace with the growing facilities of
international communication, and the restless tide of migration,
which characterized the 19th century. This change in nationality
began to show itself about the time of my birth. Up to that time the
population was not only practically wholly American, but also largely
of Plymouth nativity. There are records showing that in 1813 there
were two Irishmen, John Burke and Michael Murphy, living in Plymouth,
and there are reasons for believing that they and their families were
the only persons of Irish birth in the town. It is possible that the
above two men were servants, or employees of Judge Joshua Thomas,
who lived in the house on Main street, now called the Plymouth
Tavern. At any rate, Judge Thomas must have felt a special interest
in them, as in the year above mentioned, 1813, Bishop Cheverus, by
his invitation, came down from Boston and celebrated mass for their
benefit in the parlors on the southerly side of his house. It is
undoubtedly true that Bishop Cheverus was the most distinguished
Divine who ever visited Plymouth. He was born in Mayenne, France,
Jan. 28, 1768, and came to Boston in 1796, where he became associated
with the Catholic mission. In 1803 he raised by subscription money to
build the Catholic church in Franklin street, the site of which is
now occupied by Devonshire street, and more than $3,000 of the sum
raised was subscribed by Protestants, of whom John Adams headed the
list. The esteem in which he was held in Boston was further shown
by the gratuitous services of Charles Bulfinch, the distinguished
architect, who furnished the design for the church, and by the gift
of a picture of the crucifixion by Henry Sargent, a Boston artist,
to place on its walls. Among the subscribers to the church fund were
Harrison Gray Otis, Benjamin Crowinshield, Theodore Lyman, Thomas
H. Perkins and Samuel Dexter, and General E. Hasket Derby gave the
church a bell. While in Boston Bishop Cheverus accepted invitations
to preach in Protestant churches, following as he said, the example
of Christ, who preached in the synagogues. In 1810 he was consecrated
in Baltimore the first Bishop of Boston, and in 1818 his associate,
the Abbé Mantignon, died, at whose funeral the body was borne to
the grave through the streets of Boston with the Bishop wearing
ecclesiastical garments, and a mitre, presenting a novel scene to
the eyes of New England people. In 1823, the Bishop was called to
France to take charge of the Bishopric of Montauban, and in 1826 was
nominated to the Metropolitan See of Bordeaux. In 1828 he was made
councillor of state, and in 1830 commander of the order of the Holy
Ghost. In February, 1836, he was made a Cardinal, and on the 9th of
March received from Louis Philippe the Cardinal’s hat. He died July
2d, 1836.
Until ocean steamers were built of sufficient size to accommodate
steerage passengers, immigration was chiefly confined to the Irish,
who came in the packet ships plying between London or Liverpool
and New York, Philadelphia, or Boston. There were the Cambridge,
Devonshire, London, Henry Clay, Yorkshire, Liverpool, Ashburton and
Hottingeur, coming to New York; the Daniel Webster, North America,
Anglo Saxon and Ocean Monarch coming to Boston, and the Tuscarora
and Shenandoah to Philadelphia, and for some years their steerages
were crowded with Irish immigrants. With the coming in of the
steamers the numbers largely increased. It was during the period
from 1835 to 1855, that the Irish element began to be perceptible
to any considerable extent in Plymouth. Within my day the first
Irishman to come to the town was John Cassidy, about 1820 or 1830.
He had been living for a time in Boston, and there his son, John S.,
our townsman, was born. He was a blacksmith by trade, and a man of
striking appearance. He had two daughters, whom I knew very well,
fine women; Elizabeth, who married Gridley T. Poole, and Ellen,
who married a Mr. Southmayd of Campton, New Hampshire. There was a
Michael McCarthy who came not long after Mr. Cassidy, whose daughter
was the mother of our late townsman, Timothy Downey. Quite a number
came both before and soon after 1850, including Timothy and John
Quinlan in 1849, John O’Brien in 1851, and not far from those dates
Jeremiah Murray, John Murray, Timothy Regan, Wm. O’Brien, Timothy
Lynch, James Ready, Timothy Hurley, James Lynch, James Burns, Barney
Sullivan and others. For many years the number of Catholics in
Plymouth was insufficient to maintain a church, and father Moran of
Sandwich, where the glass works had gathered a considerable Irish
population, was in the habit of holding service once or twice in
each month in the town hall and Davis Hall, and elsewhere, until the
Catholic church was erected in 1874.
After the advent of the Irish there was for some years quite a large
German immigration, which found occupation in the Cordage works at
Seaside. The German population, however, was rather a changeable
one, and after a few years of savings, it largely found its way
west, and was followed in Plymouth by the Italians, French and
Portuguese, who, added to the Irish, now make up nearly one quarter
of the population of the town. The Portuguese have drifted here
chiefly from New Bedford and Provincetown, to which places they found
their way in vessels bringing the first catch of oil landed at the
Western Islands by whale ships from those ports. The effect of this
immigration on Provincetown has been remarkable. The first time I
ever went to that town was in 1836, when I was permitted as a boy
of fourteen to join a party of older persons in the sloop Thetis,
going one day and returning the next. At that time its population
was about two thousand, nearly all of whom were Cape Cod people, who
had moved there to either engage in the whale or cod fishery, or
to keep stores for the sale of ship chandlery and supplies of all
kinds to vessels making harbor there. A man by the name of Lothrop
from some up Cape town, kept a hotel, and by the aid of loam brought
from distant towns, he was cultivating the only garden in town. The
only street was parallel with the shore, and from fence to fence
it was a bed of loose sand, through the middle of which everybody
waded, the women I have heard it said, having a way of kicking their
heels in walking by which they kept the sand out of their shoes. One
of our party asked the landlord if he could have a horse and ride
through the village. “My dear sir,” said Mr. Lothrop, “there is not
a horse owned in town, but the mail chaise will arrive about six
o’clock, and perhaps the driver will let you have his horse.” During
the administration of Andrew Jackson not only was our National debt
extinguished, but a very considerable surplus revenue grew up, which
in 1836 was divided among the states in the form of a loan, each
state giving its obligation to repay the loan if ever called for.
Massachusetts distributed its share among the towns, and Provincetown
spent her portion in building plank sidewalks. At the present time
the Portuguese constitute a majority of the population of the town.
At the beginning of the civil war one of the measures proposed
for the relief of the financial straits of the government was a
call on the states for the payment of the loan above mentioned. It
has been stated by Mr. L. E. Chittenden, Register of the Treasury
under President Lincoln, that it was found at that time that the
obligations of the Rebel states had mysteriously disappeared.
One of the important results of the foreign immigration in Plymouth
County, and probably elsewhere has been the solution of the problem
concerning the future of our abandoned farms. These foreigners, more
especially the Portuguese and Italians, have picked them up one after
another, and are prospering, where their former native owners failed.
It must not be forgotten, while considering changes in population and
occupation, that the abandonment of the fisheries has caused a great
change in the industries of our town. With seventy-three vessels
engaged in the Grand Bank fishery, as there were thirty-five years
ago, our wharves and flake yards presented busy scenes. The large
increase, however, of our coal and lumber trade, amounting now in the
former, to thirty thousand tons annually, has helped materially to
prevent any recent depreciation of wharf property.
I propose now to speak of the changes which have occurred within
my recollection in carriages and in general methods of travel. I
have in an early chapter referred to buggies and wagons, giving
the derivation of their names, and the countries where they were
originally used. The introduction of the carry-all in Plymouth
occurred within my time, and as far back as I can remember there
were only two, one in the stable of George Drew in Middle street,
and the other owned by Bourne Spooner. It is generally supposed
that its spacious interior gave rise to its name which, however,
is really only a corruption of the name of the French Carriole. A
vehicle called a cab, which is simply an abbreviation of cabriolet
came quite extensively into use in Boston about 1840, but never
reached Plymouth, and in the city has now largely given way to a four
wheeler, which retains the old name. The carriage known as a hack,
brought to America from London, and receiving the name which there
applied to the horse alone, was never introduced into Plymouth until
1870. At the celebration of the dedication of the Soldiers’ Monument
on Training Green in 1869, the committee of arrangements borrowed one
from Geo. W. Wright of Duxbury, and hired another in Boston. There
is probably no city in the world in which the hack has been for more
than a hundred years in such general use as in Boston. The superior
quality for which Boston hacks have long been distinguished, has been
probably due to the fact that wealthy families have patronized hack
stables rather than keep carriages of their own, and they wanted the
best. I can well remember when there were not more than four private
carriages and coachmen in Boston, and when nothing in livery was seen
on its streets. About 1850 Mr. Deacon, who built an elegant mansion
at the south end after the style of a French Chateau, surrounded by a
high brick wall, set up a livery, and when his flunkey first appeared
sitting like Solomon in all his glory on the box, he was followed
and hooted at by the boys. The vehicle for many years in general use
was in Boston, as elsewhere, the chaise. Lawyers and doctors and
merchants constantly used them, and always drove themselves, while
before the days of street cars business men drove every morning
into the city from suburban homes, and put up their horses for the
day in some central stable. I remember stables in Cambridge street,
Bowdoin Square, Howard street, Elm street, Brattle street, Devonshire
street, Franklin street, Federal street, School street, Bromfield
street, Bedford street, West street and Charles street. With the
introduction of street cars leading to neighboring towns, the livery
business gradually disappeared, and the high price of central city
lots has left the older sections of the city with scarcely a place
where a horse can be put up for a night. These stables first found a
new resting place in the extension of Chestnut street on the river
side of Charles street, which Tom Appleton, the Boston wit, called
Horse Chestnut street, but they have gradually extended to localities
farther west. In the process of evolution the wheel has now turned,
and the suburban business men are deserting the street cars, and,
coming to Boston in their automobiles, instead of chaises, put them
up for the day in the grand garage in Park Square. Again referring
to the general use of chaises, I remember that such men as President
Quincy, Lucius Manlius Sargent, Ebenezer Francis and Jeremiah Mason
were frequently seen driving their chaises, and Mr. Webster often
rode in one over the road from Marshfield to Boston, holding the
reins himself, and having a trunk lashed to the axle. Mr. Mason,
above mentioned, the distinguished lawyer, one day when riding in
his chaise, turned from Washington street into Spring Lane, and met
a truckman coming up with his team. He was six feet six inches in
height, but he always sat in his chaise so bent as not to appear to
be a tall man. The truckman called out to him to back out, which Mr.
Mason was not inclined to do, as he would have to back up hill, while
the truckman could more easily back down. Mr. Mason said nothing, but
the truckman finally began to swear at him, and showed a disposition
to fight. Mr. Mason becoming a little angry, began to straighten up
and show his size, much to the astonishment of the man with the team,
who called out, “for God’s sake, Mr., don’t uncoil any more, I’ll get
out of the way.”
The stage derived its name, which it took from the stage coach of
England, from the word stage, meaning a section or the whole of a
road route. The name, however, reached New England many years before
the arrival of the English coach, and was applied to a carriage of
very different construction. The New England stage in the early
part of the last century was a long covered wagon hung on leather
thorough-braces, and contained seats without backs, which were
reached by climbing over the seats in front. In 1801, according to
the Farmer’s Almanac, there were twenty-five lines of coaches running
out of Boston, most of which started from the King’s Inn on the
corner of Exchange street and Market Square. The stages running to
Cambridge and Roxbury and Brookline, made each two trips a day, and
the stage to Plymouth made three trips a week by the way of Hingham,
being ten hours on the road. The South Boston and Dorchester turnpike
running as far as Neponset River, was incorporated, March 4, 1805,
and the Braintree and Weymouth turnpike running from Quincy to Queen
Ann’s Corner in West Scituate, was incorporated March 4, 1803. Thus
a new route was opened by the last named turnpike, over which the
fast line ran every day, while the mail line ran every alternate
day through Hingham. Until the Old Colony Railroad was opened these
turnpikes were toll roads. After a few years the clumsy stage gave
way to the well known English coach made with the addition of a
middle seat with an adjustable back strap. With the exception of the
English post carriage a sort of a barouche drawn by two horses, one
of which was ridden by a uniformed postilion, I have never found a
more comfortable and attractive traveling carriage. In 1846 I rode
with the coachman on one of these coaches from Glasgow to Carlisle,
ninety miles, in nine hours, with the four horses on the gallop, and
never leaving the centre of the track. The red coated guard occupying
a seat at the back of the coach, warned with his horn every team to
clear the road, and when passing a post office he threw off a mail
pouch and took another from a hooked rod, held up by the master of
the post. On approaching a station for change of horses, the guard
gave notice with his horn, and the coachman halting in the middle
of the road, dropped his reins right and left, and four hostlers,
two to unhitch, and two to hitch, would have a new team ready with a
delay of not more than two minutes, the coachman leaving his seat but
once in the nine hours. During the last years of these coaches the
schedule time of a trip from London to Edinburgh, four hundred miles,
was forty hours. The hansom, which for more than fifty years has been
used in London, has found a difficult entrance into Boston, but is
now gradually finding its way into use. The fares charged for them
are much lower in London than in Boston. In 1895 I took one at the
railway station and rode with a fellow passenger to Morley’s hotel at
Trafalgar Square, nearly three miles, and paid two and six pence for
the two, while in Boston the charge would have been from two to three
dollars.
The introduction of omnibuses in Boston, first used in London,
was very gradual. Having an aunt living in Cambridge, one of my
excursions during my vacation visits in Boston was to her home, and
thus I became early familiar with the methods of communication with
that town. As long ago as I can remember these omnibuses, taking the
place of the old coaches, made only two or three trips a day, in
answer to calls entered on a slate at the office in Brattle street,
picking up passengers at their houses, and dropping them at their
destinations. As business increased, passengers were obliged to take
the omnibuses at the office, starting at every hour, and thus they
became known as hourlies. Their business was partially interrupted
for a time by the construction of a branch of the Fitchburg railroad,
which had a station about where the law school is now located, but it
was soon abandoned, and the track was taken up.
As I have begun to speak of matters connected with Boston, I may as
well speak of the changes in that city since my early boyhood. For
this digression I ask to be excused. I was almost as familiar with
Boston, when a boy, as I was with Plymouth, as I spent nearly every
vacation there with my grandmother who lived in Winthrop Place,
which, with Otis Place, formed a circuitous avenue, entering from and
returning to Summer street. Summer street during my early life was
distinguished, not only for its beautiful shade trees and elegant
houses, but also for its notable residents. Among the latter whom I
remember were, Dr. Jacob Bigelow, Robert C. Winthrop, Dr. Putnam,
Edward H. Robbins, Nathaniel Goddard, John Wells, Horace Gray, John
P. Cushing, Benjamin Buzzey, Charles Tappan, Edward Everett, Rev. Dr.
Nathaniel Langdon Frothingham, John C. Gray, Benjamin Rich, Rev. Dr.
Alexander Young, Wm. Sturgis, Joseph Bell, Benjamin Loring, James
W. Paige, and Daniel Webster. There also were Trinity church on the
north side, and the Octagon church, Unitarian, at the junction
of Summer and Bedford streets, while in Winthrop and Otis Place
lived Rufus Choate, Abel Adams, Wm. Perkins, Samuel Whitwell, H. H.
Hunnewell, George Bond, Henry Cabot, Joshua Blake, George Bancroft,
Nathaniel Bowditch, and Israel Thorndike.
When that neighborhood was changed from a residential to a business
one, Winthrop Place was extended across Franklin street to State
street, the whole taking the name of Devonshire street. From Franklin
to Milk street the nucleus of the extended street was Theatre Alley,
so-called, because in the alley was the stage entrance of the Federal
Street Theatre. The Catholic church, which stood on the south side
of Franklin street, was taken down to make way for the extended
street. Ma’am Dunlap’s famous cigar, snuff and tobacco store, which
every gentleman in Boston knew, partly on account of the quality
of her goods, and partly on account of the beauty of her daughter
Rachel, stood on the west side of the alley. Boston has always been
famous for its alleys, at least fifteen of which I remember. They
furnished very convenient cut shorts for those who were in a hurry,
or did not wish to encounter undesirable friends. Mr. Choate, whose
office was on the southerly corner of Court and Washington streets,
lived at different times at the United States hotel, in Edinboro
street and Winthrop Place, and in going home he invariably went down
State to Devonshire street, and thence through Theatre Alley and
Catholic Church Alley. The Alley from State street to Dock Square,
now called Change Alley, was formerly called Flagg Alley, taking
its name from its pavement of flagstones, which again took their
name from Elisha Flagg, who about 1750 opened a quarry in Grafton,
and furnished Boston and some other New England towns with slabs of
that description. For some unknown reason alleys seem to have been
peculiar to seaport places like Provincetown, Salem, Marblehead,
Newburyport and Plymouth, in the last of which were in my day,
Thomas’s Alley, Cooper’s Alley, LeBaron’s Alley, Spooner’s Alley and
Clamshell Alley, all of which remain except Thomas’s Alley on the
south side of the estate of Col. Wm. P. Stoddard, which was closed
some years ago, under an agreement with the town.
On the south side of Franklin street, until about 1800, known as
Barrell’s pasture, extending from the Catholic Alley, now Devonshire
street, up to Hawley street, there was a single block called the
Tontine block, such as we ought to see more of in Boston today. It
was designed by Charles Bulfinch, and contained sixteen dwelling
houses, with a front curved to correspond to the curve of the street,
and built with a palace front, two houses at each end projecting
about six feet, and the centre carried up higher than the rest of the
building, and built over three arches, a central arch for a street
called Arch street to pass through, and one smaller arch on each
side over the Arch street sidewalks. A door under the arch led up
to the old Boston Library, which is still in existence with a home
in Boylston Place. The block was built on the Tontine plan, with a
certain number of owners, the property descending to the survivors.
After some years its tontine feature was abandoned and the property
divided among the survivors.
All through my boyhood, Franklin, Federal, Atkinson, now called
Congress, Pearl, High, Purchase, South, Lincoln, Summer, Arch,
Winter, Tremont, West, Bedford, Chauncy, Boylston, Essex and Kingston
streets, Otis Place, Winthrop Place and Fort Hill were occupied by
dwelling houses. Fort Hill, which rose about twenty-five or thirty
feet above Pearl street, was cut down in 1865, and High street
extended across it. Pemberton hill, the residence of Gardner Greene,
was cut down in 1835 to its present level, and Pemberton Square laid
out for houses. The estate covered by Pemberton hill was a famous
historic estate. It was occupied by Sir Harry Vane in 1636, by Rev.
John Cotton and his son Seaborn, John Hull, Wm. Vassall, Madame
Hayley, the society leader in Boston, Jonathan Mason, and Gardner
Green. The house of Mr. Green, which was taken down in 1835, was
built by Mr. Vassall in 1760. When the hill was levelled, a rare tree
called the Gingko, brought from China, was removed to the Common,
slips from which are now standing on the grounds of Jason W. Mixter
and B. F. Mellor in Plymouth.
When the city government decided to remove the hill Patrick T.
Jackson, in behalf of the city, made a contract with Asa G. Sheldon
of Wilmington to perform the work and fill the flats north of
Causeway street. Mr. Sheldon moved the Gingko tree to a spot on the
Common near the Beacon street mall on a stone dray drawn by oxen,
driven by Waterman Brown of Woburn.
Washington street, once called the Neck, was until 1786 the only way
in and out of Boston. South Boston, then a part of Dorchester, could
only be reached by the way of Roxbury; and Cambridge could not be
reached except by ferry, only by going through Roxbury and Brookline.
The Charles River Bridge Company was incorporated March 9, 1785, and
built the old Charlestown bridge, which was opened June 17, 1786.
This bridge furnished a new and convenient route to Cambridge. The
West Boston Bridge Company was incorporated March 9, 1792, and built
the bridge extending from Cambridge street, which was opened November
23, 1793. These two bridges continued as toll bridges until January
30, 1858. Dorchester Neck, now known as South Boston, was annexed to
Boston, March 6, 1804, then having only ten families, and on the same
date the South Bridge Co. was incorporated. The Dover street bridge
was built by that company, and opened Oct. 1, 1805, and was sold to
the city April 19, 1832, and made free, tolls having been charged
up to that time. Canal bridge now Craigie’s Bridge, a toll bridge,
leading to East Cambridge, was built by a company incorporated Feb.
27, 1807, and after its purchase by the state, was made free January
30, 1858. On the 14th of June, 1814, Isaac P. Davis, Uriah Cotting
and Wm. Brown, and their associates, were incorporated as the Boston
and Roxbury Mill Corporation, who built the mill dam leading from
Beacon street to Brookline, over which a road was opened July 2,
1821. This was a toll road, and during my college life the toll
gate was located a little east of Arlington street, and tolls were
collected until it was laid out as a highway, Dec. 7, 1868. The
Boston Free Bridge Corporation was incorporated March 4, 1826, and
built the South Boston Bridge, which crossed Fort Point Channel at
Sea street, and was bought by the city September 16, 1828, and called
Federal street bridge. The Warren Bridge Corporation was incorporated
March 11, 1828, and opened Dec. 25, in that year. It was assumed by
the state in 1833, and made free in 1858.
Between the toll gate on the Mill Dam and Brookline there were no
houses, and what is now called the Back Bay extended from the Mill
Dam to Washington street. In this connection the statement may be
interesting that in 1830 the pasturage of cows on the Common was for
the first time forbidden by a city ordinance.
When I was ten years old, my great uncle, Isaac P. Davis, who was
born in 1771, and who as one of the corporators of the Mill Dam, was
familiar with that neighborhood, took me one day down to the corner
of Boylston street and Charles street, and said to me, William,
here was the original bank of Charles River, and on this spot the
British embarked for Charlestown on the morning of the battle of
Bunker Hill. I was also told by one of the building committee of
Trinity church, that in driving piles to support the foundation,
the bed of an old channel was found where hard bottom could not be
reached, and the expedient was adopted of clearing away the earth
between the piles several feet down and filling the space with
cement, thus holding them from the top instead of supporting them
at the bottom. On this foundation, containing either five thousand
piles at a cost of $7 each, or seven thousand at a cost of $5, I have
forgotten which, the structure stands without a crack, to show any
settling. If an X ray could penetrate the sub-surface of the Back
Bay, it would disclose thousands of piles with a composite between,
of old hats, bonnets, shoes, hoop skirts and tomato cans on which
stand the domiciles of wealth and fashion. Perhaps, however, such a
foundation is as genuine and real as that on which stands fashion
itself. In my youth the South Bay, east of Washington street, was
open to the harbor through Fort Point channel, only obstructed by
the Dover street, and the old South Boston bridges. At that time the
yards of the houses in Purchase street extended to the water, and
Atlantic Avenue, north of Dewey Square, was built along the harbor
margin. Thus within my recollection, there have been added between
the Mill Dam and Washington street, Boylston street, Huntington,
Columbus, Atlantic, Shawmut and Harrison avenues, all built where
once was water, and adding more than eight hundred acres of made land
to the old peninsula of Boston, which contained only six hundred
and ninety. Until 1852 the Commonwealth owned 2,453,730 square
feet of land in the Back Bay, which in that year it began to have
filled with the view of selling it. At that time it was estimated
that the land was worth, less the cost of filling, $906,516.00.
The conservatism of this estimate is shown by the fact that in 1872
$3,551,514 had been received from sales, or $2,044,294 taking out
the cost of filling, and 500,000 square feet remained unsold, valued
at $750,000, leaving a profit to the Commonwealth of $1,887,178. In
view of the probably speedy and profitable sales of this land, the
question came up in the legislature of 1859, when I was a member of
the Senate, whether it would not be well to devote a part of the
proceeds of these sales to educational purposes, and petitions were
presented looking to this end, which were referred to the committee
on education, of which I was chairman. After several hearings I drew
up a report at the request of the committee, and after I submitted it
to the legislature, the daily papers paid it the unusual compliment
of printing it in full. Resolves accompanied the report, giving
$100,000 to the Museum of Natural History and Comparative Zoology
in Cambridge, fifty thousand dollars to Tufts college, and $25,000
each to Amherst and Williams colleges, and the Wilbraham academy,
and in addition a substantial amount to enlarge the school fund
of the state. Against some opposition the Resolves were passed by
both branches of the legislature, and it has always been a source
of satisfaction to me that I was in some degree instrumental in
prosecuting to a successful issue a measure so plainly conducive to
the best interests of the state.
One of the most striking changes in Boston within my time, has been
the change in the location of meeting houses from those localities
where they were once marked features, to the newer parts of the
city. While many of the meeting houses which stood sixty years ago
in Purchase street, Summer street, Hollis street, Cambridge street,
Chambers street and Hanover street, have been abandoned, and others
in Federal street, Franklin street, Summer street, Washington street
and Essex street have been replaced by new, no less than twenty-five
have been built in sections which in 1840 were covered by water. Thus
the money changers, instead of being driven out of the temple, have
driven the temples away from the haunts of trade.
In recalling these recollections of Boston, to which I have merely
glanced, it seems to me that I have witnessed its growth from youth
to age. There are other evidences of its growth than those to which
I have alluded. I was told many years ago by Edwin Rice, a resident
in East Boston, which now contains a population of thirty thousand,
that when he settled there its population did not exceed a hundred.
I recall sitting one calm summer afternoon nearly seventy years ago
on the grassy bank of Noddles Island, as East Boston was called, now
covered with a dense population, and listening to the roar of the
city across the harbor. I do not remember to have heard it before or
since. The experience was an interesting one. There was no single
distinguishable sound, but the rattle of wheels on the pavement,
the footfall of horses on the bridges, the hammer on the anvil, the
drum of a passing band, the cries of street venders, and, perhaps
the rustle of trees and the voices of boys at play, all mingled in a
continuous rumble of a busy, populous city. It has been stated that
during the battle of Waterloo the people of Brussels heard neither
the rattle of musketry, nor the booming of cannon, but both were
combined in an unbroken roar of the battle field. In recalling that
summer afternoon at East Boston, I have thought that the voices of
the past, not the voice of this man or that, performing his part in
the drama of life, but the voices of all good and great men who have
lived and died need time and distance to be blended as a harmonious
whole in the grand symphony of civilization.
In 1832 the whole of East Boston, containing 663 acres of upland and
marsh with the flats contiguous thereto and one house, was bought
by Wm. H. Sumner, Stephen White, Francis J. Oliver and others for
about $80,000, and the East Boston corporation was soon after formed.
From that time it rapidly grew, attracting a large population,
and becoming a hive of industry. Before the civil war two hundred
and thirty or more vessels had been built on its shores, with a
measurement of more than two hundred thousand tons. Ship builders
were drawn there from the shallow waters of Duxbury, the North river
and other places, among whom the chief were Samuel Hall, Donald
McKay, Daniel D. Kelly, A. & G. T. Sampson, Jackson & Ewell, Paul
Curtis, Jarvis Pratt, Brown, Bates & Delano, Robert E. Jackson,
Andrew Burnham, Brown & Lovell, Hugh R. McKay, G. & T. Boole, Wm.
Hall, Pratt & Osgood, Samuel Hall, Jr., Joseph Burke, Wm. Kelly,
Otis Tufts, Burkett & Tyler, C. F. & H. D. Gardiner; E. & H. O.
Briggs. There Donald McKay built the fleet of ships which made his
name famous. The following is, I believe, a correct list of his
vessels:
Anglo Saxon, 894 tons
Ocean Monarch, 1301 tons
Washington Irving, 751 tons
New World, 1404 tons
Moses, 700 tons
Anglo American, 704 tons
Az, 700 tons
Jenny Lind, 533 tons
Plymouth Rock, 960 tons
Helicon, 400 tons
Reindeer, 800 tons
Parliament, 998 tons
Moses Wheeler, 900 tons
Antarctic, 1116 tons
Daniel Webster, 1187 tons
Staghound, 1534 tons
Flying Cloud, 1782 tons
Staffordshire, 1817 tons
North American, 1469 tons
Sovereign of the Seas, 2421 tons
Westward Ho, 1650 tons
Bald Eagle, 1704 tons
Empress of the Seas, 2200 tons
Star of Empire, 1635 tons
Romance of the Seas, 1500 tons
Challenger, 1400 tons
Lightning, 2083 tons
Great Republic, 4556 tons
Champion of the Seas, 2447 tons
James Baines, 2526 tons
Commodore Perry, 1964 tons
Santa Claus, 1256 tons
Benin, 692 tons
Blanche Moore, 1787 tons
Japan, 1964 tons
Adriatic, 1327 tons
Mastiff, 1030 tons
Zephyr, 1184 tons
Defender, 1413 tons
Donald McKay, 2594 tons
Abbott Lawrence, 1497 tons
Amos Lawrence, 1396 tons
Minnehaha, 1695 tons
Harry Hill, 568 tons
Baltic, 1720 tons
L Z, 897 tons
The total tonnage of the above, forty-six ships, was 67,041,
averaging 1,457. The greatest achievements of these vessels were the
passage of the Flying Cloud, Capt. Cressey, from New York to San
Francisco in 89 days, and the run by the Sovereign of the Seas of 430
geographical miles in 24 hours.
Some of the customs prevailing in my youth and early manhood may be
as interesting as the topographical changes in Boston. There was
no day police established in Boston until 1854, and old Constable
Derastus Clapp stationed in and about State street, was the only
officer ever seen. In the above year a police force, under the
direction of a chief, was established, but not uniformed until 1856.
I remember that the newspapers on a day after the 4th of July,
commented with pride on the quiet and peaceful dispersion of the
crowd on the Common, witnessing the fireworks the evening before,
without a police officer to keep them in order. There were only
night watchmen with their rattles who cried the hour with “All is
well.” They wore in cool weather plaid camlet cloaks, and as there
was a city ordinance forbidding smoking in the streets, which by the
way has never been repealed, I have many a time when meeting them
concealed my cigar until they were out of sight. My readers may not
be aware that a by-law was adopted in Plymouth in 1831, which is
still in force, forbidding smoking in any street, lane or public
square, or on any wharf in the town.
Ringing the bell at various hours during the day and evening for the
convenience of the inhabitants, has so far as Plymouth is concerned,
been confined to the town sexton. Since, however, the ringing has
been detached from the duties of a sexton proper, who was an officer
of the church, the name sexton in our town is now given to the bell
ringer, who continues to be chosen by the town every year, though he
has now no connection with the church. The first mention of a sexton
in the town records is under date of 1712, when Eleazer Rogers was
chosen “to ring the bell, sweep the meeting house, keep the doors and
windows of said meeting house shut and open for the congregation’s
use upon all occasions, and carefully look after said house as above
said.” In 1714 he was required to ring the bell at nine o’clock every
evening. From that time to this a town sexton is chosen each year,
who since the severance of the First Church from the town no longer
rings the bell for church, while each church has its own sexton for
that duty. The custom in Plymouth is to ring the Town bell as follows
at 7 a. m., 12 noon, 1 p. m. and nine p. m., all the year; 6 p. m.
when the sun sets after that hour, and on Saturdays 5 p. m., instead
of 6. This custom of bell ringing existed in Boston, as well as other
places, and I have heard it stated that the Old South Church bell was
rung as late as 1836 at 11 a. m. to announce “the grog time o’ day.”
The nine o’clock evening bell had its origin in the ancient curfew
bell, which derived from the French words, “_couvre feu_,” was rung
at an hour when the fires in houses should be covered up. It was
adopted in New England merely to indicate the hour.
There was a method in Boston of lighting the street lamps, which was
primitive. The city was divided into districts, and a lamplighter
was appointed for each district. The lamps were all oil lamps until
1834, and each lighter would start from home in the morning carrying
a ladder, a can of oil, and a filled and trimmed lamp. He would take
the old lamp out of the first lantern, putting the fresh one in its
place. He would then fill and trim the lamp he took out and go on to
the next lantern, and so on through his district. There was another
custom, so far as I know peculiar to Boston, where domestic life
was less extravagantly and luxuriously enjoyed than in New York,
Philadelphia and Baltimore. Few families kept men servants, and many
gentlemen, rather than impose the work of blacking boots on servant
girls, or have blacking in the house, fell in with a plan suggested
by the Brattle street negroes. For many years the shops on the south
side of that street were chiefly occupied by shoe blacks and negro
dealers in second hand clothing. Some of these negroes went about on
the first of January and secured lists of subscribers for their work
for the year as a milkman or an ice man would for his milk or ice.
If, for instance, he was a beginner in the industry, he would start
out early in the morning with two rods about eight feet long, and
an inch or more in diameter, and calling at the house of the first
subscriber, take his boots and stringing them by the tugs on a rod
like herrings on a stick, go the rounds of his subscribers, and the
next morning exchange the clean boots for soiled ones. A more general
employment of men servants, and finally boot black shops and stands
put an end to this custom.