Part 48 (1/2)
[286] Ma.s.sachusetts Files.
[287] Heath then commanded at Providence: he was ordered to meet Rochambeau on his arrival, and extend any a.s.sistance in his power.
[288] The manner and matter of his reception of Mr. Adams were equally those of gentleman and king. Contrast him with the Prince Regent, and his remark to the French ex-minister, Calonne, during his father's sudden illness, in 1801: ”Savez-vous, Monsieur de Calonne, que mon pere est aussi fou que jamais?” (Do you know, Monsieur de Calonne, that my father is as crazy as ever?) Thackeray could not do him justice.
[289] The fellow-prisoner of Count Christian Deux-Ponts was an Irishman, named Lynch, who belonged also to Rochambeau's army. Fearful that his nationality might be discovered, he begged the count to be on his guard.
When at table, and heated with wine, the secret was divulged by the count; but Nelson, as Segur relates, pretended not to have heard it.
[290] That of Major Galvan, who pistoled himself on account of unrequited love.
[291] Rally, Auvergne! here is the enemy!
[Ill.u.s.tration: GRAVES ON THE BLUFF, FORT ROAD.]
CHAPTER XXV.
NEWPORT CEMETERIES.
”Come, my spade. There is no ancient gentlemen but gardeners, ditchers, and grave-makers; they hold up Adam's profession.”--SHAKSPEARE.
a.s.suming the looker-on to be free from all qualms on the subject of grave-yard a.s.sociations, I invite him to loiter with me awhile among the tombstones of buried Newport. As we thread the streets of the town, sign-boards or door-plates inform us who are the occupants; and in pursuing the narrow paths of the burial-place, the tablets set up denote, not only the final residences, but symbolize the dread of the world's forgetfulness, of those who sleep there. The a.n.a.logy might still be pursued, as it was an old custom to inscribe the occupation and birthplace upon a memorial stone. Here is one I found in the old ground adjoining Rhode Island Cemetery:
Here lyeth the Body of Roger Baster Bachelor Block mackr Aged 66 yeres He Dyed 23 Day of Aprel 1687 He was one of the Fi rst Beginers of a Chv rch of Christ obsrving ------ Of the 7th Day Sab bath of THE LORD IN NE AND BEGAN 23D IS 1671
The grave-yards are the first green spots. Dandelions, b.u.t.tercups, and daisies blossom earliest there. The almost imperceptible shading-off of winter into spring is signaled by tufts of freshly springing gra.s.s on the sunny side of a grave-stone; the birds build betimes among the tree-branches of the cemetery. Your grave-maker is always a merry fellow, who cares no more for carved cross-bones than for the clay-pipes so artistically crossed in shop-windows.
[Ill.u.s.tration]
I found many stones dating from 1726 to 1800, but even these had become much defaced by time. Where freestone slabs had been used, the inscriptions were either illegible or quite obliterated. Some of the older slate stones had been painted to protect them from the weather.
The city takes commendable care of the grounds; yet I could not help thinking that a little money might be well spent in renewing the fading inscriptions. Throughout the inclosure the pious chisel of some ”Old Mortality” is painfully in request.
In a retired part of the ground I found two horizontal slabs--one of white, the other red, freestone--lying side by side over man and wife. I transcribed the epitaph of the wife, as the more characteristic:
HERE LYETH THE BODY OF HARTE GARDE THE WIFE OF IOHN GARDE MERCHANT WHO DEPARTED THIS THE 16 DAY OF SEPTEMBER AN DOM 1660 AGED 55 YEARS.
Another slate stone contained the singular inscription given in the engraving; and still another was lettered:
In Memory Of Mrs. Elizabeth Lintu rn widow for many years a noted midwife She departed this life October 23d 1758 In the 63d year of her age.
In the old Common Burying-ground is the following plaint:
Here doth Simon Parrett lye Whose wrongs did for justice cry But none could haue And now the Graue Keeps him from Inivrie Who Departed this life The 23 Day of May 1718 Aged 84 years.
Farewell Street, by which you approach the princ.i.p.al cemetery of Newport, is not ill-named. The ground, a generally level area, permits the eye to roam over the whole region of graves. Glimpses of the bay and of the islands dispersed so picturesquely about it harmonize with the calm of the place. Sails drift noiselessly by, and the fragrance of evergreens and of eglantine perfumes the air. There was breeze enough to bring the strains of martial music from the fort even here.
It is stated, I know not how authoritatively, that the Hessians, whose hospital was close at hand, defaced many stones here by altering the inscriptions. Here is buried William Ellery,[292] one of the signers of the Declaration. On the day of his death he rose as usual, dressed, and seated himself in the old flag-bottomed chair which he had sat in for more than half a century. Here he remained reading a volume of Cicero in Latin until his physician, who had dropped in, perceived that he could scarcely raise his eyelids to look at him. The doctor found his pulse gone. After giving him a little wine and water, Dr. W---- told him his pulse beat stronger. ”Oh, yes, doctor, I have a charming pulse,”
expressing at the same time his conviction that his life was nearly ended, and his thankfulness that he was to pa.s.s away free from sickness or pain. He at last consented to be placed upright in bed, so that he might continue reading. He died thus without attracting the notice of his attendants, like a man who becomes drowsy and falls asleep, sitting in the same posture, with the book under his chin. Here is also the tomb of Governor Cranston, and the gray stone slab with typical skull and cross-bones, on which is graven the name of William Jefferay, said to have been one of Charles Stuart's judges. Among other specimens of grave-yard literature is the inscription to Christopher Ellery: ”The Human Form respected for its honesty, and known for fifty-three years by the appellation of Christopher Ellery, began to dissolve in the month of February, 1789.”
There is not so much quaintness in the epitaphs here as in the old Puritan grave-yards of Boston and Salem; less even of stateliness, of pomp, and of human pride than is usual. I missed the Latin, the blazonry, and the sounding detail of public service so often seen spread over every inch of crumbling old tombstones. The grotesque emblems of skull, cross-bones, and hour-gla.s.s--bugbears to frighten children--change in a generation or two to weeping-willows, urns, and winged cherubs. These are in turn discarded for sculptured types of angels, lambs, doves, and lilies; of broken columns and chaplets. This departure from the horrible for the beautiful is not matter for regret.