USA > Rhode Island > Bristol County > Bristol > Celebration of the two-hundredth anniversary of the settlement of the town of Bristol, Rhode Island : September 24th, A.D. 1880 > Part 5
Note: The text from this book was generated using artificial intelligence so there may be some errors. The full pages can be found on Archive.org (link on the Part 1 page).
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12 | Part 13 | Part 14 | Part 15 | Part 16
7
50
BI-CENTENNIAL OF BRISTOL.
according to their means, and with reference to their wants. Their plain meeting-houses harmonized with their simple worship. To the eye of taste they are far more venerable, and far more interesting, than the more ambitious structures with which they have so often been supplanted.
The men who made such liberal provision for the support of public worship, were not likely to be indifferent to the ministrations under which they sat. Exalting the pulpit to such supreme rank, they cherished a not less exalted ideal of religious teaching. Accustomed to accord the minister the first place in the community, they exacted, in return, the highest qualification. After one unsuccessful experiment, they secured for their first settled pastor, a renowned scholar, who brought to the infant settlement the ripest discipline of the old world. Son of a wealthy London citizen, he received his early training at the famous St. Paul's school, which John Colet, the friend of Erasmus, founded ; the school in which Milton acquired the rudiments of his matchless scholarship. Proceeding at the early age of fifteen, to Oxford, he won a distinguished rank, and was rewarded with a fellowship at Wadham College. A conscientious non-conformist, he came to this country in 1686. It was said of him by one well qualified to judge, "that hardly ever a more universally learned person trod the American strand." It is true that he remained here but a short time, but we may safely infer something respecting the character and intelligence of a community which, even for a short time, could command and appreciate the ministrations of such a man as Samuel Lee.
Here let us pause. I have narrated the circumstances that led to the founding of this town, I have sketched an outline of its distinguishing features. I repeat that no such halo surrounds our early history as that which illumines the be- ginnings of the neighboring settlements. We have no claim to the distinction which Providence and Newport boast. But we may justly claim praise of a different kind. We may claim that here was planted a town which illustrated the ad-
51
BI-CENTENNIAL OF BRISTOL.
vantages of social order; which was enriched, beyond ordi- nary measure, with the best conditions of social progress ; which entered on its career with high and generous appre- ciation of social obligations. It had no rude beginnings. It is not too much to say that few rural neighborhoods in the mother country could boast the educational and religious privileges which they enjoyed who followed the wise lead of Walley and Byfield to these untrodden wilds.
Two hundred years have passed since the work which I have described was done. The dream in which our fathers indulged, when they borrowed for their little settlement the name of the famous English mart, has not been realized ; in the main object they had in view the course of events has not corresponded with their expectations. The transfer of the town from Massachusetts to Rhode Island, which took place two generations later, lessened its importance ; the hard struggle with the mother country bore heavily upon it ; and not even the extraordinary enterprise of its merchants, during the half century that followed, could withstand the inevitable tendency of trade which collected foreign commerce into a few great centres. Bristol shared the fate of so many famous New England seaports. The harbor is deserted which was once crowded with vessels from every clime ; the wharves are rotting where, within my own memory, were piled the costly products of the tropics, the Mediterranean, and the Baltic. The jargon of strange races is heard no more in our streets ; the bustling port is tranformed into a summer watering place. Yet I cannot doubt that the best work of the founders remains. The mark they made on the character of the town, the impulse they gave to its higher interests, the deep lines they cut upon its moral foundations,-these have not passed away. There is not one of us here, to-day, who is not better for the work they did. We trace their benefi- cent influence in the conservative character which has always been the just boast of this community, in the regard for social order which has made it always prompt and unswerving in its
52
BI-CENTENNIAL OF BRISTOL.
support of authority and law. We trace it in the generous support of public institutions, of which there are so many striking proofs around us; in the churches, where, under different forms, the God whom they worshipped, is adored ; in the noble school, which, bearing the name of Byfield, shows that his spirit is not extinct ; and in the most recent ornament of our town, the beautiful Library, the gift of one who still survives, as an embodiment of the gentler and more winning virtues of the olden time, virtues which find small place on the page of history, but which form so large a part of all that gives value, and happiness, and blessing to human life.
Much that the fathers believed, we question ; much that they deemed essential, we have put aside. But let us rest assured that it remains as true in our day as in theirs, that religion and intelligence are the foundations of a well-ordered and prosperous community. The example they have given us is an example which we cannot afford to forget. It is the example of an enlightened public spirit, the lesson that we are members one of another, that our individual concerns are wrapped up in the general welfare, that we best promote our private interests when we seek the common good. This, as I read New England history, was the great and admirable feature of Puritan character; this it was that made them strong, and prosperous, and honored. Let this be the lesson which we carry from these services, that in a community like this every member must do his part ; that no matter how small its size, no matter how local and limited the interests involved, we have no right to hold ourselves aloof from its concerns. The possession of large means, of superior cul- ture, only adds to the obligation. This, I repeat, is the great lesson the fathers teach. May we so ponder it that when another two centuries have passed, when seven gener- ations more have been laid in their silent graves, we ourselves may be as gratefully remembered as we, to-day, have remem- bered them !
53
BI-CENTENNIAL OF BRISTOL.
The following ode, written by Miss A. J. Coggeshall, was sung by the school children. Tune-Keller's American Hymn :
BI-CENTENNIAL ODE.
Hail to thee, Bristol ! Our time-honored town : Fair in thy robes of rejoicing arrayed ; Twice o'er our shores has a century rolled, Since by firm hands thy foundations were laid ; Proudly we greet thee, our beautiful home.
Rich are our valleys in song and romance ; We roam the hills by the Norsemen roamed o'er; Stand by the rock with their rude symbols carved, Long ages past when they moored near our shore; Sons of the North land ! The mystical North.
Regal in rich robes of crimson and gold, Mount Hope stands silent beside the still bay ; Stately as when in the days long ago Sons of the forest held unquestioned sway ; Home of King Philip! We cherish thy fame.
On thy lone summit the chieftain once stood; Th' proud Indian chieftain undaunted and brave : His realm th' dim forest that skirted thy side, No spot in thy broad lands could grant him a grave; Noble King Philip! We moan thy sad fate.
Here stood th' lodge of renowned Massasoit, Staunch friend of th' Pilgrims, unchanging and true ; On famed Pokanoket his council-fires blazed,- Th' home of Wamsutta and proud Weetamoe,- Th' bold, haughty princess; how daring in war!
Blue Narragansett ! whose bright waters gleam Round lovely Aquidneck's and Poppasqua's side, No more where thy countless sails whiten th' wave, Th' bark of the red man will silently glide ; Fairest of waters! Our isle-dotted bay !
54
BI-CENTENNIAL OF BRISTOL.
Closely our heart strings around thee entwine; We love thy broad streets and o'ershadowing trees, Thy dark ivied churches, thy mansions so fair, Thy harbor whose blue waves dance in the breeze ; Sweet Peace attend thee, our sea-girdled town !
Home of our fathers! While centuries last. God whom they trusted, from danger defend ! Glad Plenty crown thee with rich golden sheaves, And th' bow of His promise in love o'er thee bend ! Hail to thee Bristol! Our time honored town.
Rt. Rev. MARK A. DeW. HOWE, D. D., Bishop of the Diocese of Central Pennsylvania, poet of the day, delivered the following poem :
HISTORICAL POEM.
When life was fresh, and pulse beat full and strong, Free fancies came, and wove themselves in song : But age has checked the currents of the heart, And care constrained its day-dreams to depart. The chords unstrung which once attuned my lyre ; The hand its skill has lost ;- the soul its fire ;- The broken shell lies voiceless on the shore ;- The fickle muses heed my suit no more; And yet I strive by simple force of will, With quavering voice to chant in numbers still. For 'tis a gala day, joy rules the hour, Young men and maids from happy homes outpour : Their hastening feet trip light upon the green, And music lends enchantment to the scene. From distant marts and climes beyond the main, The wandering exiles childhood's haunts regain. In glad Thanksgiving, round th' ancestral board, The living generations sit, restored. They come to greet the mother of us all, Whose bonds of love our willing hearts enthrall ; Whose years by centuries may now be told, While spot nor wrinkle shows that she is old. More fruit in age, her vigor still brings forth, And spreads her teeming offspring South and North. To-day, each filial heart its tribute brings, And at her feet the roseate garland flings, And witness,-stiffened age attempts to glean Its withered chaplet ;- fields no longer green, Supply autumnal flowers in colors gay, Fragrant no more, like blossoms of the May.
56
BI-CENTENNIAL OF BRISTOL.
Sauntering along this ancient town, Its tasteful homes, its busy streets, Its cross-crowned turrets shadowing down, Its sea-board girt with white-sailed fleets,
We dream not of their bold emprise Who here, two centuries agone, Saw, forest-clad, with prescient eyes, The choicest spot for homes' hearth-stone.
Four stalwart men, alike prepared To quell the foe, or till the ground, (Heroic dames their fortunes shared) Amid these wilds a refuge found.
They felled the wood, the log-house piled, They burned the bramble from the sod, And sense of loneliness beguiled, With research in the Book of God.
The stealthy wolves from jungles swoop, And howl about their cots at night; Or, wakened by the Indian's whoop, They see the torch's lurid light.
The snow four times the vales had filled, Four summer suns dissolved the frost, Since the great Metacom was killed, His braves dispersed, his fastness lost.
The treach'rous savage, fierce with hate, Sought vengeance for his people's wrong :
Skulking where once with pride elate He strode the sun lit heath along,
Watching to light the vengeful fires, To steal the wife, to slay the child ! Such were the foes our gallant sires Encountered in the forest wild.
Where we, their sons, luxuriate, In homes with peace and plenty stored, They wrestled with beleaguering fate, Armed with the plowshare and the sword.
57
BI-CENTENNIAL OF BRISTOL.
Alas! for that evanished race That once pursued the eager chase Along these hills and dales ; Or o'er the tide with light canoe Clave the white-crested billows through, Now spangled thick with sails.
Born to this princely heritage, They sojourned here from age to age ; Who knoweth whence they sprung? Though errant as the winds they roam, Their hunting-grounds to them were home, To these dear haunts they clung.
Relics of their heroic sires- Withheld from the funereal fires Which wrap far India's dead- As waiting warriors calmly rest In all their savage armor drest, With trophies rich bestead.
And dear to them that honored dust, As where, in Christian hope and trust, We lay our dead to sleep. Sacred-until the white man came To obliterate their tribal name, Their souls in grief to steep.
When, tempest-tost, the pilgrim stood On the cold margent of the flood, The Indian grasped his hand ; Bade him to rove the seas no more, But bring his treasures to the shore And share the rugged land.
But soon before the favoring breeze Came other laden argosies Astir with Saxon bands ; Invaders on the shore grew bold, As wave on wave successive rolled, O'erspreads the shelving sands.
Victims of violated troth, The Indian chiefs with vengeance wroth, Uprose to stay the flood. Where'er the intruder chose his way, The savage hordes in ambush lay, And deluged him in blood.
8
58
BI-CENTENNIAL OF BRISTOL.
But ah! the pebbles on the shore Cannot repel the sea's uproar, Though countless as the stars ; The feathered shaft, the uncertain bow, Are powerless 'gainst a steel-clad foe In panoply of Mars.
Vanquished in fight, yet undismayed, In a yet deeper everglade, The sachem found retreat; There plumed again his savage horde, And from his lair in wrath outpoured The unguarded host to meet.
At length the Chief, by foes sore-pressed, Here, at his mountain-home sought rest, In counsel with his braves. Before, -the bog with brambles grown, Defies approach like wall of stone, Behind-the ocean laves.
In order, round his rocky throne, High-canopied with vine-clad stone, The solemn conclave meet ; The spring from out whose limpid edge They quaff in nature's wine their pledge, Flows placid at his feet.
Alone upon the mountain's head, Where woods, and plains and seas outspread In beauteous prospect lie, The sentry stands with search intent Graven on every lineament And flashing from his eye.
He sees the hostile scouts afar,- The heralds of advancing war, Stretching from shore to shore, The serpent's coil in deadly ring, The doomed chiefs encompassing, To crush them evermore.
Instant adown the dizzy steep, More swift than startled reindeer's leap, The faithful sentry sped ; His hurrying step the chieftains heard, Nor paused to catch the warning word,- To the deep thicket fled.
59
BI-CENTENNIAL OF BRISTOL.
In the black mire immersed they lay, Eluding then the fierce foray, Each in his grim retreat. But the keen huntsman knew his game, (Descendants bear his honored name In this, his chosen seat.)
He lingered through the live-long night Till, passed away their wild affright, They lit the wigwam fire : - Brought forth their scanty stores forlorn All in the twilight of the morn, To sate their hunger dire.
Then tracked them to the tangled fen, As beasts are baited in their den, And set his marksmen round. And one, in that fierce hunt took part, With vengeful hand and trait'rous heart, A Wampanoag hound.
His recreant arm the death-shot sped, Brought to the dust that royal head, The peerless Metacom. The last and foremost of his race ! Where erst he sought a resting-place, Our fathers found a home.
Doubtless it was the will of Heaven, That o'er the coasts where once was given Welcome to pilgrim band, Their sons, as forest leaves are strewn, Should spread; assuming as their own Dominion of the land.
They brought intelligence and skill The seas to span, the earth to till, To wave the magic rod- Transforming quick the desert wild To home, for Heaven's elected child, A Paradise of God.
Yet lives there one with heart so sere That from his stony eyes, no tear On Indian graves may fall? No pity for an outcast race Upon whose camping-ground, through grace, We hold our Festival?
60
BI-CENTENNIAL OF BRISTOL.
With foothold on th' Atlantic strand, The Briton strove, on every hand, New conquests to secure. The Indian tribes were backward borne, Still struggling with their fate forlorn, Still fated to endure !
O'er stream and mountain-top afar, Pursued by unrelenting war, They took their westward way ; Still following the setting sun, The remnant of the race march on To the oblivious sea.
Swiftly the tide of time has run Since from this coast to Oregon, The red men ruled the land ! Say if two centuries more will leave One living representative Before our sons to stand?
Here in dim days of yore- Six centuries before Saxons sailed these waters o'er ; Norsemen found haven ! Tread we historic ground, Where, on the shores around, Records of them are found On the rock graven.
From the bleak Norway coast, Soon in grey twilight lost, On the seas tempest tost, Launched the bold seamen ! Fear in each bosom slept ; Forth from the strand they swept, While, on the shore, there wept Children and women.
Neath the cold Polar star, Mount they the waves afar, As on triumphal car, Rides the proud hero.
61
BI-CENTENNIAL OF BRISTOL.
Down from the crystal seas, Sweeps the chill northern breeze, Frosts on the voyager seize, Cold-cold below zero!
Still on their westward way, Lit by pale astral ray, O'er the wild waste they stray Groping for Greenland. Veered by the polar wind, Down these coasts forest-lined, Here clustering grapes they find,- Name the shore Vinland.
Skirting this shining bay, Vines spread their rich array, 'Neath them, his roundalay Sang the gay sailor. Over the biting frost- O'er the seas tempest-tost,
O'er the stern rock-bound coast, Sang the prevailer.
Who, 'neath the circling sun, Hath their bold voyage outdone, Brave hundred fifty-one- Thorfin their Viking? He with that Corsair crew O'er the far waters blue Gudrid, the princess, drew, Maid of his liking.
Under his own roof-tree, Sped the time cheerily, In the dark forest, she- Heart's troth unbroken- On her breast, undefiled, Bare the lone Norseman child- Flower of the desert wild- Love's precious token.
Thrice had the pallid sun Stooped o'er the southern zone, Thrice from his height shed down Summer's soft burning- When, tired of Skraelling strife, Weary of exile life, Norsemen, 'mid perils rife, Launch forth returning.
62
BI-CENTENNIAL OF BRISTOL.
Yet, o'er the Arctic main, Ships came and went again, Crossing in proud disdain, Seas that dissever Our Vinland's balmy clime From Iceland's mantling rime ;
But, since that primal time, On this coast maritime, Norsemen dwelt never.
So has it fared, from age to age : Race has supplanted race ; New names are writ on history's page, The new the old replace.
Into the cities Canaan stored, The ruthless Hebrews came ; The Turk now holds them by the sword In false Mahomet's name.
Etruscan soil, Imperial Rome With power and wealth o'erspread ; The Goths despoiled the lofty dome, The crown from Caesar's head.
Saxons and Normans trod, in turn, Britannia's sea-girt shore ; The Druids gone, their altars burn With mystic fires no more.
Under the crust of present life A buried past lies hid, As 'neath fair fields with verdure rife, The cities of the dead.
We dream that we have reached the goal For man's achievement set, And scout the thought that a long roll Of nations follows yet.
May there not rise some nobler stock To stand where we have stood, To leave memorials on the rock, Of still transcendant good?
63
BI-CENTENNIAL OF BRISTOL.
To touch the harmonies that wait In nature's depth, concealed, Till science shall reverberate Religion's truth revealed ;
To know no law save that of love,- The law that rules in Heaven ; To glow in sunlight from above, Through Christ's effulgence given?
To stand in pristine form restored God-like in soul and mien ; At set of sun to meet the Lord, As friends meet on the green?
The heroes of the golden age No pen may now portray ; We may not read th' unwritten page- I chant an humbler lay.
Dear shrine of my heart, bright realm of my childhood ! Where thro' the long vista my memory strays- The shells on the beach, the flowers in the wildwood, The boat on the billow, bring youth's halcyon days.
Unknown to the nations that 'yond the broad ocean In peace or in conflict long ages had passed, Till, bent on adventure, with saint-like devotion, This fair land the Norsemen discovered, at last.
Here flowed the free rivers; the primeval forest O'er valleys and mountains its banner unfurled, Till voyagers, who sought from their wand'ring no rest, Ope'd the gates of a continent wide to the world.
Since in these waters that compass our dwelling, The first sail was furled, the first anchor let fall, Rebuke not the pride in our bosoms now swelling, That we live on the shores most historic of all.
No sprite of the Indian, no wraith of the Norsemen, Confronts us in darkness or vexes our sleep ; We trust in the God whose chariots and horsemen Encompass'd the prophet on Dothan's dark steep.
64
BI-CENTENNIAL OF BRISTOL.
By the arm of the Lord we rest in these borders, Pioneers of religion, advancement and right; The dominion is ours, while, true to our orders, We fulfil our errand and " walk in the light."
See signs of his presence where erst the bold Briton Drave out the rude savage and planted his home ; The dwellings, the churches, the Common we meet on, The raiment we wear, and the fields that we roam.
King Philip again on the crest of his mountain, Surveying the realm he commanded of yore,
Might see the broad bay-might drink from his fountain- All else he once looked on would greet him no more.
To poets of old the rare instinct was given To forecast the future, portray it in song.
To your rhymster, alas ! less favored of Heaven, Just the shades of the past and the present belong.
What glories may crown this fair spot by the sea, When the dial of time shows a century more,
I wist not, I care not, since never to me, Can it boast of a lustre it wore not before.
Could the men, and the beasts, and trees of the wood, Once spell-bound by Orpheus, be held by the Poet, No scene should be changed, no new-fangler intrude, He would crystallize Bristol just as we know it.
No rock should be smitten, no landmark removed, The gray moss on the walls, green sedge on the shore. All, all should remain in the guise we have loved, Mementoes of Eden, preserved evermore.
Generations that crowd on our footsteps, all hail ! We vacate the homestead, our leasehold expires ; If our counsels may guide, or our prayers may prevail, You'll on the old hearths keep alive the old fires.
Montaup looketh down on a landscape serene ; 'Tis a garden the Master entrusts to your care.
Your art may embellish, yet not supervene This perfection of nature in earth, sea and air.
65
BI-CENTENNIAL OF BRISTOL.
The stream from Helicon runs low : The winged horse is jaded now : The Sisters nine have tripped away, And left me halting and astray : Folding his wings on life's far shore, The Cygnet dies, and sings no more !
1. The patent under which Bristol was held was given to four men, John Walley, Nathaniel Oliver, Nathaniel Byfield, and Stephen Burton. These were joined in the course of the year 1680 by twelve other men.
2. Massasoit, the chief Sachem of the Wampanoags, whose range extended from Ply- mouth to Narragansett Bay, was, from the first, very friendly to the English immigrants, and maintained peace with them all his days. At his death he was succeeded by his eldest son, " Wamsutta," to whom the Colonists gave the name " Alexander." In a few months after his accession, rumors reached the English that he was plotting with the Narragan- setts, a large tribe, or nation, on the west of the bay. An armed escort was sent with a summons calling him to appear before the Plymouth authorities. He went, unresisting. In Hubbard's history of Indian wars, it is reported that as he returned to his people, his spirit was so chafed with the indignities to which he had been subjected, that he fell into a fever, of which he died before reaching his destination. The suspicion obtained among his people that he had been poisoned by the whites. Under such circumstances his younger brother, " Metacom," commonly known as King Philip, became the Sachem of his tribe. For a while he bore himself peaceably towards his foreign neighbors. But a sense of wrongs, real or imaginary, was all the while rankling in his breast. And at length a fierce war of extermination was commenced, in which Philip enlisted other tribes besides his own. After repeated disasters, he fell back with a few of his braves, to Mount Hope, his natural fortress, that he might take counsel with them in regard to future operations. His purpose of hostility to the whites and their encroachments, is said to have been so deter- mined, that, when one of his counsellors advocated concession and peace, Philip slew him on the spot. Meanwhile Capt. Benjamin Church, who had already large experience in In- dian warfare, had knowledge of his retreat, and, with a chosen band, drew near to attempt his capture. He might have failed in his effort, had not a brother of the man whom Philip slew for differing from him, bent on revenge, allied himself with Captain Church, and piloted him and his company to the Sachem's hiding place. This occurred on the 12th of August, 1676, four years before the settlement of Bristol. King Philip was killed in the edge of the swamp into which he was fleeing. His seat and spring on the other side of the Mount is familiar to most persons who have visited the locality.
Need help finding more records? Try our genealogical records directory which has more than 1 million sources to help you more easily locate the available records.