USA > Rhode Island > Washington County > Narragansett > South county studies of some eighteenth century persons, places & conditions in that portion of Rhode Island called Narragansett > Part 7
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A Sunday in Old Narragansett
Fight, and the burning of the Bull Block-house, were still thrilling in the minds of the older people, who often repeated by their firesides the story of the terrible manner in which Hezekiah Willett, the squire's uncle, came to his death in the time of Philip's War.
But now the reading-desk is filled by the portly form of Dr. MacSparran, radiant in all the glories of crisp surplice and full flowing wig. With impressive so- lemnity of voice and aspect he conducts the service; while, at each measured pause, the deep rich tones of the congregation raise the rhythmical response, or the music of chant and hymn wanders far out upon the hush of summer noon, to be echoed by the birds from distance to distance, in a thousand varying harmonies. The Doctor is an effective and, so to speak, florid reader; his sermons are always hearable (why is there no such word?) and sometimes are finished, elaborate perform- ances, abounding in classical quotation or allusion. He is an enthusiastic admirer of his great countryman, Dr. Swift, and recently sent to Dublin for the print of him which this morning hangs in his study at the Glebe. To us who know him by tradition, he seems a quaint original, a character of delightfully racy indi- viduality, an egotist, but a not unamiable one. By his contemporaries he was justly viewed in a more serious light, as an able divine, a persevering and resolute mis- sionary, devotedly pursuing his adventurous journeys through the toilsome wilderness intervening between Providence and New London. "Last winter," as he wrote in 1752, "I rode thirty miles upon one contin- ued glaze of ice upon the land, to assist a neighboring clergyman, who was sick. "T is fine traveling," he cheer-
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fully continues, "for one that can sometimes 'light and run, to bring the blood into his feet, and increase the checked circulation." A faithful, unquestioning soldier of his revered Church, in her service,
" A frame of adamant, a soul of fire, No dangers fright him and no labors tire."
And what manner of people are these to whom he has so long ministered in sacred things? Is it not enough to reply that they are the immediate descendants of English country squires and exhibit in a marked de- gree both the virtues and the errors of the parent stock? The blood of the anxious Puritan, of the restless ver- satile Huguenot, is an alien element here. Not so schol- arly, perhaps, as our Massachusetts provincials, of whom the Doctor acutely observes: "They have one college at New Cambridge, and many petty ill-taught grammar schools; yet, under these disadvantages, are a more polite, regular people, than some of their neigh- bors." Among these worthy squires even a false quan- tity would fail to produce any very startling effect, supposing, indeed, that it were possible for such to occur in the somewhat painfully familiar classical frag- ments with which their good rector delights to em- bellish his discourses. Most of them, it is to be feared, parted as willingly from the classics as from their tutors. Certainly not so orthodox as their brethren of Connecticut, among whom the alliterative temptation to call them a "godless generation" sometimes proves too strong to be resisted; yet, with all their faults, how kind-hearted and hospitable, how generous, frank, and honorable they were! Honest, straightforward in all
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their words and deeds, they loved their friends and hated their enemies without reserve; yet found life so enjoyable, that we may well believe the love to have far exceeded the hatred. The country life of the eighteenth century, how simple a thing it was! like hearing sweet, old melodies, that vary from the gay to the pathetic, played again and again in some twilight room, until the quiet listeners pass into a last profound and grateful slumber. If the future historian, who, from the sublime heights of the twentieth century shall re- view the calm tenor of their artless lives, may call them a race of children, how much better will be our own fate in that day, and in what age of the world have not men justly regarded their ancestors as their chil- dren? In the words of one who has carefully studied the traditions of which he writes: "Like the old Eng- lish country gentlemen from whom they descended, they were a fox-hunting, horse-racing, feasting gener- ation"; yet, it is also true of their inner lives, that they were instinctively guided by the lofty rules of rever- ence toward God and justice toward man.
Although a High Churchman and a Tory, the Doctor bears true allegiance to the Protestant succession, and prays with especial fervor and unction "for our most religious and gracious king, George ... and for all the royal family"- while the hearty responses of the people indicate their untroubled loyalty. If any voice is silent, it must be that of the Scotchman, Gilbert Stuart, who has now been a resident of Narragansett for per- haps six years. He is understood to cherish Jacobite principles and sympathies, and by some of his neigh- bors may be shrewdly suspected of knowing more of
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the recent rebellion of '45 than a good subject should. Certain it is, that when his second son, who was des- tined to achieve so splendid and enduring a fame, was born and christened at Narragansett, he bestowed upon him the name of Gilbert Charles Stuart, in faith- ful memory of the young prince so lately exiled from his ancestral home and kingdom.
To-day the Doctor preaches with more than usual force and spirit. The prospect of a European visit af- fords him fresh encouragement, and inspires him with a new interest in life. Two years have already passed since he wrote: "As the shadows lengthen, as the sun grows low, so, as years increase, my longings after Europe increase also. My toils are inexpressible, and age renders them still more intolerable." With a nat- ural desire to meet once more the old associations of home, he has dwelt with a fond pleasure upon the an- ticipations of his visit. "I know," he remarks, with his usual naïveté, in a letter to his relatives, the Reverend Paul and "Cousin Tom" Limrick, "that you would be pleased with the person and accomplishments of my consort, but how you would fancy a full-bodied, fat fellow, like old Archibald of the Hass, I can't tell till I try. God grant we may once see one another!"
The immediate occasion of his journey is the un- favorable conclusion of his lawsuit of thirty years standing with Dr. Joseph Torrey, the Congregational pastor at Narragansett, respecting the title to the tract of three hundred acres reserved by the seven purchas- ers of Pettaquamscutt for the use of an orthodox min- ister, and, to the lasting honor of English jurispru- dence, determined in favor of "the dissenting teacher,"
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who is of the same faith as the original holders of the land. Dr. Torrey's experience in Narragansett was in many respects, peculiar. He came there to practice medicine; soon after obtained Congregational ordina- tion, and, until his death, sixty years after, continued faithful in the duties of his two-fold cure; enjoying an equal degree of acceptance and success, as pastor and physician.
The indomitable will of the rector of St. Paul's re- mains unaffected by this adverse and unexpected de- cision; he even hopes to derive some final advantage from it. It is said, indeed, that during his stay in Lon- don, the American bishopric was offered him, but, well knowing how much bitter prejudice and jealous sus- picion was always aroused among the colonists by the very name of that office, he chose to decline the prefer- ment, in those sensible and manly words for which his memory deserves to be held in perpetual honor : " That he would rather dwell in the hearts of his parish- ioners, than to wear all the bishop's gowns in the world!"
Other reasons, too, may have induced him to set but little value on the rewards of earthly ambition. He was fast approaching the close of all his cares and labors -and he was alone. To-day, as he alludes in solemn and touching words to his intended journey, and asks the prayers of his people for himself and his compan- ion, that they may be preserved from the perils of the great deep, and by the blessing of Heaven may be re- stored in safety to their home and friends, a responsive thrill of tearful sympathy is felt by all the congrega- tion. How profound would be their awe, how keen their emotion, could they foresee how short a time shall pass
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before the daughter of Narragansett is committed to her early grave within the shadow of Westminster Abbey, while their broken-spirited rector must return to them alone, and gather resolution to write in the church records: "Dr. MacSparran having returned from his sorrowful voyage he made to England, where his wife died and lies buried in Broadway Chapel burying-yard, in Westminster." Does the grief of the afflicted husband find some solace in the statement that "the hearse was drawn by six horses, and there were two mourning coaches for the two mourners and the bearers," and that these last were "all but one New England men"? "She was the most pious of women, the best of wives in the world, and died, as she deserved to be, much lamented." A few months more, and his own gloomy prediction that he should fall in a foreign land is fulfilled, and his sorrowing people lay him to rest beneath the altar of his beloved church, where now rises the massive cross of polished granite that, in sim- ple words, fitly commemorates his labors and sacri- fices.
But to-day these scenes and events still belong to the future, and the unconscious throng that listened with eager interest to the thrilling aspirations of the sermon, and knelt in reverential hush to receive the sacred ben- ediction, now rapidly dispersing, leaves the church- yard to keep its breathless trance of quiet undisturbed until the dawning of another Sunday morning.
And while the last flutter of life and motion is lost in the forest shadows; while the faint sound echoed from the tread of a distant multitude eddies for a mo- ment in the air, and then is still, suddenly the ghostly
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light of a buried century fades like a departing dream. Church and priest and people are swept away as by a rising flood. The sound of prayer and psalm recedes into eternal silence. Nothing remains but the ceaseless sighing of the wind in the tall grasses drooping over the ancient gravestones. The heart goes out in fervent pity for these desolate neglected wrecks, scarred, seamed, shattered by the mighty waves of time's viewless ocean. No flowers are ever laid upon these graves. For many years no mourner has leaned tenderly over them. Long ago they passed into the darker shade, the second death, of oblivion. Can the lost memories be found again? Shall life indeed arise from death?
High above the encircling grove mounts up the sweet unconscious song of a bird. It gathers volume and meaning; to the sensitive ear it is fraught with the saddest music of memory and pensive regrets. In a pure and lofty harmony it dwells upon the blameless thoughts, the warm affections, the undying aspirations, which once gathered here, and, borne on the rushing, deepening tide of melody, comes the vision of an eter- nal future. There is a sure message of promise for this sacred spot, sacred, as any spot of earth must be, where humanity has wrought, suffered, loved, and passed peacefully away, in the bright tranquillity of hope- the hope of immortality.
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THE NARRAGANSETT GLEBE
T HE stranger in Narragansett who explores the secluded valley of the Pettaquamscutt, following the stream through all its beautiful windings to its headwaters, is attracted by the sheltered situation and home-like aspect of a spacious old gambrel-roofed house, standing below MacSparran Hill. For many years the home of Dr. James MacSparran, one of the earliest Anglican missionaries to the Colony of Rhode Island, it has been known for more than a century as The Glebe House.
In the records of St. Paul's Church may be found oc- casional brief references to the Glebe, beginning with the date of its purchase by the gentlemen of that par- ish, from the heirs of their late rector. These inherited under the conditions of his will, drawn up previous to his last European journey, during which his wife, who accompanied him, died in London. By this instrument the Doctor, after giving Mrs. MacSparran a life inter- est in his real estate, provides that it shall eventually become the residence of the first missionary bishop of the English Church, whose jurisdiction shall include the Narragansett country, reserving an appropriate spot commanding a varied and extensive view, as the site of a new church and burial ground. But should no bishop arrive within seven years after the death of Mrs. MacSparran, the house and farms should pass to the Doctor's nephew and namesake, and to his wife's brother, Dr. Sylvester Gardiner, of Boston, the devi- sees, who, in 1758, sold the estate which was hence- forth to be held "as a glebe and parsonage for advance-
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ment and behoovement of the present and all succeed- ing ministers of St. Paul's Church in Narragansett, for time immemorial." The principal purchasers, as afterwards enumerated by an incumbent of the parish, were: "John Case, Francis Willett, Thomas Browne, Matthew Robinson, Lodowick Updike, Esquires, and Captain John Browne, of Newport; and Colonel Thomas Hazard, of Boston Neck." The sum of the purchase money was three hundred pounds sterling, "of which Dr. Gardiner, to his honor be it here recorded, gave out of his share or amount of one hundred and fifty pounds sterling, one hundred dollars; to help forward the purchase, or rather to lessen the cost thereof to the parish of St. Paul's. As to the three first named pur- chasers, viz: Case, Willett and Thomas Browne, Es- quires, each of them gave most liberally and gener- ously; and their names are again recorded to their honor, for they signalized themselves in the distinct purchases of said farms, and their donations did not amount to less than Two HUNDRED AND THIRTY DOL- LARS each."
The wardens of the parish, earnestly desiring the presence of an Episcopal missionary in Narragansett, proceed to inform the Society for the Propagation of the Gospel of the successful accomplishment of this affair. "And that we might render the living of St. Paul's worthy the acceptance of gentlemen of character and reputation, whenever in the providence of God it becomes vacant, we shall do everything further that is required of, or may be expected from us. Entreating the Venerable Society to accept this dutiful address, and thanking that honorable and august body in a proper
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and becoming manner for all favors, we beg leave with the greatest deference, duty and regard, to subscribe ourselves your most obedient, devoted, humble servants, John Case, John Gardiner, Wardens."
To this letter the reverend secretary of the society replies favorably, and soon engages in a correspond- ence with Mr. Samuel Fayerweather, rector of Wine- yaw, South Carolina, finally giving him due notice of his appointment to "the church of Narragansett in New England," with a salary of fifty pounds per an- num, the highest then allowed by the society's rules to any missionary. "And the church of Narragansett hath provided what they call a good house and glebe, and obliged themselves by a writing to pay twenty pounds per annum to the rector of their church."
An official communication to the secretary, dis- patched by Mr. Fayerweather, soon after his estab- lishment in Narragansett, states that, unhappily, he has his dwelling in the midst of certain persons who take many occasions of expressing great bitterness against the Church of England. Thus situated he finds it best to be mild and gentle, peaceable and forbearing. He also writes that his parish church is well filled in the warm and moderate seasons, but in winter the congre- gations are small, on account of the extreme cold. He has been urged in imitation of his predecessors, to offi- ciate in his own house in severe weather, but has re- fused to comply till he had obtained the requisite leave.
The reply, which breathes the spirit of the best days of the English church, assures Mr. Fayerweather that the society heartily approves and commends his mild and courteous manner toward the dissenter, which
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is such as the society most sincerely desires may be adopted by all its missionaries. In regard to the Sun- day services, if his church cannot be made warm and comfortable, and his house is large enough for the reception of all who are willing to attend, the poor, as well as those of better rank, he may have permission to officiate there when necessary.
So late as 1820 it was customary for the rectors of St. Paul's to hold occasional services at the Glebe, but since 1842 it has no longer been retained as church property. The succeeding years have not materially altered its aspect. The chance visitor still walks the flaggings and mounts the terraces by the rude, irreg- ular flights of stone steps, which have so often echoed to the firm and energetic tread of Dr. MacSparran. Still in its old place by the gate stands the long disused mounting-block -curious reminder of the manners of the time when the cavalier habits, naturally adopted by the early settlers of a wild, untrodden country, threw a tinge of romance over the quiet lives of our sober sires, so that the wayward imagination persistently in- vests each grave clerk, each prosaic squire, with the spirit of adventure, daring, and chivalry-in fine, with all the fancied attributes of a young Lochinvar! Si- lently, season after season, the lilac hedge lets fall its fragrant blossoms on the turf; but the less hardy shrubs and flowers that once adorned the Glebe garden have slowly withered and died. The wide-spreading orchards of delicious peaches, plums, and pears that clustered on the sunny and sheltered slope of the hill have long since disappeared. Only the apple trees remain among the descendants of the original scions imported by Dr.
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MacSparran from English nurseries, and are yet bright in bloom and jewelled with fruit from year to year.
The interior of the house presents those rough hewn timbers, those massive beams crossing the low ceilings, with the solid paneling, and the elaborate and inac- cessible mantelpieces, which are all of so familiar oc- currence in the simple homes of New England colo- nists. Passing through these wide rooms and noticing the breadth of the cavernous fireplaces, or looking up to meet the frown of the grim black rafters supporting the garret roof, we are aware of a closer companion- ship, not only with the human interests of a vanished century, but even with the remote life of the primitive forest-the life that once endued this long withered trunk, this petrified form, with the changeful grace of motion, and the varied harmony of coloring.
But leaving the thin air of shadowy memories like these, to enquire of the nearer associations thronging this ancient house, we find that it has not yet lost all traces of the strong individuality of its first occupant. Despite some modern alterations, a reverent tradition still restores the ample outline of the principal room, with its sloping floor, and the large and numerous windows by which it received light on three sides. This was the household chapel, where a small congregation fre- quently assembled for social services, during the sever- est winters of the eighteenth century. The guest cham- ber above, of the same spacious proportions, was famil- iar to Smibert, the artist, to the good Dean Berkeley, to Bishop Seabury, Parker, Bass, and other dignitaries of the early church. We fancy their cordial reception at the Glebe, and note with them the honest pride of
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the hospitable Doctor in his new-built house and thriv- ing farm, or listen for the soft gliding rustle that announces the stately and graceful form of Hand- some Hannah-"the beautiful American"-as she was styled by the London world. The years roll away like shrivelled wintry leaves from the buried grass of spring, and the household of that long-past time lives and moves again for us.
It is a fair Sunday morning in May. The early mists have vanished from the blue surface of the Pettaquam- scutt, and Willett's Point, crowned with its tapering firs and pines, rises sharp and clear from the water. Bright drops of dew are still clinging to the orchard blooms, or hidden among the clustering lilacs, while nestled in the sunniest garden-nook, the first hardy spring flowers are dreaming of their English home.
Within, the reverend Doctor has just left his desk, closing it upon the goodly tome of church records, and the smaller manuscript volume in which the passing events of his daily life are minutely noted. With the restless and fiery activity that characterizes him, he rapidly paces the length of the great room serving at once as chapel, study, and parlor, but pauses by the open casement, where the sun shines warm and the wan- dering perfume of the lilac hovers for an instant in the air. Does stern Time himself forget to speed the lin- gering moments of this serene morning? Has he not sought and found a lasting repose in this enchanted spot? Suddenly the sweet spell of silence is broken, as the slow-voiced English clock, "like something start- ing from a sleep," gives solemn warning of the hour, and the Doctor, roused from his brief and unwonted
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reverie, hastily crosses the hall and throws open the staircase door, to remind "Mrs. MacSparran," in tones that bear a slightly authoritative ring, that it is full time for their departure. So presently the worthy couple mount and sedately ride away. Our best wishes attend them, our glances follow them in their distant course, until they finally disappear from sight around the sud- den, sharp curve by which the highway divides the lofty hill still called by their name.
The mingled lights and shadows of many seasons pass swiftly over the Glebe, and it stands revealed in the level glow of a fast sinking sun. The red beacon fires of autumn are kindling from wooded hill to hill, and fallen leaves from the scarlet oaks are driven across the garden paths by fitful gusts of wind, like blazing brands whirled from the grand conflagration. Now the wide hall door swings heavily open and the master of the house comes down the walk to mount his Narra- gansett pacer, that has long been patiently standing at the gate, and lifts his fine head in joyful recognition of his rider, whose cheerful, genial, smiling face can be none other than that of our good old friend, Parson Fayerweather. We may readily divine his destina- tion, by a glance at the freshly written inscription on the fly-leaf of the book he treasures carefully: "Pre- sented to the worthy ESQUIRE WILLETT; by his obliged and affectionate friend Samuel Fayerweather; towhom this volume was given, by HIS LORDSHIP, THE BISHOP OF LONDON, through the hands of HIS EXCELLENCY, GOV- ERNOR BERNARD, in 1763." Although the Parson evi- dently regards this distinguished volume, so graced by courtly associations, with great veneration, our re-
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publican eyes are more critical, and we observe that it is simply a miscellaneous collection of discourses, and is of quite ordinary, not to say plain, appearance. It is much to be feared that His Lordship, of London, when searching his library for some appropriate token of es- teem, to be forwarded to a remote colonial clergyman, was attracted rather toward the obscure closet which held the hopeless assemblage of forlorn, unmated vol- umes, than by the towering shelf, where
"In close compact array,
The Elzevirs their classic wealth display."
But the little gift will be graciously accepted by so good a subject and so staunch a Churchman as Es- quire Willett, the Parson's nearest neighbor and most valued friend. Both host and guest will sit late by the glowing fireplace this chilly October evening, for the present threatening aspect of public affairs involves many omens which command their anxious interest and attention. Loyal sentiments are exchanged; loyal resolutions grow firmer for the hour of friendly inter- course; and the confidential visit only closes when the mellow harvest moon rises over the glittering waters of the Bay. In that sober light the Parson slowly pur- sues his meditative way homeward, and soon all is quietness at the Glebe. As the moon gradually de- clines from the zenith, and at last sinks below the rounded outline of the western hill, the ancient house, now encompassed by the deeper hush of darkness, seems a vision far withdrawn from daily life, and passes into the ghostly realm of dreams and fancies.
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