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OF all the romantic
narratives which enliven the pages of early colonial history, none appeals more
directly to the interest and imagination of the lover of what is picturesque
than the story of Agnes Surriage, the Maid of Marblehead. The tale is so
improbable, according to every-day standards, so in form with the truest
sentiment, and so calculated to satisfy every exaction of literary art, that
even the most credulous might be forgiven for ascribing it to the fancy of the
romancer rather than to the research of the historian.
Yet when one
remembers that the scene of the first act of Agnes Surriage's life drama is laid
in quaint old Marblehead, the tale itself instantly gains in credibility. For
nothing would be too romantic to fit Marblehead. This town is fantastic in the
extreme, builded, to quote Miss Alice Brown, who has written delightfully of
Agnes and her life, "as if by a generation of autocratic landowners, each with a
wilful bee in his bonnet."1 For Marblehead is no misnomer, and the
early settlers had to plant their houses and make their streets as best they
could. A s a matter of. stern fact, every house in Marblehead had to be like the
wise man's in the Bible: "built upon a rock." The dwellings themselves were
founded upon. solid ledges, while the principal streets followed the natural
valleys between. The smaller dividing paths led each and every one of them to
the impressive old Town House, and to that other comfortable centre of social
interests, the Fountain Inn, with its near-by pump. This pump, by the bye, has
a very real connection with the story of Agnes Surriage, for it was here,
according to one legend, that Charles Henry Frankland first saw the maid who is
the heroine of our story.
The gallant Sir
Harry was at this time (1742) collector of the port of Boston, a place to which
he had been appointed shortly before, by virtue of his family's great influence
at the court of George the Second. No more distinguished house than that of
Frankland was indeed to be found in all England at this time. A lineal
descendant of Oliver Cromwell, our hero was born in Bengal, May 10, 1716,
during his father's residence abroad as governor of the East India Company's
factory. The personal attractiveness of Frankland's whole family was marked. It
is even said that a lady of this house was sought in marriage by Charles the
Second, in spite of the fact that a Capulet-Montague feud must ever have existed
between the line of Cromwell and that of Charles Stuart.
Young Harry, too,
was clever as well as handsome. The eldest of his father's seven sons, he was
educated as befitted the heir to the title and to the family estate at Thirkleby
and Mattersea. He knew the French and Latin languages well, and, what is more to
the point, used his mother tongue with grace and elegance. Botany and
landscape-gardening were his chief amusements, while with the great literature
of the day he was as familiar as with the great men who made it.
As early as 1738,
when he was twenty-two, he had come into possession of an ample fortune, but
when opportunity offered to go to America with Shirley, his friend, he accepted
the opening with avidity. Both young men, therefore, entered the same year
(1741) on their offices, the one as Collector of the Port, and the other as
Governor of the Colony. And both represented socially the highest rank of that
day in America.
"A baronet," says
Reverend Elias Nason, from whose admirable picture of Boston in Frankland's
time all writers must draw for reliable data concerning our hero, "a baronet was
then approached with greatest deference; a coach and four, with an armorial
bearing and liveried servants, was a munition against indignity; --in those
dignitaries who, in brocade vest, gold lace coat, broad ruffled sleeves, and
smallclothes, who, with three-cornered hat and powdered wig, side-arms and
silver shoe buckles, promenaded Queen Street and the Mall, spread themselves
through the King's Chapel, or discussed the measures of the Pelhams, Walpole,
and Pitt at the Rose and Crown, as much of aristocratic pride; as much of
courtly consequence displayed itself as in the frequenters of Hyde Park or
Regent Street."
This, then, was the
manner of man who, to transact some business connected with Marblehead's
picturesque Fort Sewall, then just a-building, came riding down to the
rock-bound coast on the day our story opens, and lost his heart at the Fountain
Inn, where he had paused for a long draught of cooling ale.
For lo! scrubbing
the tavern floor there knelt before him a beautiful child-girl of sixteen, with
black curling hair, dark eyes, and a voice which proved to be of bird-like
sweetness when the maiden, glancing up, gave her good-day to the gallant's
greeting. The girl's feet were bare, and this so moved Frankland's compassion
that he gently gave her a piece of gold with which to buy shoes and stockings,
and rode thoughtfully away to conduct his business at the fort.
Yet he did not
forget that charming child just budding into winsome womanhood whom he had seen
performing with patience and grace the duties that fell to her lot as the poor
daughter of some honest, hard-working fisherfolk of the town. When he happened
again to be in Marblehead on business, he. inquired at once for her, and then,
seeing her feet still without shoes and stockings, asked a bit teasingly what
she had done with the money he gave her. Quite frankly she replied, blushing the
while, that the shoes and stockings were bought, but that she kept them to wear
to meeting. Soon after this the young collector went to search out Agnes's
parents, Edward and Mary Surriage, from whom he succeeded in obtaining
permission to remove their daughter to Boston to be educated as his ward.
When one reads in
the old records the entries for Frankland's salary, and finds that they mount up
to not more than £100 sterling a year, one wonders that the young nobleman
should have been so ready to take upon himself the expenses of a girl's elegant
education. But it must be remembered that the gallant Harry had money in his
own right, besides many perquisites of office, which made his income a really
splendid one. Certainly he spared no expense upon his ward. She was taught
reading, writing, grammar, music, and embroidery by the best tutors the town
could provide, and she grew, daily, we are told, in beauty and maidenly charm.
Yet in acquiring
these gifts and graces she did not lose her childish sweetness and simplicity,
nor the pious counsel of her mother, and the careful care of her Marblehead
pastor. Thus several years passed by, years in which Agnes often visited with
her gentle guardian the residence in Roxbury of Governor Shirley and his gifted
wife, as well as the stately Royall place out on the Medford road.
The reader who is
familiar with Mr. Bynner's story of Agnes Surriage will recall how delightfully
Mrs. Shirley, the wife of the governor, is introduced into his romance, and will
recollect with pleasure his description of Agnes's ride to Roxbury in the
collector's coach. This old mansion is now called the Governor Eustis House, and
there are those still living who remember when Madam Eustis lived there. This
grand dame wore a majestic turban, and the tradition still lingers of madame's
pet toad, decked on gala days with a blue ribbon. Now the old house is sadly
dilapidated; it is shorn of its piazzas, the sign "To Let" hangs often in the
windows, and the cupola is adorned with well-filled clothes-lines. Partitions
have cut the house into tenements; one runs through the hall, but the grand old
staircase and the smaller one are still there, and the marble floor, too, lends
dignity to the back hall. A few of the carved balusters are missing, carried
away by relic hunters. In this house, which was the residence of Governors
Shirley and Eustis, Washington, Hamilton, Burr, Franklin, and other notables
were entertained. The old place is now entirely surrounded by modern
dwelling-houses, and the pilgrim who searches for it must leave the Mount
Pleasant electric car at Shirley Street.
Yet, though Agnes as
a maid was received by the most aristocratic people of Boston, the ladies of
the leading families refused to countenance her when she became a fine young
woman whom Sir Harry Frankland loved but cared not to marry. That her protector
had not meant at first to wrong the girl he had befriended seems fairly certain,
but many circumstances, such as the death of Agnes's father and Frankland's own
sudden elevation to the baronetcy, may be held to have conspired to force them
into the situation for which Agnes was to pay by many a day of tears and Sir
Harry by many a night of bitter self-reproach.
For Frankland was
far from being a libertine. And that he sincerely loved the beautiful maid of
Marblehead is certain. He has come down to us as one of the most knightly men of
his time, a gentleman and a scholar, who was also a sincere follower of the
Church of England and its teachings. Both in manner and person he is said to
have greatly resembled the Earl of Chesterfield, and his diary as well as his
portrait show him to have been at once sensitive and virile; quite the man,
indeed, very effectually to fascinate the low-born beauty he had taught to love
him.
The indignation of
the ladies in town toward Frankland and his ward made the baronet prefer at this
stage of the story rural Hopkinton to censorious Boston. Reverend Roger Price,
known to us as rector of King's Chapel, had already land and a mission church in
this village, and so, when Boston frowned too pointedly, Frankland purchased
four hundred odd acres of him, and there built, in 1751, a commodious
mansion-house. The following year. he and Agnes took up their abode on the
place. Here Frankland passed his days, contentedly pursuing his horticultural
fad, angling, hunting, overseeing his dozen slaves; and reading with his
intelligent companion the latest works of Richardson, Steele, Swift, Addison,
and Pope, sent over in big boxes from England.
The country about
Hopkinton was then as to-day a wonder of hill and valley, meadow and stream,
while only a dozen miles or so from Frankland Hall was the famous wayside Inn.
That Sir Harry's Arcady never came to bore him was, perhaps, due to this last
fact. Whenever guests were desired the men from Boston could easily ride out to
the inn and canter over to the Hall, to enjoy the good wines and the bright talk
the place afforded. Then the village rector was always to be counted on far
companionship and breezy chat. It is significant that Sir Harry carefully
observed all the forms of his religion, and treated Agnes with the respect due
a wife, though he still continued to neglect the one duty which would have made
her really happy.
A lawsuit called the
two to England in 1754. At Frankland's mother's home, where the eager son
hastened to bring his beloved one, Agnes was once more subjected to martyrdom
and social ostracism. As quickly as they could get away, therefore, the young
people journeyed to Lisbon, a place conspicuous, even in that day of moral
laxity, for its tolerance of the alliance
libre. Henry Fielding (who died in the town) has photographically described
for all times its gay, sensuous life. Into this unwholesome atmosphere, quite
new to her, though she was neither maid
nor wife, it was that the sweet Agnes was thrust by Frankland. Very soon
he was to perceive the mistake of this, as well as of several other phases of
his selfishness.
On All Saint's Day
morning, 1755, when the whole populace, from beggar to priest, courtier to
lackey, was making its w. ay to church, the town of Lisbon was shaken to its
foundations by an earthquake. The shock came about ten o'clock, just as the
Misericordia of the mass was being sung in the crowded churches; and Frankland,
who was riding with a lady on his way to the religious ceremony, was immersed
with his companion in the ruins of some falling houses. The horses attached to
their carriage were instantly killed, and the lady, in her terror and pain, bit
through the sleeve of her escort's red broadcloth coat, tearing the flesh with
her teeth. Frankland had some awful moments for thought as he lay there pinned
down by the fallen stones, and tortured by the pain in his arm.
Meanwhile Agnes,
waiting at home, was prey to most terrible anxiety. As soon as the surging
streets would permit a foot passenger, she ran out with all the money she could
lay hands on, to search for her dear Sir Harry. By a lucky chance, she came to
the very spot where he was lying white with pain, and by her offers of abundant
reward and by gold, which she fairly showered on the men near by, she succeeded
in extricating him from his fearful plight. Tenderly he was borne to a
neighbouring house, and there, as soon as he could stand, a priest was summoned
to tie the knot too long ignored. He had vowed, while pinned down by the weight
of stone, to amend his life and atone to Agnes, if God in his mercy should see
fit to deliver him, and he wasted not a moment in executing his pledge to
Heaven. That his spirit had been effectually chastened, one reads between the
lines of this entry in his diary, which may still be seen in the rooms of the
Massachusetts Historical Society in Boston: "Hope my providential escape will
have a lasting good effect upon my mind."
In order to make his
marriage doubly sure, he had the ceremony performed again by a clergyman of his
own church on board the ship which he took at once for England. Then the newly
married pair proceeded once more to Frankland's home, and this time there were
kisses instead of coldness for them both. Business in Lisbon soon called them
back to the Continent, however, and it was from Belem that they sailed in April,
1750, for Boston, where both were warmly welcomed by their former friends.
In the celebrated
Clarke mansion, on Garden Court Street, which Sir Harry purchased October 5,
1756, for £1,200, our heroine now reigned queen. This house, three stories high,
with inlaid floors, carved mantels, and stairs so broad and low that Sir Harry
could, and did, ride his pony up and down them, was the wonder of the time. It
contained twenty-six rooms, and was in every respect a marvel of luxury. That
Agnes did not forget her own people., nor scorn to receive them in her fine
house, one is pleased to note. While here she practically supported, records
show, her sister's children, and she welcomed always when he came ashore from
his voyages her brother Isaac, a poor though honest seaman.
Frankland's health
was not, however, all that both might have wished, and the entries in the
diaries deal, at this time, almost entirely with recipes and soothing drinks.
In July, 1757, he sought, therefore; the post of consul-general to Lisbon,
where the climate seemed to him to suit his condition, and. there, sobered city
that it now was, the two again took up their residence. Only once more, in 1763,
was Sir Harry to be in Boston. Then he came for a visit, staying for a space in
Hopkinton, as well as in the city. The following year he returned to the old
country, and in Bath, where he was drinking the waters, he died January 2, 1768,
at the age of fifty-two.
Agnes almost
immediately came back to Boston, and, with her sister and her sister's children,
took up her residence at Hopkinton. There she remained, living a peaceful,
happy life among her flowers, her friends, and her books, until the outbreak of
the Revolution, when it seemed to her wise to go in to her town house. She
Entered Boston, defended by a guard of six sturdy soldiers, and was cordially
received by the officers in the beleaguered city, especially by Burgoyne, whom
she had known in Lisbon. During the battle of Bunker Hill, she helped nurse
wounded King's men, brought to her in her big dining-room on Garden Court
Street. As an ardent Tory, however, she
was persona non grata in the
colony, and she soon found it convenient to sail for England, where, until 1782,
she resided on the estate of the Frankland family.
At this point, Agnes
ceases in a way to be the proper heroine of our romance, for, contrary to the
canons of love-story art, she married again, Mr. John Drew, a rich banker, of
Chichester, being the happy man. And at Chichester she died in one year's time.
The Hopkinton home
fell, in the course of time, into the hands of the Reverend Mr. Nason, who was
to be Frankland's biographer, and who, when the original house was destroyed by
fire (January 3, 1858), built a similar mansion on the same site. Here the
Frankland relics were carefully preserved, the fireplace, the family portrait
(herewith reproduced), Sir Harry's silver knee buckles, and the famous
broadcloth coat, from the sleeve of which the unfortunate lady had torn a piece
with her teeth on the day of the Lisbon disaster. This coat, we are told, was
brought back to Hopkinton by Sir Harry, and hung in one of the remote chambers
of the house, where each year, till his departure for the last time from the
pleasant village, he was wont to pass the anniversary of the earthquake in
fasting, humiliation, and prayer. The coat, and all the other relics, were lost
in April, 1902, when, for the second time, Frankland Hall was razed by fire.
The ancient Fountain
Inn, with its "flapping sign," and the "spreading elm below," long since
disappeared, and its well, years ago filled up, was only accidentally
discovered at a comparatively recent date, when some workmen were digging a
post hole. It was then restored as an interesting landmark. This inn was a
favourite resort, legends tell us, for jovial sea captains as well as for the
gentry of the town. There are even traditions that pirates bold and smugglers
sly at times found shelter beneath its sloping roof. Yet none of the many
stories with which its ruins are connected compares in interest and charm to the
absolutely true one given us by history of Fair Agnes, the Maid of Marblehead.
1
"Three Heroines of New England Romance." Little, Brown & Co.
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