Tag Archives: Sir William Pepperrell

Skulls of history in a forgotten tomb

Posted on by
4

Where was he, the most noteworthy man who ever called my town home?

Back and forth I wandered, searching. Where was the life-sized portrait of Sir William Pepperrell?

At the Peabody Essex Museum in Salem, Massachusetts, nobody seemed to know, at least not the two young gallery guards I asked. At last, an older gentleman led me through American Decorative Arts to my baron.

We turned a corner and came upon an entire wall taken up by the portrait, which easily was one of the largest on display at the PEM. But even here, Sir William was largely forgotten, just another guy on the wall.

Sir William Pepperrell, painted in 1745 by John Smibert, to commemorate the successful Siege of Louisbourg.

Sir William Pepperrell, painted in 1745 by John Smibert, to commemorate the successful Siege of Louisbourg, at Cape Breton, Nova Scotia.

Such is the fleeting nature of fame  — even when you were once one of the wealthiest and most famous men in the American colonies, and the only American-born Englishman ever awarded a baronetcy.

Reproductions of this portrait of Colonial William Pepperrell (the rags-to-riches orphan who built the Pepperrell Mansion in the late 1600s) are found in several 19th century histories. I have been unable to locate the name of the artist or the current owner/location of the portrait, which may or may not be that of the first William Pepperrell.

Reproductions of this portrait of the first William Pepperrell are found in several 19th century histories.

The Pepperrells were upstarts start-from-nothing Americans. Sir William’s father, William Pepperrell, came to New England as a teenaged orphan working on a cod fishing boat at the Isles of Shoals, just off the coast of Maine and New Hampshire.

After completing his apprenticeship, young Pepperrell used his earnings to buy his first boat. Eventually, he bought more boats, leased them out, and combined his knowledge of the fishery with his business acumen to build an empire. His 1682 Pepperrell Mansion still dominates Kittery Point’s Pepperrell Cove neighborhood today.

William, his son, expanded the empire and became a colonial real estate magnate, buying up property on Maine’s coast from Kittery to Scarborough. Both father and son, however, did more than count their dollars.  William senior helped to establish establish Kittery’s First Congregational Church, and was active in civic affairs, a legacy continued by his son, who served as a court judge and commanded the local militia.

By the 1740s, Kittery Point had little need for an active militia, as the threat of Indian raids on the coast had faded.  But Britain and France remained engaged in warfare. In 1745, Massachusetts Governor William Shirley, abetted by others, decided that the colonists should try to dislodge the French from their fort at Louisbourg, on Cape Breton Island in Nova Scotia. He asked William Pepperrell (the son) to raise an army of 4,000 men and take command of an expedition upon Louisbourg.

Pepperrell had no military field experience.  When he accepted the command of this inexperienced citizen-soldier army, he knew the outcome was far from certain.

Long story short: After a lengthy siege, Pepperrell’s force, aided by the British Navy, captured the fort, and King George II made him a baronet. The American who had commanded the force that defeated a European army returned home to much acclaim.

Three years later, New Englanders had to swallow a bitter pill when the fort was returned to France as part of a swap for a British fort captured by the French in India. But the Treaty of Aix-la-Chapelle couldn’t take away that fact that the colonials had learned, under Pepperrell, that they could hold their own against professional soldiers – a lesson the next generation remembered 30 years later on the eve of the American Revolution.

Sir William Pepperrell, some say, became an inspiration for New England’s patriots. Conveniently, he passed away in 1759, so he could be remembered for Louisbourg without having to declare himself a Patriot or a Loyalist, as his Loyalist grandson William Pepperrell had to do. In 1774, his fellow citizens recalled Pepperrell as a “great American.”

In the 1730s (or possibly earlier), William built a large tomb for his father – a crypt dug into the side of a hill on a field across from the Pepperrell Mansion. A slab of imported marble capped the tomb, and the first William, who lived into his 80s, was interred there in 1734.  Later, other family members joined the patriarch, including the Hero of Louisbourg.

A postcard depicting the Pepperrell Tomb circa 1910-1920, when the tomb was a tourist attraction for the thousands of visitors who stayed in Kittery’s five Gilded Age hotels.  The trees are no longer standing, but the basic appearance of the tomb today is the same (1908 postcard, creator unknown).

But by the mid-19th century, Sir William’s tomb had fallen into disrepair. Writing in 1875, popular historian Samuel Drake noted that when the tomb was repaired, at the behest of Pepperrell descendent Harriet Hirst Sparhawk, “the remains were found lying in a promiscuous heap at the bottom, the wooden shelves at the sides having given way, precipitating the coffins upon the floor of the vault. The planks first used to close the entrance had yielded to the pressure of the feet of cattle grazing in the common field, filling the tomb with rubbish. About thirty skulls were found in various stages of decomposition.”

These skulls inside the Pepperrell Tomb are likely the remains of different members of the Pepperrell family, including Sir William. The photo, courtesy of the Portsmouth Atheneum, was probably taken by descendent and local historian Joe Frost, as it was found tucked into a book he had given the Atheneum.

These skulls inside the Pepperrell Tomb are likely the remains of various members of the Pepperrell family, including (possibly) Sir William. The photo was probably taken in the 1970s by descendant and local historian Joseph Frost, as it was discovered tucked into a book he had given the Atheneum (Joseph W.P. Frost Collection, Portsmouth Atheneum).

Although the tomb was repaired then, it has repeatedly fallen into a cycle of neglect and renovation. Another source notes that at the turn of the 20th century, young boys played games in and around the tomb.  For many years, the Pepperrell Family Association maintained the tomb, but that organization disbanded in 1937, probably because its members had died, or moved away, or lost interest in a now-distant ancestor. At that time, according to notes and documents in the Frost Collection at the Portsmouth Atheneum, the tomb plot was signed over to a relative in a distant state.

For years, it seems, care of the tomb has depended on happenstance and somebody taking an interest. At the time of Drake’s writing, the proprietor of the Pepperrell Hotel, which overlooked the tomb, took an interest. But because the tomb is sort of an island onto itself, not in a cemetery, not in somebody’s backyard, it is easily forgotten.

At the Kittery Naval and Historical Museum, visitors can look at mourning rings crafted to commemorate the death of Sir William Pepperrell. These rings were worn by relatives and others to show they were in mourning. We should do more of that kind of memorial today, although the cost of purchasing 14K gold rings for a large number of mourners is probably reserved to the 1%, as was likely also the case in 1759.

At the Kittery Naval and Historical Museum, visitors can look at mourning rings crafted to commemorate the death of Sir William Pepperrell. The family distributed these rings to mourners.  I like the idea of this tradition — a small but public display of mourning — although I’m sure the cost of the rings limited the practice to wealthier Americans.

In more recent times, local historian and Pepperrell descendent Joseph Frost (now deceased) corresponded with state officials and others, trying to get a person, a state agency, or some entity to take responsibility for the tomb, to assure that it didn’t again fall into a state of disrepair or neglect (Joseph W. P. Frost Collection, Portmouth Atheneum).

Back in the early 1960s, two people who claimed to represent the disbanded Pepperrell Family Association filed a quit-claim deed signing the lot over to the owner of Frisbee’s Store. He built a parking lot on the lower part of the tomb plot and carried out his obligations, per the deed, to maintain the tomb.  But eventually, the tomb was forgotten again, with brush, grass and trees growing up around it.

I’m still not exactly sure who or what “owns” the tomb, but in 2008, volunteers from the Friends of Fort McClary cleaned up the tomb.  Once again, Kittery’s forgotten hero was remembered. Today, a small American flag and the Union Jack flutter on grassy knoll across the street from Frisbee’s.

I wonder how many years will pass before we forget him again. I know that with volunteers, keeping something going often depends on one or two key people. They get sick, or move away, or die, or just get weary of responsibility.

Is forgetting the tomb an inevitable result of our on-to-go individualistic American lives? I haven’t visited the grave of my paternal grandparents since my grandmother died in the 1970s. I’ve visited the grave of my maternal grandparents once or twice in 15 years. I don’t even know the locations of the graves belonging to my great-grandparents, even though one great-grandmother lived long into my adulthood.

But my great-grandmother didn’t lead an expedition that inspired  a generation of Americans that they had it in them to win a war against a world power.  That’s a man worth remembering.

Front view of the Pepperrell Mansion, looking out towards Pepperrell Cove.

Front view of the Pepperrell Mansion, looking out towards Pepperrell Cove.  The first William Pepperrell built this house, on a plot of land given to him by his father-in-law, John Bray, who lived next door.  Sir William the son  lived here with his family until his death in 1759, when Lady Mary Pepperrell built her own more modern mansion town the street.

PS: Readers, if you know anything more about the tomb, please add your comments or email me, and I will update the information in this post.

Sources and resources

For more on the Pepperrells, I especially recommended the last chapter of my book, Pioneer on a Mountain Bike, along with my posts, “Ghost of a Pepperrell Lady“, “Globalization,circa 1807, curses the Lady Pepperrell House“and “Nathaniel Sparhawk and the Art of Swagger.”

The Kittery Naval and Historical Museum has several Pepperrell artifacts on display, including — possibly — a telescope that William might have used at Louisbourg.

For more on 18th and 19th century mourning rings, see Historic New England’s online exhibit, Not Lost But Gone Before: Mourning Jewelry.

Drake, Samuel Adams.  Nooks and Crannies of the New England Coast. New York: Harper & Brothers, 1875.

 

Tiny travel, big world at the Peabody Essex Museum

Posted on by
Reply

I call this blog The Maniacal Traveler because I have a mania for travel in all its forms.  Visiting museums, wherever they are, is a sort of super-condensed travel, or tiny travel. The Peabody Essex Museum – established by the sea captains of Salem, Massachusetts in 1799, before the notion of a museum even existed — is a tiny travel dream because of its rich history, its amazing collection, and its innovative and quirky special exhibits.

Case in point: Recently, I pulled The Seal out of school to travel to a world of guitar-playing zebra finches in the special exhibit, from here to ear, by French artist Céleste Boursier-Mougenot.

In the exhibit, 70 or so zebra finches fly and flit around a large space and land on various Gibson Les Paul and Thunderbird bass guitars set on posts about three and a half feet off the ground.  When the finches perch and peck on the guitar strings, they make music, of a sort, in a fascinating display of human-animal collaboration.

When we visited, the birds were landing on guitars in singles and the occasional pair, and not in a flock as pictured here. A museum staffer told us they are unpredictable in their behavior, but tend to be the most active when just a few people are in the room (photo from PEM website).

This museum photo shows the birds gathering on the guitar. When we visited, the finches landed in ones or twos on the various guitars, producing some interesting twangs. At one point, a bird pecked at a string, producing something akin to a song. A museum staff member explained that sometimes the birds are more interested in perching and pecking than other times, but what they choose to do is very random (photo from PEM website).

This exhibit, a perfect hook for getting a teenager into the PEM, was pure delight.  After a 30-minute wait, we were led into the aviary-like space where the zebra finches flit about, hang out in their small basket condos, or hop around on the floor.  At times I had to be careful not to step on a bird, although I’m guessing that the finches are adept at avoiding feet.

Finches flew so close to my head that I could feel the wind generated by their flight on my cheek.  At one point, a female pecked at my leather shoes and, finding them hospitable, hopped onto the top of my foot, and began to groom herself.  She hung out there for about five minutes, while a group of males clustered below and chirped for her attention.

No filming or photos of the exhibit are permitted, but this clip from a similar exhibit that Boursier-Mougenot mounted at the Barbican Centre in London shows the birds in their most active mode:

I’m sorry to say that this special exhibit ends on April 13 (and the free-but-timed tickets have been sold out on weekends for a long time), but I will look for Celeste Boursier-Mougenot  and birds in the future, wherever they may land.

I especially liked how the exhibit challenges our ideas about “art.” We often say that we want “out-of-the-box thinking” to build things and solve problems, but when we encounter  such thinking in the world of art, we often dismiss it as gimmick or nonsense. Kudos to Boursier-Mougenot  and his birds for their playful work in breaking the boundaries of artistic boxes.

A related exhibit, “Beyond Human: Artist-Animal Collaborations,” remains open through September. This exhibit features the work of photographer William Wegman, well-known for his whimsical photos of his Weimaraner dogs with costumes and props, as well as that of more obscure artists who do things like work with hissing cockroaches that “paint pictures” or play a Japanese flute in harmony with howling wolfs.  (The artists adhere to specific ethical guidelines in working with their animal collaborators).

William Wegman's "Platform Shoes", 2008, (PEM website).

William Wegman’s “Platform Shoes”, 2008 (PEM website).

My favorite here was German artist Corinna Schnitt’s short video of a floor-level view of animals mingling in the her living room: cows, goats, a donkey, ducks, a parakeet, a cockatoo, a rabbit, and the family cat.  In the background, a llama seemed to be raiding the kitchen.  The exhibition note explained the video might stimulate us to think about our own interactions in similar spaces.

I’m not sure if the film made me think more deeply about mingling at a cocktail party, but it sure was fun.  The ducks seemed like little busybodies, butting into the business of the goats and disturbing the zen of the rabbit.  The cow, frankly, seemed out of her element, especially when she tried to horn in on a conversation between two goats.  The cat calmly sat on a chair, perhaps observing the behavior of her fellow creatures, or perhaps wishing they would all go home.  Now that I think about it, I have been to a few parties like that.

The collections at the PEM originally were generated by the 18th and 19th century world travels of Salem’s sea captains, and include art and artifacts the Far East, the South Pacific, and the Alaskan coast that were preserved and cataloged long before any other Western institution recognized these items as art.

Sir William Pepperrell, painted by John Smibert (sometimes Smybert) in 1746.

Sir William Pepperrell, painted by John Smibert (sometimes Smybert) in 1746.

For me, there’s something amazing and wonderful about looking at art or objects that connect me to the distant past. (I wish I could touch them, but understand why I can’t). In the first floor American Art gallery, the massive 1746 John Smibert portrait of Sir William Pepperrell, the hero of 1745 siege of Louisbourg and  a one-time “king of Kittery,” took my breath away, even if the gallery security guards drew a blank when I asked where his portrait was located. William who?

William had stood for this portrait, had looked at it, had touched it.  At one point, the portrait had hung (I think) in his home–just down the road from my house! And now I was meeting it, in the flesh (in a manner of speaking).

The Yin Yu Tang Chinese house at the PEM deserves its own post, but I will mention it here.  Almost by happenstance, in the late 1990s, when the Museum had an unusual  opportunity to purchase, transport, and rebuild a 200-year-old traditional village merchant’s house, they grabbed it, as part of an ongoing effort to facilitate cultural understanding of China.

In the late 18th century, the house had been carefully assembled in a very complex Lego-like fashion, with each piece carefully labelled.  In 1997-98, museum staffers and their Chinese collaborators carefully disassembled the house down to the last timber, tile, and brick, then transported it in 19 containers to Japan, then to New York, and then by truck to Salem, where it was rebuilt (over several years time) on the Museum grounds. It opened to the public in 2003.

Yin Yu Tang reflects 200 turbulent years of Chinese history, right down to a circa 1960s small speaker that was installed by the government in one of the main rooms to broadcast news and propaganda to the occupants several times a day.

Two lion carvings on the front of the house, intended to ward off evil spirits, were deliberately defaced by the owners during the Cultural Revolution of the late 1960s so as not to attract the attention of authorities who had outlawed such carvings as superstitious.

A wealthy and unloved relative who had taken over certain rooms as payment for a debt was relegated to the second floor after the Communists gave his rooms to two peasant families.  This man, disliked by his relatives for his mean-spirited personality and castigated as an evil “landlord” by the Communists, died of hunger in the house during the famine of 1960.

The website devoted to Yin Yu Tang offers a great preview as well as detailed information about the house, its inhabitants, and the disassembly/reconstruction process.

Thus, in one day, I traveled to a world of esoteric music and animal art, to colonial Kittery, and to China, and even made a quick stop in California circa 1920-1965, to an exhibit on the art and influence of California design.  I spent two hours (roundtrip) in my car, and, thanks to my library pass, $10 on admission fees (kids under 16 are free).  A big world for tiny travel and a good day’s of journey for a maniacal traveler.

The Ghost of a Pepperrell Lady

Posted on by
7
John Singleton Copley rarely painted children, but likely couldn't refuse the commission from Isaac Royall for the portrait of his two daughter. The Royall family amassed a fortune trading slaves and merchandise. By the 1750s, Isaac Royall was one of the wealthiest men in New England.

John Singleton Copley rarely painted children, but likely couldn’t refuse the commission from Isaac Royall Junior for the portrait of his two daughters. The portrait is owned by the Boston Museum of Fine Arts. Click portrait for larger view.

Elizabeth Royall was a royal – a member of New England’s informal royalty.  When she was a tween girl, she and her older sister Mary sat for a young John Singleton Copley when he came to their Medford, Massachusetts house to paint their portrait in 1758.

New England royalty differed from British royalty in that most of the region’s wealthiest families had earned their royal status via a combination of education, commerce and the luck of having arrived first.  Once having attained their status, New England’s royal families maintained it with strategic marriages, lots of social networking, and visits to England to establish and nurture helpful contacts.

Elizabeth’s grandfather Isaac Royall, born to a family of modest means in colonial Maine, kickstarted the family fortune as a merchant mariner who eventually amassed a fortune trading in rum, sugar and slaves. By the 1750s, Elizabeth’s father had inherited the family’s elegant home and farm in Medford and freely enjoyed the fruits of his wealth while continuing to add to his immense fortune.  The Royall family was the largest slaveholder in New England, and the 20-27 slaves they owned (at various periods) supported the Royall lifestyle with their labors in the house and on the farm.

This portrait of Elizabeth and her older sister Mary, according to the Museum of Fine Arts, is designed to show off the family’s wealth and status through both the silk dresses and laces worn by the girls, and the inclusion of their pet dog, a King Charles spaniel then fashionable with English royalty.

Elizabeth and Mary grew up in this Georgian-style mansion that their grandfather had built around a brick farmhouse on the site that originally was owned by colonial Governor John Winthrop. Their father, Isaac Jr., had to flee from Boston during the Revolution and the property was confiscated by the state. During the first months of the war, it was used by Generals Lee, Stark and Sullivan and visited by George Washington.

Elizabeth and Mary grew up in this Georgian-style mansion that their grandfather had built around a brick farmhouse on the site that originally was owned by colonial Governor John Winthrop. Their father, Isaac Jr., had to flee  Boston during the Revolution and the property was confiscated by the state. During the first months of the war, it was used by Generals Lee, Stark and Sullivan and visited by George Washington.

A few years after sitting for the portrait, Elizabeth caught the eye of fellow New England aristocrat, William Pepperrell.  Young William, from Kittery Point, Maine, was the great-grandson of a Welsh orphan who had parlayed a fishing sloop at the Isles of Shoals into a small fortune that was further expanded by the commercial dealings and real estate investments of his son, William Pepperrell, who later achieved fame as the commander of a colonial militia that succeeded in taking the fort at Louisbourg, Nova Scotia, from the French in 1745, service for which King George II awarded him a baronetcy. (The fort, however, was returned to France as part of a post-war territory swap).  Pepperrell’s only son died at age 24. Eventually, Sir William named his grandson William Sparhawk as his heir, on the condition that he change his surname to Pepperrell.

After graduating from Harvard in 1766, young William began to prepare for his role as keeper (and expander) of the family fortune. Exactly how Elizabeth and William met is not known, but as “royal” young people of similar ages, they would have readily crossed paths in the Boston social scene in which both were active. Even though William hailed from Maine, his grandmother Mary Hirst Pepperrell was a Bostonian. In addition to his time at Harvard, it’s likely that as William grew up, he and his siblings spent extended periods of time visiting relatives and friends in the city.

The pair met and fell in love.  Then and now, people tend to end up marrying others of similar social backgrounds, but that didn’t mean that these two young people didn’t feel a spark.  William was 21 when they married in Boston’s Anglican Christ Church on October 24, 1767 (some sources list the date as November 12).  Elizabeth was probably around the same age.   A year later, in the fall of 1768, William left a newly-pregnant Elizabeth and headed off to England to polish and secure connections that could enable the family’s fortunes to thrive.  He stayed aboard for almost two years, missing the July 1769 birth of his daughter Elizabeth, although he was quite thrilled when he finally got to meet her. “I found my little girl finely grown she stands very well & just beings to speak & tho’ I am a very young Papa,” he wrote to Lord Edgecumbe. “I find myself a very fond one.”

Elizabeth wrote him many letters while he was in England.  She didn’t hold back on sharing her feelings.  She missed him.  She felt that the Sparhawk family in Kittery Point, especially her mother-in-law, didn’t like her.  She filled him in on all the royal gossip, such as New Hampshire Governor John Wentworth’s marriage to his cousin Frances ten days after the death of her husband Theodore.  “A good hint to him,” she wrote on November 15, 1768, “of what he may expect, if she outlives him but I think he’ll deserve it.” (As it turns out, Elizabeth’s observation was on target: Frances Wentworth later had a scandalous affair with Prince William Henry, the third son of King George III,  and 20 years her junior, while John was serving as Lieutenant Governor of Nova Scotia).

But when William Pepperrell returned to Boston in the summer of 1770, after almost two years abroad, he found a world turned upside-down.  A series of Parliamentary acts had resulted in protests and boycotts. One-time college buddies had become political activities. People were taking sides, Patriot or Loyalist.  Like many who eventually came to be called “Loyalists,” William was conflicted – he didn’t like many of the laws passed by the British parliament — but he also didn’t countenance rebellion.

In 1774, William wrote letters to British figures such as Parliament member Edgecumbe and Prime Minister Lord North, urging conciliation and peaceful resolutions.  By 1774, however, the royal government had gutted the charter of Massachusetts. The elected Council on which William served was dissolved and replaced with a Council of appointed men.  William elected to not to resign, as so many others had done, and was branded as a Loyalist with a capital L, even though the title didn’t truly fit.

These years of stressful politics, however, were probably happy ones at home.  Elizabeth had three additional children, Mary, Harriot, and William, in the five years after William’s return from England. Baby William, their fourth son, was born in the summer of 1775.  By now, the Revolution had begun. Thanks to their costly victory at the Battle of Bunker Hill, the British still held Boston, but the town was blockaded by land.  Food and other supplies were scarce. For the Pepperrells, the world of luxury and privilege they had always taken for granted no longer existed.  But they had each other.

Then in September Elizabeth came down with a fever, sore throat, and a bad case of dysentery. Three weeks later, she was dead, and William became the single parent of four young children (including his two-month-old infant son).  William also took ill and almost died, but recovered, although he wrote to his mother that he wished not to.  Did Elizabeth contract cholera or typhoid fever? A virulent strain of influenza?  A bad case of food poisoning?  The cause is uncertain.

William blamed the war and the food shortages that resulted in a diet heavy with salted meat.  “But I still breath,” William wrote to his mother Elizabeth Sparhawk, in November 1775. “Love I never can again, till my soul is rewedded to that of my dear Betsy’s in the Joy of praising God forever.” She was, he wrote, “my deceased Friend & the worthiest of women.”

In the spring of 1776, grief-stricken and subject to arrest if he stayed in Boston, William, with his four children, set sail for England, where he became a leader of American Loyalists and an advocate for America prisoners-of-war.  By legislative act, all of his property was confiscated by the state of Massachusetts. He never returned to the U.S., nor did any of his children. (His Sparhawk brothers, however, eventually returned to Kittery).

In 1779, Copley painted this portrait of the Pepperrell family in London. The portrait (which is owned by the North Carolina Museum of Art) recalls happier times, as Elizabeth had been dead for three years.

In 1779, Copley painted this portrait of the Pepperrell family in London. The portrait (which is owned by the North Carolina Museum of Art) recalls happier times, as Elizabeth had been dead for three years.  Click on portrait for larger view.

Also living in London was Boston painter John Singleton Copley, who had moved there for artistic reasons.  In 1778, Copley painted his second portrait of Elizabeth Royall  — a portrait of her ghost.  In a family portrait commissioned by William, Copley depicts a happy family, the six Pepperrells, including Elizabeth, at the peak of her beauty and fashion, but dead now for three years.

As with most colonial women, the historical record provides only glimpses of Elizabeth.  Although her marriage to William is recorded, I have not found a record of her birth or death, or the location of her grave.  But she did leave us her voice, in letters that she wrote to William while he was in Europe; the Portsmouth Atheneum holds a transcribed collection of them.  The letters are chatty, sometimes petulant, loving, impatient, and brainy. Sometimes Elizabeth seems like a flighty young woman – after all, she was young, pregnant, and probably bored at her parents’ Medford home. But the letters also demonstrate that beneath the beauty lay a rigorous brain, as she asks William to bring home the latest books by scientists and philosophers.

What is most amazing about the letters is that they exist at all. William’s letters to her do not survive, although Elizabeth’s letters suggest that he wrote many.  As Henry Knox’s cannons set their sites on Boston, and Loyalists hurriedly packed up to evacuate with the British Army, William carefully packed up the letters, by then already almost ten years old.  The letters travelled to England, and then from one set of lodgings to another.  Did William take them out from time to time to read them again, and hear her voice? Did he share them with his sons and daughters, to help them know the mother they had lost so young?

The letters survive today, in a private collection in England, as do Pepperrell’s descendants.  William never re-married.  All of his children fared well, with good careers and marriages. In his older years, William was comfortable, though no longer well. Never again would he watch sloops cruise past Kittery Point up the Piscataqua River to Portsmouth.  Nor would he marry.

William was just shy of thirty when his wife died, and he lived to be 70. When he lost the love of his life, he still had his entire life ahead of him.  Why didn’t he marry again, at a time when many young men lost their wives (usually in childbirth) and remarriage was routine? Was William preoccupied with his work and with raising his children?  Was he not an attractive prospect because of his vastly reduced circumstances? Did he have flirtations and dalliances, or maybe a housekeeper/companion that shared his bed, if not his title?  Or did William decide that no woman could ever replace Elizabeth in the family portrait?

In politics, Sir William was conflicted, a loyalist with a small “l”.  In love, it seems, he earned his true title as Loyalist.

Sources and resources

Transcribed copies of Elizabeth Royall’s letters can be viewed at the Portsmouth Atheneum (although you have to go there in person to look at the letters).

For additional information on the portrait of Mary and Elizabeth Royall, visit the Boston Museum of Fine Arts.

For additional information on the Copley portrait, Sir William Pepperrell and his family, visit the North Carolina Museum of Art.

The Royall House and Slave Quarters, in Medford, Massachusetts, is open on the weekend for tours from May through October.   A beautiful location, and a secret hidden gem.  The slave quarters are the only extent slave housing in New England.

For more detailed information on William’s status as a “loyalist” (small “l”), see “A ‘Great National Calamity’: Sir William Pepperrell and Isaac Royall, Reluctant Loyalists,” by Colin Nicolson and Stuart Scott, in the Historical Journal of Massachusetts Volume 28, No. 2
(Summer 2000).