The remains of this noble-spirited descendant of the Huguenots of Rochelle were deposited, in the Faneuil tomb, in the westerly corner of the Granary Ground. This tomb is of dark freestone, with a freestone slab. Upon the easterly end of the tomb, there is a tablet of slate, upon which are sculptured, with manifest care and skill, the family arms; while, upon the freestone slab, are inscribed, at the top, M. M.—memento mori, of course,—and, at the bottom of the slab—a cruel apology for the old Huguenot patronymic—“Peter Funel. 1742,” and nothing more.
The explanation, which arises, in my mind, of this striking inconsistency, is this: I believe this tomb, whose aspect is simple, solid, and antique, to have been built by Andrew Faneuil, who was a wealthy merchant here as early as 1709: and I think it is quite certain, that the lady, whom he married, in Holland, and whose beauty is traditional, among her descendants, made the great exchange—beauty for ashes—in this very sepulchre. In this tomb, Andrew was buried, by Peter, Feb. 20, 1737, and Peter, by his brother, Benjamin, March 10, 1742, old style, and here Benjamin himself, was laid, after an interval of two-and-forty years, where there is neither work, nor device, nor will, nor codicil.
The arms of Peter Faneuil—I have them before me, at this moment, on his massive, silver pepper-pot—he found a place for them, on many of his possessions, though I cannot say, if on all the articles which came into the possession of Gillam Phillips,—were a field argent—no chevron—a large heart, truly a suitable emblem, in the centre, gules—seven stars equidistant from each other, and from the margin of the escutcheon, extending from the sinister chief to the dexter base—in the sinister base a cross molin, within an annulet—no scroll—no supporters; crest, a martlet.
The arms upon the tomb, though generally like these, and like the arms, on other articles, once Peter’s, and still extant, differ in some important particulars; and seem to have been quartered with those of another family, as the arms of Andrew, being a collateral, might have been. A helmet, beneath the martlet, especially, is wholly different from Peter’s crest. Such precisely are the arms, on the seal of wax, upon Andrew’s will, in the Registry. Hence I infer, that Uncle Andrew built this ancient sepulchre. Arms, in days of old, and still, where a titled nobility exists, are deemed, for the popular eye, sufficient evidence of ownership, without a name. So thought Uncle Andrew; and he left the freestone tablet, without any inscription.
Some five years after the testator’s burial, the tomb was again opened, to let in the residuary legatee. Peter’s was a grand funeral. The Evening Post, of March 3, 1742-3, foretold, that it would be such; but the papers, which, doubtless, gave an account of it, are lost—the files are imperfect, of all those primitive journals. At first, and for years, the resting place of Peter’s remains was well enough known. But the rust of time began to gather upon men’s memories. The Faneuil arms, ere long, became unintelligible, to such, as strolled among the tombs. That “handsome chariot, but nothing gaudy,” with Peter’s armorial bearings upon its panels, no longer rolled along Treamount, and Queen Streets, and Cornhill, and drew up, of a Sabbath morning, before Trinity Church, that brother Peter and the ladies might sit upon their cushions, in No. 40, while brother Addington Davenport gave them a sermon, upon the Apostolical succession. The good people had therefore forgotten all about the Faneuil arms; and, before a great many years had rolled away, the inquiry naturally arose, in popular phraseology—“Whereabouts was it, that Peter Faneuil was buried?”
Some worthy old citizen—God bless him—who knew rather more of this matter than his neighbors, and was well aware, that the arms would be but a dead letter to posterity, resolved to serve the public, and remedy the defect. Up he goes into the Granary Ground, in the very spirit of Old Mortality, and, with all his orthography in his ear, inscribes P. Funel upon the tablet!
No. CXXXII.
“But Simon’s wife’s mother lay sick of a fever.” Mark i. 30. From this text, a clergyman—of the old school—had preached just as many, consecutive sermons, as I have already published articles, concerning Peter Faneuil and his family. A day or two after the last discourse, the bell of the village church was tolled, for a funeral; and a long-suffering parishioner, being asked, whose funeral it was, replied, that he had no doubt it was Simon’s wife’s mother’s; for she had been sick of a fever, for nine weeks, to his certain knowledge. Let the reader possess himself in patience—our dealings with the Faneuils cannot last forever.