"More than one hundred and fifty years ago a Scottish emigrant wrote his name in a manuscript book, which he brought with him to this country: "Jacobus Breakenridge, 1715." This little book contained also the scale and rudiments of music and the record that it was "writ and taught" by Robert Cairnes Glenreavoll. Later it became a sort of diary or memorandum book. Its owner was married in 1720, and the births of his children were minutely recorded, giving the time of the moon as well as the year, month, day, hour and minute. On one page was written, "We departed from Ireland July 16, 1727." When Jacobus and Sarah, his wife, left home they had three little sons. To the second of these, William, born September, 1723, thanks are due for two happy October days in 1895, the date of the excursion. And this is the way it came about: William was brought with the other children to the "Country of Hampshire, Province of Massachusetts Bay," where he grew to manhood and married Agnes Sinclair, who had been his little playmate on the emigrant ship. He and his young wife took up a thousand acres adjoining Jacobus Breakenridge's tract, and here the other day in the same "happy autumn fields" their children of the fifth and sixth generation ran and laughed and sang, giving thanks for life and strength and hope.
"Spring is full of promise, but autumn thoughts are retrospective. Walking over those paternal hills, under elm and chestnut trees planted by hands, ashes long since, it was natural, it was fitting, that the "true stories" of the past heard in childhood should come flocking to the mind of the present. One may be more vivid than the rest of this same young wife, Agnes. It was first told by herself as against herself, and then from one to another until it came to me. The thousand acres was no small tract for two young people to take up. They comprised only barren meadows and stretches of woodland that had never heard the axe. Soon after the young couple had settled in their new cabin it was necessary for the husband to go back to his old home for some young stock. He might be gone until late or even all night. He was solicitous for his wife and dreaded leaving her alone. He urged her to have on Rachel Simonds from the settlement above keep her company. But in the brightness of the morning Agnes laughed at her husband's fears, or would not yield her place as the brave wife of a pioneer. She bade him good-bye with many a gay word and smile. But, alas! as night came on she grew "lonely and fearsome", and as the darkness increased, rather than stay solitary in the cabin, she crept out and into the shed with the cow. The presence of another living creature comforted her and it did not seem long before she heard teh loud voice of her husband (was it made louder than ever as a signal for courage?) calling to his cattle. The trembling woman hastened back to her proper place and concealed all signs of trepidation, to the comfort of her husband. Much of the success of the future depended on her keeping a brave front.
"She lived to add her name to the other brave women of '76 who let husband or sons go forth to war, while they faced the situation at home alone. The thousand acres which she helped to make fertile she lived to see portioned among her sons and to have their children about her knee. She reached her three score years and ten beloved and honored. Looking across the fields which had once filled her eyes with their beauty I could see her grave on the lonesome hillside. On her tombstone is written:
"Memento More. In memory of Mrs. Agnes,
the amiable consort of Captain William Breakenridge,
who died March 19, 1789, in the seventieth year of her age.
Her virtues would a monument supply,
But underneath this stone her ashes lie."
"When an invitation was received from Agnes Breakenridge's grand-daughter to spend a day among those paternal hills chestnutting, old and young blood was stirred and no delay made about reaching there. "It was late in mild October" and all effort rewarded by the delightful ride over roads (not streets), where grass grew between the wheel tracks, looking" on corn fields and orchards and softly pictured wood," passing many a "brown old farmhouse and hamlet without name until we were set down on a corner of the thousand acres and greeted with old-fashioned warmth. As for the chestnutting itself, what fun as well as work! It reminded one of what Dr. Arnold of Rugby fame said, speaking from his experience of a school: "Heaven knows", said he, "that the difference between one man and another is not mere ability, it is energy." And so it was in the nut-gathering. Those who poked the ground diligently and threw missiles vigorously were the ones who showed the best results. To be sure, "the hired man" was sent with us to "club the branches". That used to be the method pursued in education, contrary, however, to Dr. Arnold's theories.
"Looking from my fellow-grubbers back to the serene heights of the hill pasture, I was reminded of the Delectable Mountains which Prudence, Piety and Charity showed Christian, and which are continualy before us all if we will only raise our eyes to look at them, and from which, when once attained, we may see "the gates of the Celestial City". That my ancestors were made blind to the beauty about them by toil and hardship I cannot believe. These latter conditions are comparatively unknown to the present descendants of New England stock. The skill in art and literature instead,, the energy of mind in place of the energy of body once demanded, surely had roots somewhere. Agnes Breakenridge had at her commany a very little library. "Henry's Commentary" in huge folio, "The Greater Catechism," a set of Scott's Bibles, and a "Bayley's Dictionary", as great a treasure then as Webster's unabridged is now. These were some of the few. And yet what do we find today? The intellectual leaven of that pioneer home working through the years has produced ability linked with the old time energy and sends from those hill farms shining lights to high places as well as those illuminating more obscure corners of the world."
Thus we know that Jacobus Breakenridge was the first generation in this country, and William, his son, born 1723 was the second generation. William and Agnes Sinclair Breakenridge had eight children. James, who was born in 1752 was the second son and the one from which we are descended. He married Priscilla Coney. He had the sound end of his father's thousand acres for his homestead. It took him several years to clear his land and get his house built, on which he did a great deal of work himself. He was a natural mechanic but his taste was for woodwork and he had a shop at the end of his cider mill where he made spinning wheels, reels, etc. Farm wagons, carts, sleds, etc. were also in his line of work, and a little coopering, such as making tubs and barrels. The one who compiled all this information said, 'No wonder that his sons and grandsons have taken to mechanics and in several instances have shown quite a genius for invention."
The following has been recorded in regard to him, "In 1800 when the bell tower and cupola were attached to the new church, just built, it was to be done by private effort without expense to the town. The corner posts were solid timbers, extending from the underpinning up above the bell deck; three of them were prepared; where the fourth was to come from was a puzzle till grandfather heard of a tall white pine in the edge of Belchertown. So one morning about sunrise he took his axe, broad axe, etc., and went over there on horseback. He cut down the tree, scored and hewed it about sixteen inches square at the butt, cut his initials "J.B." onit and got home about sundown." The relater of this anecdote says he found the "J.B." on the timeber when the steeple was taken down in 1843.
When his youngest son was married in 1827, his parents were too inform (sic) to go to the wedding. The bride had been left fatherless in childhood and deeply felt the want of a father's house and home, and it moved her to the core of her heart to have her husband's father say, as she came over the threshold, "My daughter, I bid you welcome." For only a year did she enjoy this late found kindness, as he died Dec. 10, 1828, aged 76.
The fourth generation brings us to Allender, second son of James and Priscilla Coney Brakenridge. From him we are directly descended. He was born January 11, 1785 and married Esther, daughter of Captain Elijah Perr,y of Ware, Massachusetts. Allender and his brother, James Brakenridge settled on the Perry farm, about a mile north of Ware Center. Both families lived in the house which was built in the old style with two front rooms. James had the north part and lived there till his death. When the factory village began to be settled Allender was employed there in the building of the works. He was a wheelwright and carpenter, and took up one of the free lots and built a house on it for his family and lived there the remainder of his life.
Mrs. Esther Brakenridge was so unfortunate as to lose her reason after the death of her third child and was never fully rational again while she lived, a period of more than thirty years. The patience, forebearance and tender indulgence of her husband through all these trying years were worthy of all praise and were unfailing to the end.
Allender was connected with the Sunday School work from its beginning and was for several years Superintendent; was active in the "Temperance Reformation." He was sent to the Legislature in 1832. He and his brother James were Captain and Lieutenant of an independent military company, probably the first organized in town. It was short lived, but militry titles generally stick, and "once Cap'n allus Cap'n". In the war of 1812 he was one of a drafted company of soldiers from Ware. They went into camp near Boston, but peace was declared before they were called into action.
The fifth generation brings us to Josiah Carey Brakenridge, born February 28, 1821, son of Allender and Esther Perry Brakenridge. He married November 20, 1844, Frances Augusta Bradley of Meriden, Connecticut.
In the fall of 1840 and winter of '41 Josiah Carey Brakenridge was a student at Wesleyan Academy at Wilbraham, Massachusetts. In the spring of '41 he went to Boston and was for two years clerk in the carpet store of Ballard & Prince. Stopping at Meriden, Connecticut, to see his brother, Allender Coney Brakenridge, then in the employ of Pratt & Co., at the ivory works, he was offered a situation in the cutlery works of Pratt, Ropes & Co., a business recently transferred from Saccarappa, Maine to Meriden, Connecticut. He began at first as an ordinary hand, was soon made foreman, and continued with the company until he death in 1870, aged 49 years. In 1855 the methods of the business were remodelled and he became a shereholder, was elected a director and superintendent and continued to hold both positions while he lived. Their table cutlery, in all varieties, finished with ivory, bone, horn, South American wood, etc., obtained great popularity and extensive sales, and the building up of the business was in a good degree due to his talent and energy. His daughter, Frederica Corinne, recalled that "At the time of the Civil War the directors of the Cutlery Co. said 'Close the Factory; lock the doors! no hope! '- My father stood alone, saying 'Never! the old men and boys left here must have work to care for those left in their care.' He won. After the successful ending of the war, the Coompany sold all that had been made and stored, and more. The firm increased in prosperity until his death."
He built a handsome residence north of the factories, where his life very suddenly closed by rheumatism of the heart. He was a man of attractive manners, genial and friendly with his companions, respected and beloved by the working people, so that many years after his death some said, "Nobody has ever cared how we got along since he died. We don't have nobody to go to for an advice since Mr. Brakenridge died. Mr. Brakenridge's family never could have missed him more than the people of the village did."
In my posession is the following letter written on black bordered paper by his widow, Frances Augusta, to his father, Allender Brakenridge, Ware Massachusetts.
Dear Father - May 5, 1870
Just twenty-five years have gone since I visited your home for the first time in company with my young husband. Now, if I ever visit you again, it must be alone for Carey has gone before me to his better home. In these early hours of my widowhood my thoughts have gone back to the early years of my married life. We were tried by poverty, by disappointments, many children came to us. We lived to see our children growing up respected, and promising to be useful, our circumstances were easy, our love and conficence in each other increased daily and we had planned many things which were to have been enjoyed together - all that is over forever. I can only hope for patience to take up the burden of life, and bear it until I too may have leave to lay it down.
Nothing can exceed the respect which has been shown to Carey's memory. The men in the village formed in a procession and marched in a body to the house to attend the funeral. After the service the coffin was carried to the front of the house and the men to the number of two hundred filed past - each man raising his hat as he took his last look at the features. They preceded the funeral procession and when we arrived at the graveyard they stood on each side of the entrance with uplifted hats, and my husband and your son was laid to his last rest amid the sobs and tears of old men whom he had comforted, of young men with whom he had patience, and women and children whom he had helped to feed.
And now, Dear Father, what shall I say? I am alone, but not comfortless. God has been very good. My chief desire is that I may be enabled to do with my might whatsoever my hands find to do. May God defend myself and my children with his heavenly grace that we may continue His forever and daily increase in His Holy Spirit more and more until we come to His everlasting Kingdom.
Do you pray for us every day, pray that if I forget my duty, I may not be forgotten but may be reminded, so that I may reach that heavenly home where I believe the husband of my youth whom I always loved is gone,
Frances A. Breckenridge
We have reason to be very proud of our Grandfather and Grandmother as is shown in the foregoing. Also in my possession are two newspaper clippings which are yellow with the time but which I am so thankful to be able to incorporate in this tribute.
ANOTHER SUDDEN DEATH
On Saturday our city was startled with the announcement that Mr. Josiah C. Breckenridge had suddenly died. He had been confined to the house only about a week, with what seemed to be nothing more than a severe cold, and no danger was apprehended until Saturday morning. Dr. Catlin, the family physician, then called upon him, and, seeing his condition, advised a council, but before it could be held, Mr. Breckenridge was dead. He died whild sitting in his, and without apparent pain. Rheumatism of the heart is said to have been the cause of his death. He was born in Ware, Mass., and was forty-nine years of age on the 28th of last February. He came to Meriden twenty-six years ago last September. For the last twenty-five years or more he has been the manufacturing agent of the Meriden Cutlery Company of south Meriden. He was once Selectman of this town, for a long time had been a member of St. Andrew's church, was very widely known and as widely respected in this community, and his death will be deeply felt. About two hours before he died, he gave directions about the business of the day as usual. He leaves a wife, three sons and three daughters, three children having died. The remains will be interred this day (Monday), at the West Meriden cemetery, the funeral starting from his late residence at 2:30 this afternoon. The Rev. Mr. Deshon, Pastor of St. Andrews Episcopal Church, will officiate.
FUNERAL OF J. C. BRECKENRIDGE
The funeral services in connection withthe burial of the late Mr. J. C. Breckenridge, took place on Monday at his late residence in West Meriden. The wealthy citizens turned out en masse to do him honor. Neither was he forgotten by the working classes, who represented him quite as much as their wealthier neighbors. Two hundred workmen from the Hanover Cutlery Company were in the funeral procession, a fact which speaks for itself. The Rev. Giles H. Deshon, pastor of St. Andrew's Episcopal Church, officiated at the services. He made a few brief but impressive remarks which were felt, acknowledged, and appreciated by all present. The pall-bearers were with great propriety selected from St. Andrew's vestry, of which Mr. Breckenridge had been an honored member. Their names were: E. E. Curtis, J. H. Guy, L. H. Curtis, O. B. Arnold, Levi E. Coe, Almon Andrews, and Benjamin Page, Jr. The other members of the vestry attending were Joseph Morse, A. E. Camp, Dr. Churchill, and John E. Parker. There were also present George R. Curtis, clerk of St. Andrew's Parish, J. Catlin, Aaron Collins, formerly President of the Hanover Cutlery Company, W. W. Lyman, the present President of the company, A. M. Howell, etc. In fact, all classes joined in doing honor to the deceased. The funeral was very largely attended.
The following poem was written by his widow, our grandmother. Her pen name was Faith.
For all thy saints, who in thy faith and fear
Have now gone hence, whose spirits
dwell with thee,
We do give thanks. They bore thine imange here
May we by thy great grace, share their
felicity.
They were aweary and were fain to rest;
Life's journey went but roughly down the years,
The Holy City's streets their feet have pressed
And the Dear Lord hath wiped away their tears.
They keep no Easter; there is not more death.
Nor lenten service; there is not more sin.
Nor Christmas-tide; for, lo! the Christ-king hath
Come to his kingdom; and hath entered in.
How shall we know them mid that redeemed throng?
Crowned with white lilies, bearing the green palms.
No earthly cadence mars the perfect song
That swells the rhythm of the heavenly psalms.
How shall we know them? They are now more wise
Than all the wisdom that earth's mysteries own,
In the unspoken things of Paradise
The babes are wisest, nearest the White Throne.
How shall we know them, when with glad songs they meet us?
And our frail house is purged from earthly leaven.
What is we do not? They will know us, and greet us
With sweet words learned in Heaven.
Faith
Where art thou gone beloved?
And didst thou go alone?
Didst angel bands with gentle hands,
Bear thee to that home?
Do three little shining ones
Cluster joyful round thy knee?
With sweetest smiles, and cunning wiles
And do they know tis thee?
Oh father! just one word
To feel thou knowest us yet.
Just one word from thy home with God
To soothe this aching fret.
My father! you cannot speak,
But do stay close unto us here.
For we will not swerve from our God of love,
When thou art near.
Many years had elapsed when word came from an old friend in Meriden to his daughter, then living in far away Seattle, that the monument marking her father's grave had fallen. The stone chosen proved to have been softer than was realized and had not withstood so many severe winters. She was quite distressed and used to say to me, "My father, who was so much beloved and respected in Meriden, is lying in an unmarked grave." So when we went East together in 1935 it was my great privilege to go with her to Meriden to renew the monument to her father in West Meriden Cemetery. Before she left us she had the hapiness of knowing that this last tribute had been placed there through her devotion.
[email protected]
