This article was originally published in the January 13, 1900, issue of The Living Church.
By Pauline Carrington Bouvet
Of Boston one cannot say, “Westward the course of empire takes its way,” for a short walk from the handsome square that lies between the State House and Pemberton Square, brings the pedestrian into that degenerated quarter of the city known as the West End.
There are some unique phases of life to be found here—phases of life that have no exact counterpart in any other American city, for here the Cowley Fathers of the mission order of St. John the Evangelist have established themselves.
This order, which had its origin in England several decades ago, is Anglican in faith, doctrine, and teaching, though the “fathers” are bound by the three vows of “chastity, poverty, and obedience.” The visitor who invades the precincts of the West End is almost sure to see one of these good men in his long clerical gown, girt in by a cord about the waist, and wearing a peculiar-looking hat, abroad on some errand of charity. Such a figure is medieval and picturesque to the casual observer, but to the “lame, the halt, and the blind,” the poor and lonely, and the suffering, he is the harbinger of bodily as well as spiritual comfort, the friend, counselor, and, above all, the priest.
A five-minute walk from the State House Square will bring the wayfarer into Temple Street, and if he has the instinct of curiosity, he will pause before a high, wooden gate way that bears the legend “Mission of St. John the Evangelist.” This gateway leads into a long, narrow, brick-paved alley or court, since it is entirely enclosed, which extends to the end wall of the church of St. John the Evangelist. There is a passageway between the mission house and the church, but visitors are requested to come by the way of Temple Street.
When Father Field first assumed the charge of the mission work, there were certain quarters of the West End that bore an unsavory reputation among the police who, although suspicious, could not bring actual proof of crime. There was one house on what was called London Bridge — a tenement house in which forty families lived — about which so many outward incidents appeared to center that the people in the neighborhood began to have a fear of the very walls of the great shackly building, in which black and white, foreign and American tenants, lived in promiscuous filth and disorder.
Scarcely a day passed that some man (and sometimes it was a woman) was not discovered lying in an unconscious or semi-conscious state in the vicinity of the house of ill repute, who upon being brought to his senses, would declare that he had been robbed of purse and clothing, although he could give no very clear story as to how, when, or by whom. In many instances these unfortunates would turn out to be prosperous, respectable men who produced witnesses that could not be doubted. The police often made unexpected visits at the London Bridge Tenement, but discovered no clue. The men of the house always told glib stories about “drunken beats” whom they had found on the sidewalk, and for whom they usually had a word of sympathy because of their evident condition of “hard luck.”
Father Field, who in his capacity of mission priest saw more, perhaps, than any other person, of the destitution and degradation of the people among whom he labored, became convinced that there was something sinister about this particular tenement, and he made vigorous appeals to the members of the Board of Health for better sanitary arrangements in this establishment, as he had become aware that there were no bathrooms in this house that shelters forty families. After repeated appeals, the “Board” took the matter in hand. An order was issued that certain improvements, considered necessary to health and decency, should be made in the tenement house on London Bridge, and workmen were sent to make the stipulated repairs and additions.
A series of appalling revelations followed the rehabiliment of the rickety tenement — revelations that laid bare a system of crime and bloodshed as terrible as any ever exposed in the worst quarters of London or Paris. In taking down one of the inner walls, the space between the two partitions was discovered literally lined with empty purses. These were the mute yet eloquent witnesses of as many robberies, committed and concealed with equal ingenuity. “There was a blind stairway,” concluded Father Field, who told me the strange story, “down which the victims who had been sandbagged were made to slide, after having been despoiled of watches, purses, or clothing, the latter being exchanged for the most disreputable-looking garments, and this was the secret of the ‘House of Forty Thieves.’”
“What became of the thieves?” asked the visitor. “Oh, they took good care to get out of the way at the first hint of improving the building,” he said, with a laugh. “And there’s not much danger of their returning. But it was a dreadful place. You may call it a regular system of crime.”
Some further talk led to an interesting account of the work done at St. Augustine’s, which is one of the strongest influences in the spiritual development of West End residents. In the church which is theirs by right of especial foresight and design, as well as natural predilection, there are large colored prints of sacred subjects in art, which tell the Scriptural stories clearly and distinctly. Here, during the different seasons of the Church year, the children hear the story of Christ’s life and death, and the great prints on the walls emphasize the words of the preacher.
One of the most interesting features of the training received by the children of St. Augustine’s is the production of what Father Field calls the “Mystery Plays.” These plays are given with the object, on the part of the rector, of making a more lasting and deeper impression on the minds of the children of the solemnity and beauty of the Easter and Christmas seasons, as well as fixing the different Bible stories, with their lessons, in their memory. These productions not only fix the seasons and their lessons in the children’s hearts and brains, but they inspire a sort of personal love for, and interest in, the characters that they portray, bringing them in closer touch with those personages of sacred history whose lives embody certain examples and warnings to all generations.
Father Field had often noticed an old, disused church in the neighborhood, and the idea occurred to him that this building, with its weed-invaded plot of ground in front, might easily be converted into a public library, which would be a counteracting influence among the hosts of grog shops that infest the vicinity of Cambridge Street. He immediately turned his attention toward this effort, but there were many difficulties in the way. During this period he was sent, or went, to England, and while he was absent his plans were nearly frustrated.
He was cabled to come back and set matters straight, but there were duties on the other side to be done, and he was unable to return at once. A second cablegram, however, resulted in his hasty departure for America. He determined as soon as he arrived to go before the people and make an appeal for the library, and with this end in view, made several speeches in the City Hall. His intimate knowledge of the locality, its people, and its needs gained a hearing, and the result of his efforts was an appropriation of $100,000 for the purchase of the deserted church, and the establishment of a branch of the great Public Library in one of the “slum” districts of Boston.
The fact that about 400 volumes are taken out of the West End library each day in the year is sufficient proof of the wisdom in placing it there. It has been an enormous factor in the uplifting of that section, for quiet, wholesome recreation is in itself wonderfully healthy in its moral effect. Men who learn to care for books gradually become indifferent to idle loafing and places of boisterous amusement. The schools did great good while in operation, for many boys were fitted for trades who might otherwise have had no such apprenticeship, and The Reflector’s influence established social reforms that are still felt, but the West End Library is a permanent benefaction, the direct result of one earnest man’s ceaseless efforts and prayers.
Whatever may be the individual opinion, a visit to the little mission house in Temple Street, and throughout the West End where their “deeds do follow them,” must arouse a feeling very nearly akin to reverence for these workers and their work. Father Field’s work among the people of the West End will yield an abundant harvest in the future, for much of his effort is for the children.
Recently the Fathers have revived an old English custom of marching through the streets, with the cross-bearer leading, and the surpliced choir and priests following, to the church, inviting the people in the streets to come to the services. Many join the musical procession who would no doubt spend their Sunday afternoons in idling about the gardens, groves, and commons, if not influenced to spend a small fraction of the day in a house of worship.
The spectacle is a singular one, reminding the observer of quaint prints in old books that tell of long-gone customs and forgotten pageants. There is a diversity of opinion regarding these innovations of old fashions revived. But after all, the best things of earth are the old-fashioned things — love and faith and unselfish devotion; these are the old-fashioned factors that have wrought into vital existence Father Field’s mission in the West End.
The Rev. Charles Neale Field, S.S.J.E. (1849-1929), an Englishman, made his life profession in the Society of St. John the Evangelist in 1881, and was sent to serve in the order’s houses in Philadelphia and Boston in the 1890s.
In addition to his ministry among Black communities in Boston, he founded St. Augustine’s Farm in rural Foxborough, Massachusetts, a santarium for Black women suffering with tuberculosis. The Church of St. John the Evangelist, Bowdoin Street, which was connected to the Temple Street Mission, sustained its ministry until 2015, when it was closed after its congregation merged with that of the nearby Cathedral of St. Paul.
Under Father Field’s leadership, St. Augustine’s mission merged in 1908 with St. Martin’s Chapel, another mission church founded by the Cowley Fathers a few miles away in Boston’s South End, another Black neighborhood. The Episcopal Church of St. Augustine and St. Martin continues as a center of Anglo-Catholic worship and engagement with the community. The West End Library continues, in a building constructed near the branch founded through Father Field’s efforts in 1896.
The Rev. Mark Michael is editor-in-chief of The Living Church. An Episcopal priest, he has reported widely on global Anglicanism, and also writes about church history, liturgy, and pastoral ministry.