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The Exeter Boy Who Became a King

 

The only monuments in the town of Exeter, barring gravestones and Queen's Fort, are three monoliths set up on Exeter Hill by the late Thomas W. Bicknell in memory of some Indians who may have lived there but probably didn't. Of course there are the State Board's "Stop - Through Traffic" signs, but they don't count, either.

 

What the town really ought to have (and this in spite of the fact that nobody asked us) is a memorial to James Lillibridge, the only Exeter boy who became a king. It's traditional that kings rate monu­ments. And James Lillibridge's career was so remarkable that he is better deserving of one than kings who get their jobs by simple in­heritance.

 

If we seem to turn back to Exeter every now and then it's because we hope to put over the idea that it's a remarkable township, full of landscape and strange tales. Like the one about Lillibridge. He ought to help some to make Rhode Island Exeter-conscious.

 

The Lillibridges were a very old Exeter family. There isn't one of the name in this year's taxbook, which is the town's sole directory. They have moved mostly to East Greenwich and North Kingstown.

 

James Lillibridge was born in the town about 1765, an illegitimate child. His mother's name was Mowry; she told him, and should have known, that his father was James Lillibridge, so he started life with that name.

 

He was still very small when his mother and sisters moved, he with them, to Newport, where they set up a sailors' boarding house in the Bohanna House on Long Wharf. Hints rattling down the cor­ridors of time make the Mowrys out a bad lot.

 

Apparently James Lillibridge found his home life unsatisfactory. He had been apprenticed to somebody in the "mechanical trade," as the dim old record puts it, perhaps a blacksmith, but suddenly one day got fed up with the whole works, mother, sisters, home life, sailors' boarding house and the rest, and after telling his relatives what he thought of them walked out and went to sea.

 

This very likely was shortly before the outbreak of the Revolu­tion. For the next 15 years or so his movements are wrapped in the obscurity which is the lot of the common seaman. Not until 1790 does his head appear above the surface again.

 

He had changed his name meanwhile to James Murray, a surname which sounds not unlike Mowry. Also he had become a husky, two­fisted fighter with an ambition for some line that paid better than pulling tarry ropes on a sailing vessel.

 

The big urge gripped him when he touched at the port of Tran­quebar, on the east coast of India, well down toward Cape Comorin. Going ashore, he met some men, probably sailors, who were discussing the good luck certain Frenchmen had enjoyed after entering the service of na tive princes.

 

A hint was as good as a volume of argument to Murray in his then frame of mind. He was always one for prompt decisions.

 

Tranquebar was in possession of the Danes. Inland the British East India Company held spotty sway, working gradually toward complete British domination of the country. It had thrown a cordon across the peninsula to prevent foreigners, especially Americans, from breaking through to carry aid and comfort to the rajahs.

 

This worried the ex-Exeter boy not at all. He had heard of a prince named Holkar, rajah of Indore, northeast of Bombay, and it wasn't long before he checked in as Holkar's man.

 

He was then 25, powerful, fearless, ready for anything which promised entertainment and profit. The only two sources of informa­tion we have uncovered describe him as "modest and amiable," "of middling height, pleasing expression and great bodily strength and agility." Also it is added he was terrible in battle. His career indicates it.

 

Holkar was engaged in a series of wars with other Indian princes. Murray proved useful in these enterprises, and later when his master had conflict with the British. For 15 years, until 1805, he continued to fight for Holkar, "conspicuous for his invincible courage and un­daunted presence of mind as well as for his personal prowess." Some Exeter people are like that when they get the breaks.

 

Meanwhile he was doing well on the financial side so that, for­getting ancient differences, he sent handsome gifts back to his mother and sisters at Bohanna House on Long Wharf.

 

Holkar, as was inevitable, came into conflict at length with the British. Murray fought at his side. It was out of this warfare that his split with his royal master came about.

 

He had captured with his own command a number of British offi­cers. When a breathing spell in hostilities occurred Holkar set about putting these men to death. Murray objected. There was a furious argument, from which Murray emerged on the winning side, saving the lives of the British, but so badly out of favor with the rajah that he knew he was through and decided to quit before he was fired.

 

Holkar's principality was large, but scattered. Murray had noted a section he fancied and decided to take over for himself. There he became a king in his own right.

 

Like any other business, his had to be built up slowly. Luck favored in that Holkar had other wars on his hands at the moment. At one time Murray's army consisted of only eight poorly armed men.

 

But he himself was as good as a division of Indian soldiers. Bit by bit he established himself over a considerable province, and when the British next clashed with Holkar Murray was able to offer them the support of an army of 7000. They welcomed it, you may be sure, although the American insisted on keeping it an independent com­mand.

 

He was an ally of the British royal brother, if you please, to George the Fourth of England, and sitting in counsel with Lord Lake and the future Duke of Wellington.

 

His alliance lasted about a year. He was tired of India. Through all of his unprecedented experiences he had kept alive a spark of love for America and yearned to return, if only for a visit.

 

So after this particular war was at an end Murray dismissed his army and abandoned his throne. Perhaps he expected more gratitude from the English than they felt inclined to show him. What hap­pened was that he, who had been king, was retired from the military service with the rank of major and the half pay of that rank.

 

No doubt this strengthened his purpose to return home. He had fought across India from its southernmost cape to the Persian fron­tier - 16 years of constant fighting. He was 41 years old. He would go back to the scenes of his childhood along Narragansett Bay.

 

But he would make his farewell a fitting one. At Calcutta he sum­moned his friends to a splendid banquet. After the last course had been served, and while the wine was singing in his head, he thought of one more bit of entertainment. He, the best swordsman and horseman of India, would jump his own mount across the dinner table and challenge the rest to duplicate the feat.

 

The horse was brought in and Murray mounted. He dug in his spurs and gave a shout. The horse started across the banquet hall, but its hoofs became entangled in the heavy Indian rug and it fell, Murray underneath.

 

            The New York Gazette published a brief notice of his death, which occurred on Sept. 23, 1806. It said he was born in Rhode Island. Not until his estate, which as transmitted totaled about $20,000, was handed to his mother was he identified.

 

She and the daughters quit Long Wharf then. What became of them later this writer doesn't know. As for Lillibridge-Murray, his dust mingles with the hot sands of distant India, a bit of Rhode Island in that fabulous land, and it isn't even known where in Exeter he was born.



Original story by J. Earl Clauson, originally published in the Providence Evening Bulletin under the heading "These Plantations". Later collected into a book of the same name that was printed in 1937 by The Roger Williams Press (E. A. Johnson Company).