“Opium has a harm. Opium is a poison, undermining our good customs and morality. Its use is prohibited by law…However, recently the purchasers, eaters, and consumers of opium have become numerous. Deceitful merchants buy and sell it to gain profit.”                        ~ ~Qainlong Emperor (known as Hongli), 6^th in Succession, Qing Dynasty (1793)

The Samuel Russell House occupies a prominent place on the Wesleyan University campus, a neoclassical ‘wedding cake’ located on the corner of Washington and High Streets. Its prominence speaks to the career legacy of the man who planned and coordinated the 1827-28 construction of architect, Ithiel Town’s design for the home. But, many are not aware of the fact that Russell’s rise to prominence in Middletown derived from his accrued fortune in the sale of opium, tied to the early 19^th century China Trade. The detailed historical records left behind by Samuel Russell speak volumes about his skills as a fastidious financial record-keeper and prescient businessman, but little about the heart and soul of the man who accomplished so much for himself, his family and the busy trading hub of his birthright, Middletown, CT.

In this work of historical fiction, Merchants of Deceit: Opium, American Fortune & the China Trade, cultural historian and Wesleyan Visiting Scholar, Richard J. Friswell, creates a narrative that both humanizes and animates the life and times of Samuel Russell. It was a crucial moment in American history (1800-1840) when slavery was being abolished, global trade was thriving by virtue of modern production methods, improved transportation and international trade alliances, and a newly-emerging merchant class occupies center stage in the U.S. economy.

The author follows Russell through his formidable growing-up years in a ‘post’-slavery America; tracks his emergence on the international trade scene, as he encounters famous men of the time; travels on the long journey to Canton, China, where he faces the reality of opium trade as the key to his future; finds and loses love in the process; risks life and limb, death and disease in the name of his goal to earn his ‘competence;’ all the while eluding the emperor and his minions as they actively scheme to defeat the scourge of opium flowing into their country. Throughout Russell’s trial-by-fire, he struggles with feelings of despair, isolation, conscience and guilt, even as men around him—and society, itself—condone the active promotion and sale of y?piàn—opium, “mud,” to a nation considered by Western colonial interests as beneath dignity.

Excerpt from the text:

I AM IN THE LOBBY of the St. George just before seven, where Mr. Edwards is already waiting. We climb into a waiting hack and travel the muddy streets of Manhattan to Mr. Astor’s seventy-acre property between 42^nd and 46^th Streets, on the banks of the Hudson. Vast expanses of well-groomed lawn, undulating fence lines and grazing cattle mark the entrance to his estate, as the carriage eventually pulls up to a magnificent covered entrance to his home. The two story property, constructed in the Palladian style, is aglow with candle light, as white gloved doormen and servants attend our every need. Eventually, I find myself in the grand space that would serve as our dining room that evening.

“…I can’t believe my good fortune, or contain my excitement—to meet with one of the richest men in America…”

I catch Mr. Daggett’s eye and move through the crowd to thank him for the invitation. “Yes, Samuel. Come please. I want you to meet our host and some of his guests.”

John Astor is a small man, solidly built, with generous locks of chestnut-colored hair hanging across his brow. A German immigrant when still a teen, he retains his native accent, although his Christian names, Johann Jakob, had long since been abandoned. He greets me warmly, and asks if I might take a few minutes to talk with him privately before the evening was done. Naturally, I agree. This opportunity seemed particularly auspicious, given that my assistant, Thomas Boggs had explained prior to my departure from Connecticut that his own efforts to solicit a meeting with Mr. Astor had been greeted with a terse note in return, simply stating that Astor was ‘not accepting letters at this time.’ In light of that fact, I can’t believe my good fortune, or contain my excitement—to meet with one of the richest men in America—a moment that calls for a celebratory glass or two of champagne from one of many silver trays being passed among the crowd by household staff.

As I move to the edge of the noisy room for a breath of the fresh breeze coming off the river through open doors, I happen upon three similarly inclined young ladies, standing nearby.

“Ladies, if I may be so bold, Im Samuel Russell, recently arrived from Connecticut.I confess to feeling somewhat adrift in this gathering. Are you from New York?”

“Well, yes and no, sir,” the oldest of the trio replies, “I’m Abigail Winston, guardian for my orphaned nieces, Mary and Frances Osborne, here. Their parents died in the West Indies, while tending their property, there.  My husband is a solicitor in the service of Mr. Daggett. These young ladies are here for some weeks away from their schooling.” She gestured toward the two young women, as each extended a brief curtsey in my direction.

Placing my hand to my waistcoat, I nod so slightly, “It is my pleasure ladies.”

“Did you say Connecticut, Mr. Russell? Which part?” Mary, the youngest asks.   

“Middletown, miss, a small but prosperous town on the river, there.”

“Quite astounding, sir,” said Mrs. Winston, ‘these young ladies are also from Middletown. I am surprised you do not know of them, or at least the family.”

“The name Osborne is well-known in my town, but if I may be so bold, these two young ladies most certainly would have come of age while I was absent, pursuing business interests in Europe, and elsewhere. Their beauty would certainly have come to my attention if I had been about the social scene there, of late.”

“A coincidence, indeed,” says Frances. “We also know the name Russell, with many ‘Russells’ in town and throughout the region. Mr. Russell has an excellent reputation in Middletown, as he has worked for a well-known firm in town, before leaving for Europe on behalf of those interests, she explains, turning back to Miss Winston.

I briefly consider the fact that they may be so well acquainted with my efforts, when the youthful Mary asks, “And what brings you here, sir?”

“Some of those same business interests, I’m afraid.” I find myself directing my comments largely to the attractive, Miss Mary Osborne, whose sparkling hazel eyes and broad smile I found arresting. “I can assure you, I will look forward to acquainting myself with the changing scene in my modest hometown from now on. May I ask, in Mrs. Winston’s presence, if I may call upon the Osborne ladies once we are all back in Connecticut?”

“That will be a matter for Mary and Frances to decide…yes, ladies?”

Mary speaks first, “We would be delighted, sir.”

“And with that, I must beg my leave,” Mr. Astor’s assistant’s catching my attention from across the room. “It has been a distinct pleasure.” And with that, I extend my hand to each, with just a moment’s extra attention paid to the grip and duration, as I take Mary’s hand in mine. 

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Merchants of Deceit: Opium, American Fortune & the China Trade (Hammonasset House Publishers, 2021); approx. 250 pages, color illustrations insert and appendices. Price TBD.

For inquiries or to request notification of publication: rfriswell@wesleyan.edu.