Copp's Hill Burying Ground, Boston

Copp’s Hill Burying Ground is Boston’s second-oldest cemetery, trailing behind only the burial ground near King’s Chapel. It also picked up the rather macabre nickname “Corpse Hill", though its official name is much calmer and pays homage to William Copp, a local resident, who owned a farm on the hill’s southeastern slope since 1643. Much of the cemetery land was later purchased from him, proving that even in colonial Boston, real estate could eventually become… extremely permanent.

Around 10,000 people are believed to have been buried here, making Copp’s Hill one of the North End’s most densely layered historic sites. Among its better-known residents is Robert Newman, the sexton, who helped hang Paul Revere’s signal lanterns in the belfry of Old North Church. Also, here is Edmund Hartt, the shipbuilder behind the USS Constitution, better known as “Old Ironsides.” Three generations of a prominent Puritan ministerial family rest here as well, along with hundreds of enslaved and freed Black Bostonians from the colonial period, including Prince Hall, founder of the African Freemasonry Order in Massachusetts.

During the British occupation of Boston, Copp’s Hill became less of a place for quiet reflection and more of a strategic headache. British commanders used the high ground as an artillery position, firing across Boston Harbor toward American forces in Charlestown during the Revolution. According to local legend, King George III’s troops also used some of the slate headstones for target practice. A few still show small pockmarks believed to be musket-ball scars, because apparently, back then, even the dead were not fully excused from wartime inconvenience...

Across Charter Street stands Copp’s Hill Terrace, a fine spot for views toward Charlestown and Bunker Hill. It also overlooks the scene of one of Boston’s strangest disasters. In January 1919, a massive molasses tank burst nearby, releasing 2.3 million gallons of syrup into the streets. The sticky wave killed 21 people, damaged buildings, and reportedly left Boston Harbor tinged brown for months. Indeed, history rarely comes thicker than this — and in the North End, sometimes it arrives by the gallon...