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HAMPDEN
1892 HOLYOKE PUBLIC LIBRARY
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PRESENTED TO HOLYOKE PUBLIC LIBRARY
In Memoriam
Mr. & Mrs. Charles E. Bardwel
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HOLYOKE AT NIGHT.
PICTURESQUE HAMPDEN
PART II-WEST
1500 ILLUSTRATIONS
PICTURESQUE PUBLISHING COMPANY
NORTHAMPTON, MASS.
0
Picturesque Hampden.
CHARLES F. WARNER, Editor. CLIFTON JOHNSON, Art Manager.
PART I .- Springfield and the Eastern half of the County. PART II .- Holyoke and the Western half of the County.
PRICE: Family Edition, in Cloth, $1.50 per volume; Paper Covered Edition, seventy-five cents per volume. A Holiday Edition, in Full Leather, Gilt, will be fur- nished for $5-per volume, and any of these editions will be sent post-paid, on receipt of price. Address, enclosing postal note or check,
PICTURESQUE PUBLISHING CO., NORTHAMPTON, MASS.
Picturesque Hampshire.
In one volume, uniform in style with "Picturesque Hampden." Cloth, $1.50.
Picturesque Franklin.
In one volume, uniform in style with the above. Cloth, $1.50; Paper, seventy- five cents. Any of the series sent post-paid, on receipt of price, by the publishers.
220876 SEP. 16 1955
The Paper for this volume is furnished by the HAMPDEN GLAZED PAPER & CARD CO., Holyoke, Mass.
The Half-tone Engravings are furnished by the BOSTON ENGRAVING CO., Boston, Mass. The Printing Ink used is made by FREDERICK H. LEVY & Co., of New York City. The Printing and Binding are done by CLARK W. BRYAN & Co., Springfield, Mass.
COPYRIGHT, 1891, BY PICTURESQUE PUBLISHING CO.
PICTURESQUE HAMPDEN
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1892
INTRODUCTORY.
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IN New York City, amid the whirl of sights and sounds, the elevated railways are a prominent feature, both to eye and ear. With short intervals between, the trains rush and rattle along the iron rails overhead from long before daylight till midnight following. To most, this almost ceaseless noise and clatter would seem a great nuisance. But there may, nevertheless, be some poetry in it.
A friend once said to me : " I like to hear those ele- vated trains. It sounds as if things were driving and lots was going on. They rush as if they were in a hurry. When I come back after a stay in the country, that 's one of the pleasantest sounds I know of."
Another friend held opposite discourse. He said: " Now, I get so tired of the rumble and roar of city noises. It is one wild, unending race of business. When I get out into the country, I start for the deepest piece of woods in the vicinity, and in some hollow on a fallen tree trunk I sit down and just listen to the still- ness. That I call luxury."
Each of the two finds charm in the farthest ex- treme from what is to the liking of the other. Which one was right? Is the country dull? Is the city typical of only noise and confusion ? Or, is harmonious repose and quiet comfort characteristic of country life, and sights, and briskness and vitality of the city? Probably neither and both ; for life anywhere runs a twisted current, and gains and drawbacks at no time
A WAYSIDE FRIEND.
part company. As natures differ, so the things that interest and touch them differ, and there are many blanks to each of us which are only so because our eyes do not see.
It is told of that famous lover of the country, Thoreau, that if other employment failed, he could sit down in the woods wherever he happened to be and at
whatever season, and spend an hour in interested and absorbed observation of things close about. Even then he had not exhausted his subject, or noted all worth seeing. He knew the language of plants and trees, and of all the little animals of the fields and woods. He learned many things from them. He listened too to the voices of the brooks, and of the winds and storms, and watched with ever renewed interest the changing seasons.
There are, as well, lovers of the town, who delight in its brick walled streets and its thronging life. They are proud of its big mills and handsome residences, and are happy in a saunter along the smooth- paved walks, or in the winding paths of the parks. The alleys and by-ways even have charm, and a way strewn with torn pa- pers and other litter, which every wind sets in eddying motion, and where ragged, dirty- faced children jostle him, and the odors which greet his nos- trils are far from fra- grant-this may please him more than the most beautiful landscape in the world.
Thoreau could find delight in poking about a mud hole in a swamp. The lover of the town could find happiness in rambling through the dingiest city alley. Each of the two showed a depth of sympathy in his special direction that is well worth cultivating.
City life and movement, with all its turmoil of pain and pleasure, its luxury and its poverty, is intensely interesting. Country life, simply as life, is interesting too. You see much less than is seen in the same space in the city, but struggle and success and hardship are mingled there just as in the larger place. But nature sings in the country more freely. Wind and sunshine are untrammeled. The roads wind along as the lay of the land dictates. There are green fields everywhere. Brooks follow down every hollow.
Nature hovers about in the city atmosphere, too.
THE CITY STREET.
She makes pictures in the clouds, and with the coming and going of the sun paints the skies each morning and each evening. Sometimes she filters the air to crystal clearness, and again softens every vista of the streets with delicate tones of blue; or again will veil all in a mysterious mist of fog. When, with the winter frosts, a snowstorm comes, the city takes on a still different as- pect, and in some ways is never more charming.
This book at- tempts to portray, to some extent, na- ture's moods. There is more here than simply buildings and landscapes. Clouds and sun- light and atmos- phere help to make the pictures live. Photographs usual- ly note little beside facts and detail, but we think it will be seen here that we have many times caught nature and life itself.
One who reads, travels in imagina- tion with the one who writes. Those who look at pictures are themselves, for the time being, with the artist who made them. Together, then, we shall take many rambles about the city streets, and we will linger and admire the comfortable homes of the well-to- do and the handsome mansions of the wealthy, and we will take leisurely walks through the parks and among the green fields on the outskirts. At the same time, we
THE HILLTOP VILLAGE.
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PICTURESQUE HAMPDEN
THE COUNTERFEITER'S HUT - MONEY-HOLE HILL.
will not neglect the noisier ways of business, and the mill neighborhoods and the streets where are the crowded tenements of the poor. Each is a part of our great world of life, and has charm or significance which merits study.
Finally we will leave the city and take a long drive over the plains and hills. Many times we shall be entirely out of sight of dwellings and people, and have only the trees and fields and skies for company. Yet these have their voices, and it is not solitude; and even if there comes a touch of loneliness, in old Massachusetts you never get far from habitations, and the little villages on hilltop or in hollow are to be found on every roadway at intervals of a few miles.
Now the introductory word has been said, and we are ready to start.
THE STORY OF EARLY HOLYOKE.
Nearly all the Connecticut valley towns have a history reaching back to the days of the Indians, when the ancestors of the present inhabitants ELDER RAND. carried their guns as they went to the fields to work, and barred their doors when night came on-not against thieves and robbers, but against bloodthirsty savages. In most towns it usually came about that certain unlucky ones lost their lives and their scalps before those early troublous times were past. . But Holyoke lacks this sort of history almost entirely, for the reason that the settlers of the old colonial days, who came west- ward from Massachusetts bay, did not find here the fertile lowlands they were in quest of, and planted the river towns elsewhere along the stream. The following is the most noteworthy, if not the only Indian story in which Holyoke is directly concerned, calling for record :
About 150 years ago, Lucas Morgan lived in the old Fairfield homestead, which still stands on North- ampton street, though it has undergone various changes since that ancient day. Morgan was one of the first settlers here, and had but recently built his home. He returned late one evening, after being away all day. He was about to put his horse in the stable, when the animal started uneasily and refused to enter. It was winter, a cloudy, threatening night, very dark. Mr. Morgan himself stepped into the stable, and, feeling about, his hand came in contact with a man, lying half covered with hay in the manger. "Indians!" was the thought which flashed through his mind, and he wasted no time getting out of the stable and into the house, leaving the horse to his fate. Doors were bolted and the old gun got down. Little sleep came to the family that night. Outside they could hear the dog growling savagely, and Mr. Morgan, creeping out into the living- room, heard one of the Indians slap his thigh as if to pacify that animal; and he caught snatches of gutteral conversation. Then, suddenly, the dog gave a frightened yelp of pain, and all was still. But presently there came a sharp rattling of blows from the Indian's tomahawks on the heavy kitchen door. Time had come for decided action. Mr. Morgan raised a window softly, and poking his gun over the sash, took careful aim as near as he could guess at the position of the invaders, and fired. Silence followed, and through the rest of the long night no further sounds of assault were heard about the place. Morning came. There, by the door, lay the dog, with an ugly cut from a tomahawk in his shoulder. He was taken in and given the best of care, but it was six weeks before he could take a step. A pool of blood close by showed the gun had done effective work. From the barn to the house door three tracks were traced in the snow. Only two led away. There were marks about the place that showed the Indians had tried to set the house on fire in several places, but the storm made their efforts unsuccessful. The savages were followed and traced to a distant swamp, where the trail was entirely lost. It was learned later that the Indians plotted to burn every house in the village. In the main there is little of public interest to chronicle until a time within the memory of those still
living. Less than half a century ago, the place where the busy city now stands was a farm- ing hamlet, thinly settled and little known. Where a score of families then dwelt in rural quiet, forty thousand people are now pursuing all the varied arts and avocations which make up a prosperous manufacturing center.
It is certain that the " Great Rapids " of the river was a famous fishing resort of the Indians, who from time immemorial gathered here in great numbers; but no traditions have lingered to make their gathering place famous, and only the frequent relics unearthed by modern changes, recall to mind the dusky tribes who resorted hither. The “ Quonek- tacut," which in every-day English means "long river." was the dividing line between the Algonquins or coast Indians of New England and the Iroquois or Mohawks, so there were probably no permanent settlements here, for it was too open to attack. It was, however, their highway from the seashore to Canada, and the Mohawks came annually down the Deerfield branch and the main stream to collect tribute from the tribes hereabouts.
Although there were no permanent villages, the savages came long distances to fish at the great falls, and until quite recent years the " Indian fireplaces " dotted the banks from the head of the rapids, at "Sans Souci," to the quieter current which is reached again at Willimansett, a distance of three miles below. For a camp the Indians always selected a dry, sandy knoll, near fresh water. In the center of each wigwam they made a circle of stone, upon which to build their fires. These circles were usually of small, rounded boulders, and no doubt a search among the sandy knolls, which abound up and down the valley in this vicinity, would still reveal some of these old fireplaces, and if the ground has not been ploughed too much, we may find arrow or spear-heads and flint or quartz chips of Indian manufacture.
Up to 1850, Holyoke was a part of West Springfield. It was there the inhabitants went to town meeting and to vote, and until about the beginning of the century, to church as well. The place went by the name of " Ireland Parish" until, when it separated from the mother town, its citizens voted it should take the name of Holyoke. Prior to 1745, an Irish family named Riley had located in the south part of the town, and a brook in that vicinity still bears their name. Other Irish families came soon after, and it was from this little colony the region took its early title. In those days the .. place was very thinly populated, as is shown by the following extract from a letter of that time: "There were but six families in this parish, and they 'forted ' together nights for fear of the Indians."
Another story of the early days is that of a gang of counterfeiters from Chicopee, who began the manufac- ture of bogus silver coin in " Money-hole Hill." This place, which is just west of the Connecticut River Lumber Company's sawmill, had then a deep, high- banked ravine running through it. This has since been filled in. It was a heavily wooded, lonesome sort of place, and in its gloomy depths the counterfeiters had a little hut. But they were finally detected, and the ring- leader was condemned to have his ears cropped as a punishment.
The Baptists were the first to organize a church in the place. They had built a meeting-house as early as 1792, near the old burying ground, which lies on the
THE OLD SECOND CONGREGATIONAL CHURCH,
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PICTURESQUE HAMPDEN.
borders of the Whiting farm, somewhat below Elmwood village, but on account of lack of funds had never been able to finish it. A few years later, the Congregation- alists started an organization, and presently proposed to the Baptists to remove this building further north and that the two societies should join in finishing it, and in its use and ownership. The offer was accepted, and the building was removed to a location about where now stands the house of Alexander Day, on Northampton street. The house, which up to this time being unfinished was sometimes spoken of as "The Lord's Barn," was at once put in shape for use. The Baptists owned three-fourths of the church property, and the pulpit was, therefore, occupied three Sundays of the month by ministers of their denomination, and by some Congrega- tional minister the other Sunday. In the months where there were five Sun- days, the Baptists gener- ously gave the Congrega- tionalists the benefit of the extra day. Soon the mem- bers of this latter society made a proposition to pay what moneys they raised for the support of preach- ing, to increase the salary of Rev. Thomas Rand, then pistor of the Baptist society, and allow him to exchange with some Con- gregational pastor of the vicinity on the Sabbath, when by right the pulpit belonged to their denomi- nation. Mr. Rand seems to have been greatly be- loved by the members of both societies, and this proposition was readily accepted. It was only on sacramental occasions that the denominational separation was apparent in the congreation.
out exception, native American, drawn from the farming communities about, and this was the case all through New England during the first two decades of its manufacturing enterprise. Near the mills were four or five farmhouses, and on the flat below them were several more. All this region was commonly known as " The Field," but later, when the railroad came through, it took the name of Ireland Depot. "The Field " was, in the main, clear of trees, and was used for mowing and tillage. There were two little swales near the depot, but otherwise it furnished fairly good meadow land. Depot hill was well wooded, and a patch of woodland of perhaps thirty or forty acres extended from here to the river, south of the old ferry landing. This was cut off just before the war. The slopes above the Field were given over to pastures mostly, but there was a big wood extending from South street up to Dwight street, and westerly up to the cemetery. In the wood, near where William Whiting's house now stands, was a little pond* known as " Silver Lake," which was a famous place for frog concerts in the moist, spring evenings. It was a pleasant spot here to sit in the shade in the warm days of summer. In the winter, the youth of the region resorted thither to skate. Just above the junction of Dwight and High streets was a stretch of brushy. boggy land, where an- other company of frogs made music for the mer- chants who first built along High street. About the village, on Northamp- ton street, were cultivated Wirten Johnson fields and orchards, and the big hillside beyond, to the west, was pasture land much as at present.
The two societies con- tinued to worship together until 1834, when the Con- gregationalists put up a building of their own at the village, a mile north of Elmwood. There it stands to this day, and though for the last few years it has served for a tenement, and it has lost its bell-tower and is otherwise altered, it still retains a churchly look, and with the old tavern and a few old houses close at hand, is about the only memorial of the days of Ireland Parish. Until 1849. when the Second Congregational church was built, down on High street, an omnibus was regularly run from the village, by the river, to convey the worshipers of that vicinity to the church on Northampton street. With the advent of the new society in the lower village, there was such a decrease in the congregation of the old church, and so great a falling off in
the financial support, that considerable · discouragement followed, and it was many years before the society recovered itself.
At the time the project of building a dam across the Connecticut was first thought of, the manufacturing industries of the place consisted of a little cotton mill, three stories in height-now the lower part of the Parsons' finishing room - and a small, wooden, two-story gristmill, whose upper floor was used as a dressing- room for the cotton used in the other mill. A wing wall a hundred and fifty feet in length was built diagonally up- stream, out into the current of the river, and turned the water into the little canal, which was barely twenty feet across. This wing wall was about where the present dam is. The gristmill stood near where the Mt. Tom mill now is, and the cotton mill was close below, both built right on the river bank. In front of the cotton mill was a row of three two-story, brick boarding houses, and just above them was a small brick store. All this property was owned by the mills which were controlled by Smith Brothers of Enfield. The help in the mills was at that time, almost with-
FISHING FOR SHAD BY MOONLIGHT, AT "JED DAY'S LANDING."
Crafts' tavern was the center of activity in the place until the railroad came into town. There was a great deal of teaming up and down the valley, particularly in the winter. The river was the main freight thorough- fare, and when the ice closed it to traffic, all the supplies for the country stores and the little mills up the valley had to go on wheels or runners. Hartford was the chief center of supply, and the taverns along the way were kept full every night. "Aunt Patty," who presided up at Crafts' tavern, was an excellent cook, whose coffee and smoking biscuit and mince pies were known far and near, and the drivers would keep their horses plodding well into the evening to reach this tavern, rather than stop at some inferior place. There never was a more jolly set of fellows in the world than those old stage-drivers and teamsters. " They lived for the day they were using." and their stories, jokes and general good nature were proverbial. There were live- ly times in the bar-room after supper, when the cards and checkers were brought forth, and the flip began to circulate, and the smoke wreaths began to curl through the thickening air. There was a continual rumble of conversation, broken at short intervals by laughter when some good point was made, until toward ten o'clock. when the company began to dwindle, and at eleven the last of them had gone bed- ward, lights were out and the house closed for the night. But every one was astir long before dawn the next morning, and breakfast was served by candle light. There was a growing brightness in the east, but it still lacked something of sun- rise when the teams were again on the road. The snow crunched frostily be- neath the runners, the whips cracked, the bells set up a merry jingling, good-by and a last joke or two were shouted back, and another day's journey through the keen winter air was begun.
THE PATCH - 1850.
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PICTURESQUE HAMPDEN.
One of the men who used to stop at Crafts' tavern was " Uncle " Howland Ames. He had a little cotton mill up at Conway, and used to do the teaming for it himself. On the down trip he would carry a load of cloth, and coming back would bring a few bales of cotton. He was economically inclined and used to carry oats for his horses, and, in a stout, wooden bucket, sufficient food for himself. Thus he had only to pay for barn room and hay for his team, and a bed for himself. When supper time came, he would draw up to the bar-room stove and eat his lonely meal, and then stow his bucket in the corner till he went to it again for breakfast. Among other things, he always carried a roasted chicken on these trips. One night the boys- partly as a joke, partly as a hint that they thought this manner of getting along altogether too cheap-cleaned out the chicken and left only the bones behind in the bucket. The old gentleman made no remark when he discovered the havoc played with his chicken, but after that took his box to bed with him.
Craits' tavern was, in those days, the post office of the place. Mail arrived twice a day - from the south at ten in the morning, and from the north at two in the afternoon. There was a mail delivery, also, at the little store down by the river it being the custom to send up to the tavern after it.
Looking down upon the river from the hill, there were almost always several river boats in sight, either with sails spread, making their slow way up or down the placid stream below the rapids, or struggling along shore on their way up to the canal, which led around the falls to regions farther north. These boats were low, square, flat-bottomed crafts, with a little cabin at the rear, and a stout mast forward, on which was hoisted, when the wind favored, a big square sail. When the wind did not favor, or died out into calm, the boats were propelled with poles. They brought up the river cargoes of sugar, tea, flour, rum and other supplies, and carried back wood, wooden ware, brooms and country produce in general. Merchandise for Holyoke was unloaded at Jedediah Day's landing, which was on the river near the present village of Springdale. This landing was commonly known as " Jed Day's," or " Diah Day's." In times of low water, the larger boats bound up the
THE DAM IN A DEY TIME.
RUFUS ROBINSON ROWS OVER THE DAM.
river were obliged to stop here. Sometimes the cargoes were transferred to lighter crafts, but often were unloaded and teamed to the river company's storehouse at Northampton. "Uncle " Whiting Street was one of the owners of the river carrying trade, and was local agent. When a boat was obliged to stop at Ireland Parish, instead of continuing up the river, he would go through the village and call upon the farmers to be ready with their teams to cart the
THE HOLYOKE DAM - 1892.
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PICTURESQUE HAMPDEN.
THE RIVER BELOW THE GATEHOUSE.
produce to Northampton the fol- lowing morning. Nearly every farmer in the village had two yoke of oxen and one or two horses, and they were ready to drop anything to earn a little money with their teams. Oxen were always used for these short summer trips, but for the longer winter journeys horses were substituted. Sometimes a dozen of these slow-moving ox teams could be seen at once wend- ing their way toward Northampton.
Whiting Street was one of the characters of the region. He was a heavy, smoothed faced man, al- ways well, and always at work. He had the reputation of being miserly, and no doubt he had a passion for getting and saving money, but probably suffered no personal discomfort on this account; that is, he did not stint him- self in food, clothes or housing in a manner to bring any suffering. He became quite wealthy, but he always lived in a big, unpainted farmhouse, well up on the hill on the Northampton road, about two and one-half miles from the present center. There he lived with a brother and two sisters. The cost of living was almost nothing. They had the garden and the farm to draw from, and he took pleasure in figuring up the actual cash expense, which he estimated was fifty-eight cents apiece per week. He was a very close man, but he was perfectly honest and honorable. He had no other place of business than his house. "His office was in his boots," so the saying ran. Accounts and memoranda he kept on little slips of paper, until he could deliver them at the storehouse at Northampton. He always walked back and forth to his business, even to his last days. He had a horse, so this could hardly have
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