USA > Massachusetts > Hampden County > West Springfield > Account of the centennial celebration of the town of West Springfield, Mass. : Wednesday, March 25th, 1874 : with the historical address of Thomas E. Vermilye the poem of Mrs. Ellen P. Champion, and other facts and speeches > Part 2
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Then, we used the old tinder-box and flint to light our fires. In 1873, according to the man you love to honor, Mr. Dawes, the government received $2,500,000 revenue, as tax on the lu- cifer matches made in this country. Then the manufactures of our country were very limited. Now almost every industry of the known world is found within our borders. The first rail- way in this land was constructed in 1830; thirty miles in the State of Maryland. In 1872, 67,104 miles of railway had been laid, at a cost of $3,159,423,057, and whose earnings in 1872, reached the enormous sum of $472,241,055.
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Of these railways, Massachusetts has 1,658 miles, whose earnings in 1872, were $25,363,177.
The letters that pass through our post-offices are almost too numerous to count. The city of New York alone, received in 1873, 16,500,000 foreign letters, and about 45,000,000 domestic letters. Her postmaster is under bonds of $1,200,000 for the faithful performance of his duties. 1,052 clerks and carriers are under his control, and the post-office building now in process of construction in New York will cost more than $7,000,000.
Let us then thank God to-day for this pleasant reunion, and for the advance that has been made in our land during the past century, in manufactures, agriculture, steam-power, labor-sav- ing implements of various sorts, education and the arts, and es- pecially in the developments of a mineral character, gold, silver, iron, copper and lead, which are being discovered as rapidly as there is necessity for them. Neither are the people regardless of morality and religion. Evidences greet us on every hand, that the religious element is very strong in our land, and the foundation of that element is the recognition of one only living and eternal God. But we have also great occasion to rejoice to-day, that not only are there improvements throughout this land and the world, in mechanics, arts and agriculture, but that morality and religion are finding their way into the remotest corners of the earth, and penetrating the islands of the seas. But these matters can only be kept in progress by the hearty and united action of the people. Let us inquire diligently our duty in regard to them, and when the pathway shall be opened to us, be ready to take our place in the foremost ranks and bat- tle for the right, as God may give us strength.
ONLY A STORY.
POEM WRITTEN BY MRS. ELLEN P. CHAMPION OF NEW MARKET, N. H., FOR THE WEST SPRINGFIELD CENTENNIAL.
[READ BY MR. L. F. MELLEN.]
Ir is only a story I'm waiting to tell, Call it vision of sleep, or a wild flight of fancy ; If 'twere conjurer's trick, sooth, he managed it well, And worked up like magic his shrewd necromancy.
There are spirits so ardent ;- no pun, you'll perceive,- I mean those that go rapping and tipping the table ;- They turn some weak brains, and oft strong minds deceive, But,-well, here is the mystery, to solve if you're able.
I sat reading last night,-it was lonely and late, I forget,-it was morning,-yes, midnight and after, When I heard this strange sound, just outside by my gate, " Ha, ha, ha," like a burst of the merriest laughter.
In amazement I sprang, half bewildered and dazed, Then shrunk back, full suspecting some demon of evil ; Were the lights turning blue ? No, they cheerily blazed, " 'Tis my rolicking chum," I thought, "home from a revel."
My books suited the hour. One was grewsome; it told Of fierce, warlike Vikings, a wild dismal story ; My nerves are well strung, but my flesh crept with cold When the stern pirate heroes walked headless and gory.
Another grim volume, enchanting me quite, Pictured pale shades in bride robes through dim arches straying, Where waiting maids, tortured to fainting with fright, Spent whole nights at their beads, weeping, trembling and praying.
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Still my lamp, burning pure, gave me courage and calm, I e'en smiled at the thought that gaunt ghosts should go stalking ; That strange laugh I had heard, fie ! it boded no harm, 'Twas plainly a young moon-struck poet, out walking.
One, the city clocks chimed, pealing near and afar ; Thrice my watchful dog growled ; warned, I waited intrusion, Listening. Loud, louder still, that hobgoblin " ha, ha !" Dismaying, appalling ! A mocking delusion !
'Tis a witch ! SHE SHALL DIE ! If she's ugly and old! (That no witches exist 'twould be hard to convince us, But those weird, which disturbed Cotton Mather, I'm told, Disappeared long ago with their hot pins and pincers.)
The mad shout echoed long. The same voice as before, Then a foot on the threshold seemed sturdily falling ; That firm step in the hall is no sprite to be sure, But a bachelor friend, always late, comes a-calling.
The door opened. A stranger, gray, stalwart and tall, . Doffed a queer old cocked hat, bowing slowly and grandly, " I've dropped in for an hour or two's chat, that is all, I'm so happy," he said, smiling slyly and blandly.
" You've a sensible fire, friend, birch wood, fragrant, sweet, Singing songs of the forests while burning and glowing ;
That's no back log of tinsel, with fagots to cheat With their mock flames of gas jets, mere shamming and showing.
" I'm an old-fashioned man. How our lives fly away ! I'm a hundred ! You stare,-you wouldn't suspect it ? I've made a great feast for my children to-day, And, ha ha, not a daughter or son shall neglect it.
""Tis my birthday, you know," looking quizzical still. " I, a yeoman, was born by this beautiful river, Though a babe, when the guns boomed at old Bunker Hill, I shouted, 'tis said, " Independence forever !'
" My name's Rural, what poets call Sylvan, in rhymes ; My old home such a nook for a bit of day dreaming !
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But my sleep is disturbed by the rush of the times,
The whir of swift wheels. and the engine's shrill screaming.
" I'm a wizard,-don't laugh,-this cane is my wand ; Mark through the green meadows those calm waters stealing ; That fair hamlet, broad street, bowered by forest trees grand, The maple boughs parting, a quaint church revealing."
I thought of Aladdin. The wand waving still.
The scene changed ; busy haunts and proud dwellings appearing, Halls of learning, tall spires, in the vale, on the hill, And the hum of a city, hard by, I was hearing.
" Now I'll tell you," he said, " just the funniest joke, Cunning pranks of my children I'm fond of disclosing, Bold young Holyoke took off half my head, at a stroke, And Agawam my feet, as I lay one day dozing.
" And,-but this is a secret between you and me ;- Straws show how the wind blows, I have a suspicion
If I'm ever caught napping again, don't you see, Shad Lane will be gone without asking permission.
" But though robbed of my head, and despoiled of my feet, Friends declare I've improved,-I don't think they flatter,
For I'm quite sure myself, 'tis a happy conceit, That each change I have known is a change for the better.
" I'm no dreamer, deploring the past, faded, gone, Many Days still are left me, kind fate is propitious, And for each Bliss that vanished a new Bliss is born," My guest whispered and winked, he was growing facetious.
" I'm no miser," he said, " though not lacking in pelf, I've Baggs of choice treasure, no coin of it spurious, But I'm given to prating too much of myself And family history ; I forget you're not curious.
" One word more you will pardon. These doting old eyes See my children all noble beyond any other ; More faithful, more loyal, more worthy and wise, Weighed (*Wade) but never found wanting, on sister or brother.
*Hon. Benjamin F. Wade of Ohio, is a native of West Springfield.
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" And they coming to-day, I long to behold them ; I'm waiting to greet them with tender caressing ; My fond, empty arms are outstretched to enfold them, My heart warms to welcome with bounty and blessing."
The voice ceased and the Presence grew formless as air, The dawn broke gray and chill, with the gusty March weather,
Twilight faded, the lamp dimmed with flicker and flare, Then guest, warmth, and taper all vanished together.
Hark ! is it the south wind that rustles the vines, Tossing crisp, withered leaves in the wood and the meadow ? Or is it thy voice, O, " long river of pines," Whispering low with soft music through mist and through shadow ?
Or the bluebird, which seeks her home nest as of old ? Taking Spring now on trust, now in doubt, yet she lingers,
For the elms don their holiday tassels of gold, And the maples with coral gems deck their brown fingers.
'Tis the bustle and stir in old Ramapoag street, Sounds of joy and rejoicing disturbing my slumbers,- I've been dreaming, but this is no charm and no cheat, This multitude growing with gathering numbers.
'Tis the Century Feast. Swift they come, none are late,- Some from far northern climes, where too long they've been staying, Or from warm sunny slopes ; from the rich "Golden Gate," And from mosques of the East where the Moslems are praying.
All are here, all are here, on this grand natal day, Their gifts-garnered lore and rare eloquence-bringing,
Tender memories, fraught with the grave and the gay, Dainty chaplets, sweet minstrelsy, gladness and singing.
All are here ; are all here ? Side by side, dust to dust, Kindred groups, turf embosomed, in calm silence sleeping, Theirs the rest which God gives his beloved, through trust, Till the morning shall come, and the grave yield its keeping.
All are here, all are here ! The loved patriot dead, Names written in stone and remembered in story,
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Held safe, safe in our hearts, they who battled and bled
For their God, for their country, for right and for glory !
And the centuries will pass,-Springs and Autumns told o'er ; Still will flow to the ocean our strong, dauntless river ; Some bluebird will sing in these elms as of yore, But each voice of To-Day will be silent forever.
Music followed by the Band,-after which came the great event of the day, The Historical Address, by Thomas E. Ver- milye, D. D., LL.D., who more than forty years ago was a Pastor of the First Congregational Church.
,Co.
OH
limspraque,
FOURTH PASTOR OF FIRST CONGREGATIONAL CHURCH.
HISTORICAL ADDRESS.
IT SEEMS to be a dictate of nature, to keep alive the remem- brance of events of private or social or public interest, by days and acts of formal commemoration. By such means worth is honored, example continues to speak, sentiment exerts its proper control over mere physical motions, and good influences are perpetuated and made permanent. Nothing can be more in accordance on such occasions with the character and spirit of those who settled this country, than the custom handed down from earliest times, to combine religious services with the secu- lar observances. Thus did the Fathers, and thus do we ex- press the conviction that true religion is all-pervading ; that God is the guardian both of families and states; that pros- perity and safety must rest upon a moral and religious basis ; that religion is not so holy a thing as to be placed far apart from the ordinary courses of life, nor the State so weak as to be endangered, or lose its proper position by such contact ; that neither the purity of the one, nor the independence of the other, is necessarily impaired or jeoparded by such a union of Church and State. No country has, in reality, been kept more free from entangling alliances of this kind, yet in none has religion, at this day, a more distinctly recognized presence, nor more pub- lic reverence. When the first bridge was to be opened between Springfield and this town, it was deemed most appropriate that so important an event should be inaugurated by religious exer- cises, and a sermon from Dr. Lathrop. The annual election sermon in this State ; prayer at the opening of the daily session
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of Congress, and of almost or quite all of the State Legislatures ; these, and many similar instances, confirm the justness of the observation. Never can I forget the remarkable scene at the Sumpter meeting held on Union Square, in New York, at the breaking out of our own sad civil war. The immense area, the windows and even the roofs of the surrounding houses were crowded with human beings of all classes ; and when, as one of the chaplains, I advanced upon the platform to open the meeting with prayer, every hat was raised, the stillness of a church suc- ceeded, and as I closed, one deep, solemn, almost appalling " Amen " rose from the vast throng and went up to Heaven. Nor can I forget another meeting, hastily gathered on the an- nouncement of President Lincoln's death, at the junction of Wall and William streets, the very mart of trade ; the centre and home, it might be called, of the moneyed operations of the entire continent, and even of half the world ; the place where Mammon holds his court. Men of all ranks filled the streets, as far as the eye could reach. And when again I was invited to open the meeting with prayer from the portico of the Custom House, profound solemnity reigned, and as I closed by repeat- ing the Lord's Prayer, the whole multitude responded, and their " Amen " seemed to attest the faith as well as the feelings of the country, flying in affliction from all human trust to "Our Fa- ther in heaven." I thought that while such a spirit prevails, our institutions are safe ; nor need the Church or State require that Christianity shall be established by law, and formally en- grafted into our political constitution ; nor doubt that our Fa- thers' God will be the God of their children after them.
No commemoration would seem to be more strictly secular than that of a town charter. But it would be a strange thing to exclude the chapter on religion from the history of any New England town, for thereby the record would often keep out of sight the most interesting and important agency that has been at work in the process. Care has been taken, therefore, that
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this element shall have its place in the present celebration, and I appear, by your kind invitation, as a former pastor of the old parish, to give the discourse on the occasion. It will not be a formal sermon ; and yet, as we follow the current of time, I think we shall meet many things calculated to awaken deep, serious reflections. I cannot disguise from myself the thought, that we are engaged in performing the funeral rites, and rais- ing the monument, and inscribing the epitaph over a century of years.
West Springfield, stretching along the west bank of the river, occupies one of the most beautiful portions of the Con- necticut valley. The river, the noblest in New England, from its northern beginning, through its long course to the Sound, presents a great variety of scenery ; but at no point, as it seems to me, is it so attractive as here. We can easily imagine the surprise and delight with which the first comers from the East were filled as they reached the summit of Springfield Hill, and the eye took in the river and rich meadow-lands below, and swept the horizon, from the northern limit of vision, down along the hills at the west, and for many miles away to the south, roaming over a picture of surpassing loveliness. The morning and noonday sun brings out its varying features with fine ef- fect, and the beholder might almost fancy himself to be stand- ing upon one of the Delectable mountains. Yet I think several views from the west side of the river, if not so bold and extensive, are even more simply beautiful. Often have I stood, almost entranced, upon the Meeting House Hill, and surveyed the fields and meadows around, clothed with a luxuriant vege- tation ; Mount Tom at my left, that has reared his hoary front to the suns and storms of a thousand years ; the peaceful river, gliding away at my feet, and below, on my right, expanding into a beautiful lake, where lately the rowers competed for the prize ; before me Springfield, now showing its many spires, and the Armory its acropolis ; and Longmeadow, though far away,
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still visible on the distant horizon. And how still and Sabbath- like the air ! How verdant and quiet this Goshen beneath, hid- den away from the bustling world ! How rural their dwellings, embowered in foliage, and overarched by those majestic elms ! "How goodly are thy tents, O Jacob, and thy tabernacles, O Israel ! As the valleys are they spread forth, as gardens by the river's side, as the trees of lingaloes which the Lord hath planted, and as cedar trees beside the waters." Surely the peo- ple of this happy valley have a favored heritage, and these are the abodes of thrift and contentment and love. And so it might be, but they are the children of Adam, who, even in Par- adise, stretched out his hand to the unpossessed and forbidden thing.
The town of Springfield, including at that time the whole settlement, first had, and until 1640, i. e. five or six years after its occupancy, it retained the Indian name of Agawam. The name Springfield was given, as some say, out of compliment to Mr. William Pynchon, the leader of the band who came from Springfield, near Chelmsford, England. According to others, it was so called, from the springs and streams which abounded in the region. Names were given to their new possessions by the early settlers from various reasons, and often capriciously. Many Old Country names are repeated here ; many are derived from something peculiar in their localities, as Brookfield, Long- meadow, Greenfield; and in many cases the Indian appella- tives were retained, almost always with advantage for beauty of sound, and descriptive meaning. Thus, in this neighborhood, " Pawcatuck," the western brook and village of the town, means " clear water." "Chicopee," " birch bark place." "Agawam," " crooked river," or "low meadow land." " Mittineaque," " swift water." " Ramapogue," is uncertain and unknown.
The place was reached thirteen or fourteen years after the landing of the Pilgrims, and the settlement of Plymouth Colony, in 1620. In the short interval they had spread abroad and
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founded the colonies of Salem and Charlestown in 1628, and Boston in 1630. In that year a large number of immigrants, in ten or twelve ships, reached Boston, and complaints began to be made of over population, and the cry was heard, "Give place that we may dwell, for the place is too strait for us." "The inhabitants of Massachusetts," says the historian, "were over- pressed with multitudes of new families that daily resorted thither, so as like a hive of bees overstocked, there was a ne- cessity that some should swarm out." A lively idea is thus afforded of the extent of the Puritan movement in England, as well as in this country. But, certainly, there is something very amusing in the idea of an inconvenient crowding of population at that early date, and with such wide territories all around them. To relieve the great pressure, however, as we must sup- pose, application was made to the General Court, for leave to advance to the Connecticut and form a new settlement there, which was granted. About 1633, they reached the Great river, (Quonnecticut,) so called by the Indians, not so much from its size or length, probably, as from the number of smaller streams which flow into it along its course, and swell its volume. Windsor, the first settlement in Connecticut in 1633, Hartford in 1635, and New Haven in 1638, were peopled by emigrants from Dorchester ; Springfield about 1635, by those from Rox- bury. Northampton was purchased from the Indians in 1653, by Mr. John Pynchon, for one hundred fathoms of wampum and ten coats and some trifles besides. Westfield was settled about 1660. From these movements we get an idea of a company of surveyors rather than of permanent inhabitants. They were the pioneers of the wilderness. Thus were they on the march to fulfill the destiny which Divine Providence seems to have ap- pointed for them, and for this country ; first to people New England with sons begotten in their own likeness, and then to pour forth, north and west and south, with ceaseless migration, and interfuse themselves among all the other peoples on the
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continent, becoming, wherever they go, an element of intelli- gence, enterprise and progress.
As the motive which induced them to seek the Connecticut was the report of the rich lands in its neighborhood, the west bank naturally first attracted them. The Indians esteemed land on this side more valuable than on the other. Their first building was in what, from that circumstance, is known as " Home Meadow Lot" in the present Parish of Agawam. But being warned by the friendly Indians, and probably finding from experience that there they would be exposed to floods, they re- turned to the east side and made that their homestead. They formed fifteen articles of agreement : a constitution, you per- ceive ; the American principle that from the beginning has been introduced into all our municipal, State and general gov- ernments ; and the spirit which predominated in their mind ap- pears from the fact that the very first article of their compact related to the settlement of a minister. They apportioned the land of which they had become possessed, with rigid impartial- ity, giving to each settler a home-lot and meadow and wood-lot extending eighty or one hundred rods up the hill, and also a meadow-lot on the west side of the river, as nearly opposite to the home-lot as possible. But the actual, permanent settle- ment of West Springfield, after the failure at Agawam, was not until 1654 or 5. It was on Chickopee Plains ; so that the real original settlement of this town seems to have been above Meet- ing-House Hill ; from there they spread below the hill, and into what is now known as Agawam. The whole town of Spring- field, on both sides of the river, was originally twenty-five miles square, including what is now the whole of Holyoke, West Springfield, Agawam, Westfield, Suffield, and nearly all of Southwick on the west, and Springfield, Enfield, Somers, Wilbraham, Ludlow and Longmeadow on the east ; a large tract, now teeming with an industrious population. To the honor of the first settlers, it should also be recorded that their
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possessions were secured not only by legislative grants, but by what was regarded by both parties as a fair purchase from the Indians. What were the equivalents in all cases we do not know; and no doubt at the present time the most valuable would appear ridiculous. Trinkets, strings of wampum for miles of beautiful and fertile lands, seem like simply cheating the natives. But the purchase recognized Indian rights, and the parties appear to have been satisfied. An anecdote is given by Dr. Dwight in his travels, upon what he thought good au- thority, to this effect: That in the early history of West Springfield, one of the planters, a tailor, had purchased from an Indian chief, for some small' equivalent, a tract of about three miles square of some of the best land in the region. An- other planter, a carpenter, had constructed a clumsy wheel- barrow, and after careful deliberation and bargaining the tailor took the wheelbarrow in exchange for his land. If this was a fair bargain between whites, it would have been gratuitous knavery to have gone about to cheat the Indians. Troubles and wars, we know, soon arose between the whites and the abo- rigines all over New England. It was a result simply natural, and perhaps absolutely necessary, or at least unavoidable. The two races could not co-exist on the same soil. Jealousy of the white man soon stimulated the Indian to secret plots and open violence, which incensed the whites in turn to retaliation, and wrong was revenged by wrong. In the French war, the Cana- dian French subsidized and inflamed them against the English ; the Pequot and King Philip's wars; and in this vicinity the burning of Springfield in 1675, so that only four or five houses were left ; the massacres at Hadley and Deerfield,-these were parts of the fearful tragedy. The flame which finally spread all over the country was the funeral pyre of the red man's race, and the means, dreadful, often, but certain, of the white man's ascendancy. But whatever wrongs there may have been, the unrequited seizure of their inheritance was not among them.
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Although Springfield was the homestead, yet West Spring- field seems to have early become, and even until between 1810 and 1820 it continued to be, the leading town-the largest in population in the old County of Hampshire, which included the area now divided into the three river counties, Springfield, Northampton and Hadley ; and, in fact, in 1662 the whole west- ern part of the State. I have not the statistics previous to 1695. At that time West Springfield had two hundred inhab- itants in thirty-two families. In 1756, in the March of which year Dr. Lathrop commenced his pastorate of sixty-five years' continuance, the population was between 500 and 600, i. e., it had a little more than doubled in about sixty years. But the following comparison may surprise you. In 1790, West Spring- field had a population of 2,367; an increase of four-fold in about thirty-four years. Westfield had 2,204; Conway, 2,290 ; Northampton, 1,628, and Springfield 1,574, the smallest of all. West Springfield was the largest, and exceeded Springfield by about 800. This explains the prominence which West Spring- field held, not only in this region but throughout the Common- wealth. It was the leading town in Western Massachusetts, and hence its historical influence. The census of 1810 showed it to be still in advance by 400. But fifty or sixty years have wrought a great change. In 1870 the tables are turned. West Springfield had in that year 2,606 inhabitants ; Westfield, 6,679; and Springfield, 26,703. This was owing to obvious causes. Springfield was, from the first, the trading centre, which nat- urally concentrates population ; and West Springfield was a farming district, which implies a sparse settlement. The Armory, established in 1794, also brought operatives together ; and then the railroads since 1839 have made it the centre of an immense business. Yet the preponderance of Springfield was in some respects more apparent than real ; for if we bring into the calculation, as we fairly should, the inhabitants of Holyoke and Agawam, new towns formed out of the old, we shall find a
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