USA > Massachusetts > Franklin County > Ashfield > History of the town of Ashfield, Franklin County, Massachusetts from its settlement in 1742 to 1910 > Part 33
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Of the two Captains mentioned on page 231, Benjamin Phillips sold land here in 1792, but was not taxed here in 1795. Captain Benjamin had a son, Benjamin, born in 1752, and some of the records may be of the son. But the query still remains for some future historian to solve as to what became of this man and his descendants. He not only took an active part as an officer of the war, but was prominent in town affairs; was first clerk after the incorporation of the town, and select- man for a number of years. Mr. George Bassett, in a note in the Phillips genealogy, says he was related to the Phillips families here. He is probably the Benjamin Phillips mentioned on page 195 of the genealogy as having been a prisoner at Quebec in 1775. Capt. Ephraim Jennings married a daughter (Mariam) of Chileab Smith. In 1794 he owned land and lived in East Buckland, north of the Mary Lyon place. He died before 1800, and was probably buried in Buckland, although we are unable to find his burial place. He left quite a family of children who went to western New York, where some of the descendants now reside.
Of the five days men enlisted August 17 to August 22, 1777, at the time of the Bennington battle, a note of an interview with Mr. Marcus Parker quotes his words: "My father, Elisha Parker, was in the company that marched to Bennington. They marched to Cheshire the first day where they joined the Berkshire troops, and the next day marched to Bennington." Elisha Parker's name is on the State roll of Captain Jennings' Company for the five day expedition, so it is quite certain that Captain Jennings' Company did go to Bennington. By the reënlistments about this time it seems very probable that both
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Captain Phillips' and Captain Jennings' Companies were with Gates at the surrender of Burgoyne.
The following is a recorded list of Revolutionary soldiers drawing pensions in Ashfield in 1832:
AGE
AGE
Lot Bassett
77
Wid. Samuel Guilford
John Bement
Solomon Hill .
72
John Belding
75 Zachariah Howes
79
Caleb Bryant
79 Ziba Leonard .
. 75
Timothy Catlin
78 Bethuel Lilly
.
70
Josiah Fuller .
68
Calvin Maynard 73
Joseph Gurney
73
Elisha Parker
86
Elizabeth Guilford
74
Caleb Packard
72
Asa Selden
72 Laban Stetson
.
77
Charles Simpson
88 Ezekiel Taylor
75
Jonathan Taylor
75 David Vincent
70
Caleb Ward
78
Stephen Warren
. 95
.
The last pensioner, David Vincent, died in 1848. Stephen Warren died a few months before him.
Allusion has been made to the increase of taxes occasioned by the Civil War. In 1865, the total money tax for the town was $18,693.75 and a highway tax of $2000, the sum total being $20,693.75, making the rate over three per cent. The extra expenses for that year were for town debt $4500, subscriptions refunded, $4500. Volunteers (Bounties), $2375. Those who subscribed for funds to carry on the war and to hire substitutes to prevent a draft had quite a portion refunded to them. But there were those who had sons or other near relatives in the war, and who for this reason did not deem it their duty to subscribe. On such men these taxes fell heavily, having no subscriptions returned to them. Some of these men, who lost sons in the war, were obliged to pay a heavier tax than their neighbors.
In the tax list for 1794, there were eight poll tax payers by the name of Alden, six of Bement, six of Belding, ten of Howes, five of Lillie, and sixteen of Phillips.
March, 1830, "Voted not to license shows and theatrical entertainments in this town," and November, 1814, "Voted to petition Congress to stop carrying or opening the mail on the Sabbath."
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HISTORY OF ASHFIELD
The following sketches were written by Mrs. Amanda H. Hall:
LITTLE SWITZERLAND
In 1837, or thereabout-for I was approaching my ninth year, Mr. John Baldwin and his wife, both formerly of Ash- field, but then living in New York, came to visit at my grand- father's. The year before they went by sailing packet to Europe, and spent several months in London, Paris, and especially among the Alps in Switzerland and Italy.
During this visit they drew freely on a large fund of informa- tion concerning what they had enjoyed. One day, after having given us most thrilling descriptions of scenery among the Swiss mountains, my grandfather said, playfully-"After dinner I will take you out to see Ashfield's little Switzerland" and gave them the view on the Northwest road, with which we are all so familiar. This they both declared to be worthy of the name, which it has held from that time.
In the early history of New England it was customary (as we all know) in western Massachusetts towns, if not more generally, to give public warning to every stranger coming in for residence, that he might not, in case of adversity or want of thrift, become a public charge and expense.
A man hailing from Shutesbury had appeared in Ashfield. At the next following town meeting the town crier, at a suita- able point in the business proceedings, called this man to the floor, saying in forbidding tones, "I warn you-I warn you- I warn you-off the face of God's earth." The astonished and excited man exclaimed, "Why, where shall I go to?"-"Go to Shutesbury where you belong" was the laconic reply. The main point in this incident lay in the fact that at that time Shutesbury was chiefly known as "huckleberry ground," with a large colony of negroes to gather and sell the berries through the Connecticut valley and in near-by hill towns. I remember when at the right season for berries, "Old Newport" and other colored brethren regularly appeared with wagon loads of the berries which they sold from door to door by the bushel or less, or more, bringing along at the same time, their brushes, and other whitewashing regalia for general "jobs" after disposing of their berries. Also that they were easily transformed into chimney sweeps, doing up all that sort of house clean- ing for a twelve-month, or till spring cleaning came around again.
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CONCERNING PARSON PORTER
Early in the last century Ashfield hospitality would have been at appalling discount without the daily cups of "flip" or "toddy" offered to friend or stranger as freely as now we serve tea, coffee or broths "between meals" for refreshment of the weary who drop in.
Parson Porter, long revered and beloved pastor here, was a man of much personal dignity and polish of manner, who would have considered it an unpardonable breach of courtesy to de- cline such hospitality whenever offered. Consequently, when on a round of parish visits, he sometimes yielded to these blandishments too often for his own good.
I have often heard, that, calling at my grandfather's near the end of one such day (his visits were always paid in the saddle) he slipped the bridle of his horse over the hitching post at the gate as he dismounted and went rather uncertainly to the house. It was evident he had already been sufficiently "refreshed," so nothing was offered him. But he was in a social mood and tarried long. Meanwhile his horse had easily freed himself from the post, and was enjoying "refreshment" by the roadside when a neighbor, in passing, who knew the horse, brought him back to the post, slipping the bridle through and over for security.
When Parson Porter left, my grandfather walked with him to the gate, and often described to my willing ears, how grace- fully, in his long silken hose and silver buckles, he managed his uncertain legs as he surveyed his horse first from one side, then from the other, exclaiming, "Squire White is it pos-si-ble my horse went through that post-hole?"
The many descendants of the Bassett family now living may be interested in the following items:
Rev. Alvan Sanderson's Journal for 1808 says, "June 8, Thursday, married Thomas Bassett to Fanny Sears." Extracts from the diary of Thomas Bassett: "1816 June 5. Season backward. 6 Very cold and windy with snow that laid on the mountain towns. 7 Ground froze half an inch thick. Ice on water half an inch thick in the morning. 8 Still cold and frozen, people with great coats and mittens on. 9th, 10th, and 11th, Wind abated. Still continues cold-fields white with frost-vegetables destroyed. Corn killed quite into the ground -fields barren. 1821, July 4th, Town meeting in Town Hall-
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HISTORY OF ASHFIELD
first time. 1822, Jan. 14, George Ranney died. 16th, funeral sermon in town hall. 1823, Oct. 15, Ground froze quite hard. 18th, Snow fell five inches deep. 25th Snow storm good part of the day and night. 26th, More snow, now seven or eight inches deep. Sleighing. 1824, Apr. 6. Frank went by stage to see the Tileston farm. 1827, May 25, Muster in Ashfield."
In the cold year which he chronicles no corn was raised and there was much suffering for lack of food.
Probably few men in the state have had the length of con- tinuous service as stage driver that William Deming had on one stage route from Ashfield to Shelburne Falls for over thirty years. An account of a ride over this route was printed in the Greenfield Gazette in 1889 and reprinted in 1906, the year after his death, which gives a very good picture of Mr. Deming and his eccentricities as stage driver under the name of "Sam." Its authorship was credited to Miss Julina O. Hall, sister of Pres. G. Stanley Hall.
"SAM" THE COACH-DRIVER
Oakfield was never so charming! It was a matter of deep regret to me that morning that my stay must be cut short, but the stage-coach had rumbled up to the hotel, and I must be off.
"Room for me?" I asked of the stout, good-natured driver, as he climbed over the yellow wheels and opened the coach door.
"Well, I reckon so, judgin' from yer present size. But if you should turn out one o' them awful swells, I might have to git ye onto the outside."
He was an unique character. I had ridden with him once before and had good reason to remember him, for never had I so cursed and so blessed an innocent man, all in the same breath, as it werc. I was at that moment uncertain whether I should tell him all he had unconsciously done for me, or not, but I had taken the precaution to charge the landlord the night before, to see that I took Sam's coach rather than a rival vehicle which had just been set up, and upon which the public frowned, with some reason.
"Of course," said mine host. "Whoever has been with Sam once never will go with any one else."
I had taken the unoccupied half of the middle seat, and was
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congratulating myself that, being the sixth passenger in a three- seated coach, its seating capacity was exhausted and we should now set off without delay.
"Where are you going to put me, driver?" called a voice from outside.
Sam's keen eye surveyed the speaker for an instant :- "Well, the back seat is the safest. You seem to be made out of a little finer clay than most folks, and I'm kind o' fraid you'll break."
"But there are two there now," remonstrated the dude, as he threw away his cigar and peered over his eye-glasses.
"Good land! Do you call that two? That's Deacon Jones and his better half. Look here young man," he continued with a look of serious concern, "are you in the habit of seein' double that way?"
The young man had scarcely climbed in when a buggy drove up from the south village, and an enormous man with a patri- archal beard and the consequential air of a bank-president announced his intention of joining our number.
"Say Captain," said the driver, as he took the new comer's dimensions with his keen gray eye, "have you got your growth?"
"Come now," said the victim, "don't make fun of me before folks. My sensitiveness corresponds to my size. You'd better be thinking what you'd do if the Lord had made you so big."
"Well, so I will. But my impression now without thinkin' the matter over, is that I should go down to New York or Boston, to one o' them boss surgeons and be made over into a pair o' twins."
There was a roar of laughter from the hotel piazza and I understood at once why all the boarders were so fond of seeing the stage off.
But we were not yet en route. There were errands to be stated in Sam's ear by the merchant, the grocer and the tinner, to no one of which did he pay the slightest attention, and I was sure none of them would be done.
"Never you fear," said the deacon, to whom I idly mentioned my impression. "He never forgets anything. If a woman sends for him to match a yard of calico, he takes no rest till that errand is done, just right too. If the commercial interests of the whole nation depended on that purchase he could n't give more attention to it."
"That's so," said the deacon's wife. "And he's got good taste, too. My niece from Albany spent the summer with me last year, and she wanted to get a ribbon to wear to a big party
.
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HISTORY OF ASHFIELD
at the hotel. I told her to send by Sam and you ought to have seen her laugh.
" 'I don't want red and yellow stripes or green and blue plaids,' she said, 'and that's all such a man would see any beauty in.' "
"But I made her try it. I told her to give him a piece of the dress she wanted to wear it with and 'if he don't suit you' say I, 'I'll pay for it myself.' And sure enough he got her the prettiest thing, in soft browns and gold, and she was so astonished she said if ever she came again, she'd save all her spring shopping for him to do. And it does beat all, the way he has of seeing through folks. If he should meet you on the street to-day, he could fit you to a pair of boots a year later, by his eye."
During the "deaconess' " sotto voce eulogy, the horses had jogged on as far as the little group of houses in the valley. Here was a tank of water by the road-side, and while the animals were taking their accustomed draught, an aged man stepped out of a shop opposite.
"Good mornin', Uncle Peter!" said Sam. "How's your rheumatism and your neuralgia and your gout and your heart- disease and your dyspepsia and your measles?"
"Pooty fair! I reckon I'm about as tough as anybody o' my age. Do you see that pile o' shingles? I made all them last week."
"My land! How old be ye?"
"Ninety-one. I'm the oldest man in town."
"Why don't you renew your youth?"
"Well, I'd be mighty glad if I could."
"Easiest thing in the world! See here?" and Sam took up a clean, white shingle fresh from the old man's draw-shave, and with a piece of red chalk from his vest pocket, wrote "91" in large, heavy figures.
"See that?" he said to the old man.
"Yes, Yes! My eyesight is as good as yours."
"Now you turn that upside down, so," Sam continued "and it ain't but 'sixteen.' See? Well, I reckon that if you should just turn over and stand on your head sometime, you would n't be ninety-one but only sixteen."
The horses had finished their draught, but we had scarcely started before another passenger presented herself with "big box, little box, bandbox and bundle."
"Why, Jerusha!" exclaimed Sam as he dismounted from his perch to assist her, "be you goin' a visitin'?"
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"I was calculating to. Hope you've no objection," was the pert rejoinder.
"Well, I do' know. Have you got your best cap and spectacles?"
"Yes, don't you worry."
"And your black silk apron and your false front and your knitting-work and your fine-tooth comb and your curl papers and your tooth pick and your Testament and your memo- randum and your Jamaica ginger and your turkey-tail fan?"
"Come now do let me git in, though I don't see any place for me."
"Did you lock the cupboard and bolt the cellar door and shut down the hatchway and nail up the windows?"
"Yes, Yes! They're all right."
"Well, who's going to feed your chickens and take care of your cat and bring in the eggs and scare the crows away and set the rat-trap and kill the potato bugs?"
"That's all tended to. Anything more?"
"Did you shut the stove damper and leave the fire all safe?"
"Come, if you don't stop your nonsense I'll stay at home."
"Have you had your breakfast and said your prayers?"
"Do let a body alone."
"Well, I can't see but what you're about ready to go."
The helpless victim endured all this tirade like one well fortified against any ills that might befall a traveler, and Sam's round face was as grave as that of a judge of the Inquisition.
With nine in the coach and three on the box, we were increas- ingly curious as to what would be done with her. Sam gave her the seat he had just left and we were beginning to think he'd have to go afoot himself when he climbed over the side- gear, put his feet on the cross-bar and sat down on the foot- board of the driver's box, amongst the feet of his outside pas- sengers. At the same time he burst out singing the old well known rivival hymn, ---
"Oh! to be nothing, nothing, nothing!"
It was an amusing, yet most uneventful ride. In the hay- fields along the route, the workmen all seemed to manage to be near enough the roadside to have a word with the jolly driver.
"Hello, Sam! How's your courage this morning?" shouted one.
"First rate! Two Bengal tigers, four hyenas and the snake o' Paradise all ter once wouldn't scare me a bit," was the reply.
"Glad to hear it," said the farmer as he wiped his face with
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HISTORY OF ASHFIELD
his gingham slecve, "'cause I heard you wa'n't goin' to drive stage no more."
"Well that's curious!" said Sam. "I thought the liars was all winter killed this year. They was made for a hot climate, you know."
From the opposite field a red-cheeked youth rushed up to the fencc.
"Did you bring down that package for me," he asked.
"Let's see. It was a three cent valentine you wanted me to git, I believe. I'm awful sorry but I didn't git it. You see, I saw her ridin' out with another feller, and I could n't bear to have you waste your money so."
At the Hartland postoffice there were more passengers still. By some magic, Sam had conjured up an "extra" which now drove up along side and a general rearrangement of passengers followed, by which everybody was made more comfortable. The dude and the young school girl with daisies on her hat were in Sam's mind candidates for the back seat together.
"Say, hold on:" he said, as he was about to help the young girl in. "I guess I've made a mistake. I was pairin' you off simply by your size. I forgot one or the other of you might be bashful."
Of course this was just the proper preface to plunging them into a good humored chat. The young man "ventured to pre- sume that he could stand it," and the young girl bowed a little and blushed a little and smiled a little.
Sam encouraged her by promising to "keep an eye on them."
The front seat was given entire to the woman with the baby. In the general revolution I had secured a place on the box. The other vehicle was just ahead of us. It was an open carriage and the sun in our faces gave a show of excuse for the silly couple ahead, but as they whisked on far beyond and out of sight, both under one umbrella, Sam chuckled, "I would n't mind bein' in his place myself, would you?"
"Driver," said I, and I turned upon him as if I were indicting him at the bar, "just own up; that's an old trick of yours."
"No 't'aint! Upon honor? I never tried it but once in my life. I hate flirtin' worse'n I hate hornets, and castor oil and long sermons and smoky stoves and burnt bacon and a hole in my pockets and punched half dollars and mugwumps."
I ignorcd his categorical tendencies at which the rest laughed, I was too intent. The revelation had got to come now.
"And that 'once' was three years ago last January, in a driving snow storm. I was your victim. You sent me and a
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pretty girl on together to catch the first train," said I, and I felt my breath coming hotter and faster as the reminiscence rushed upon me, "and we caught it. I tell you! It was a good scheme; it worked well; I married that girl inside of a year."
"Well! Did you marry her for life, or only till the next divorce court sits?"
"I tell you, there never was such a wife on the face of the earth. It was rather a silly beginning we made. We had to, with all your joking to start us off; but, sir, we should have blessed your name a thousand times over, since then, if only we'd known what it was."
"Sam Tooley, I've no objection to a few blessings provided they're in style. Mebbe it ain't too late now."
I was absorbed in reflections and only half heard the banter with this one and that one that followed.
A clerical looking young man drove past us and stopped with an express package for Sam to take.
"Well, parson, got your sermon done? Is it regeneration or justification or sanctification or botheration this week?"
"I should be happy to have you come and hear for yourself," was the courteous reply.
"I'll give you a text to meditate on next week. 'And the sons of God married the daughters of men.' 'Go thou and do likewise.' 'What thou doest do quickly' and 'rejoice ever- more.'
On reaching the station the coach drove up in the rear and there was a great jingling of cash as we all paid our dues and a great surging of the crowd toward our side of the building. The idlers were all eager to catch Sam's drollery.
"Wait a moment," called the deacon, as the driver started to unload the baggage. "There are two more cents your due."
"Never mind 'em; just drop 'em into the missionary box. I'm always generous when it's coppers we're talkin' about. Besides they may buy a pious tract, on red-hot brimstone, that'll save a perishin' soul, like as not."
"Now hold on Sam! There is such things as going too far with jokes. I've heard your father was a preacher. I don't see how you dare to make light of serious things."
For the first time that morning Sam's grave face relaxed and he burst out into a rollicking laugh.
"Look o' here!" said he, addressing the crowd generally. 'He says I must n't make light o' hot brimstone. Can't never scratch no more matches, can I?"
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The deacon himself concluded to join the laugh. The train whistled and the group dispersed. Sam's passengers went their various ways, wondering why the morning's stage-ride had fatigued them so little.
Summer and winter, in sun and storm, Sam Tooley jogs along the hilly road. Once, twice or three times, as the traveling public demands, he goes over the ground, always ready to do anything demanded of him by letter, or by telephone, or by the living voice. A hearty goodwill towards all mankind,- this is his culture, his politics and his religion.
Let no serious student of sociology affirm that it takes wisdom or wealth or worldly honor to gain the love of one's fellow-men, and the steadfast devotion of a host of friends. A kind heart, a merry mood and an unselfish spirit will make their way into many pleasant walks in life.
The kindliness which a man sows, that shall he also reap.
A passenger at one time told Mr. Deming he should think he would forget some of his errands, he had so many to do. 'O, no, I never forget, never set down anything either. Why, the other day I had 103 errands to do in Greenfield and had forty-two minutes between trains to do them in. Never forgot one; got 'em all done and had time to eat a piece of custard pie down to the depot before the train came in."
One morning at the Ashfield Post Office the last part of the winter they were discussing the size of the "dive holes" in the town when the stage driver said, "Your dive holes up here don't begin with some of 'em down in Buckland. I don't pretend to drive into 'em, got my horses trained so they jump right across. Why, the other day I was going across one so, and I looked down under me and there was a yoke of cattle and a load of wood."
An old lady was bewailing the wickedness of such large stories when a gray haired theological professor, who had been over the route many times with the driver said, "O, no, Dem- ing's lies are all white ones, I never knew him to tell a mali- cious lie."
.
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EXTRACTS FROM THE DIARY OF REV. ALVAN SANDERSON The Founder of Sanderson Academy.
At the beginning of the year 1808, he notes that he was in- vited to preach for a short season in Ashfield. In a short time he was requested by the committee to remain four Sabbaths more.
Apr. 3rd. After a town meeting relating to ministerial affairs, was requested to remain 3 Sabbaths more. I consented. April 21. Was notified by a committee of the Ch. and Soc., of an almost unanimous call to settle in this town in the work of the Gospel ministry.
Terms follow. The next week he speaks of calling at Rev. Mr. Porter's of Ashfield, at Rev. Mr. Field's of Charlemont, at Rev. Mr. Spaulding's of Buckland, at Rev. Mr. Miller's of Heath, to Shelburne where he speaks of stopping at Mr. Nim's "to dry me," then at Rev. Mr. Packard's, to Hawley to see Mr. Grout, and to Plainfield to see Mr. Hallock, after which he says:
My object in calling upon so many ministers this week was to obtain their advice concerning my settlement in this town.
May 10th. The committee of the church and town waited on me to converse upon matters relative to my settling here. May 11. Began to write an answer to ye call ye church and town have given me. May 12. Finished writing my answer to ye church and town. Took a copy of it.
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