USA > Massachusetts > Berkshire County > Cheshire > History of the town of Cheshire, Berkshire County, Mass. > Part 13
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Mrs. J. Bucklin is a daughter of David Smith and remembers with per- fect distinctness the arrival of the stages, which was the daily event of importance-the one ripple from the outside world-remembers the grand looking coaches, red and yellow, with their wide seats, cushioned with green or red morocco, making them soft and easy ; the middle seat being supplied with a back by a broad leather band which hooked from side to side, after those who occupied the farther seats were in their places. Through Savoy, Plainfield, Deerfield, they found their way to Northampton, where we will leave them for the historian of these towns to carry them on their farther journey.
The coaches, on the line from the south, left Pittsfield at about one o'clock in the afternoon transversed the shores of the beautiful lake which bears its Indian name Pontoosuc, wound over the hills of the old road, past the Amos Pettibone farm and Nathaniel Bliss's, rounded the curve by the cluster of mammoth elms and the gambrel-roofed house of Dr. Lyon mem- ory, at which point a long blast announced to Aunt Freelove the time to place her smoking viands on the table in the long dining room, and to the postmaster to have the mail all ready, for the stop was short, and North Adams must be reached at six o'clock. This was a branch of the through route to Northampton. Mr. John Burt, whose venerable form is often seen on our streets, owned that section of the route from Hancock to Stafford's Hill in its very infancy. Otis Peck and Porter Peck were two of the first drivers who drove the coaches from Northampton to Pittsfield. Three days were occupied in performing the entire route from Albany to Northampton.
Another diversion was made and many small towns and hamlets accom- modated by putting on a line of stages which run from Troy over the mountains, crossing through New Ashford they went over Jones's Nose, down the mountain side by a road sometimes known as the Bellows Road, turned at a point where are now the ruins of a saw-mill owned by D. B. Brown, and so around to the South Village in Adams, from thence up the valley to North Adams and Williamstown.
The military lessons taught by the two wars with England, the long and
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sanguinary revolution which declared the independence of the colonies, and left them the United States under a republican form of government, and the shorter war of 1812, which did, in very truth, make their independ- ence an assured thing, had evoked a feeling that it was necessary to main- tain these lessons, therefore the institution of general training was in vogue for a long term of years, and a thorough drill was the consequence. This day was a gala day and crowds assembled where they could view the village, the green, and watch the gaily dressed officers and soldiers that they trained in true military style. Many who recall these training days, among the memories of an era gone by forever speak with the greatest admiration of General William Plunkett, whose imposing form and pres- ence, when acting as commandant could not be forgotten. This gentleman, although never a resident of Cheshire, was associated in business at one time with Russell Brown, married his wife here, and had many friends among the people. He was elected as general in 1827.
The Cheshire Third Church, after 1817, had no settled pastor until 1820, when Elnathan Sweet, a young minister from Stephentown, was invited to come over and preach to the people, an invitation that he accepted, preach- ing from the text :
"I ask, therefore, for what intent have ye sent for me ?"
The answer given by the church to this question was as follows :
"To preach the gospel without deviation, to administer the ordinances of God's House, to indulge and forbear with Elder Leland's peculiar tenets, and not mix in any way with the troubles of the ' Aggrieved Brethren.' "
The church, believing that Elder Sweet agreed to these conditions, en- gaged him, and he became their accepted and popular pastor. Under his ministrations the people flocked to the House of God, the pews were filled and the galleries echoed once more with the voice of song and praise. As time went on Elder Sweet conversed occasionally with the aggrieved party and so palpable did the way seem to him, from his standpoint, that he could not avoid the feeling that a little persuasion, and the right word would con- vince Elder Leland of the great benefit it would be to the church if he could walk with it in its ordinances, therefore he lent his influence to the calling of a meeting at which Rev. Mr. Hull from Berlin was present as moderator and at which the following vote was taken :
"Upon a review of sentiments contained in a certain paper written by Elder John Leland, bearing date August 22, 1811, which sentiments go to undermine church dis- cipline and table communion, which sentiments as far as they go to undervalue the in- stitution, we disapprove of and have no fellowship with. And now, as children to a father, to Elder Leland, as a church we entreat you to renounce these sentiments that we might take the bread at your hands. Nevertheless, if Elder Leland cannot see the above as an error, we still feel to bear with him, praying the Lord will show it
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to him, and that he will be faithful in the discharge of those duties which he can go forward conscientiously in."
Elder Leland was in New Ashford at the time, but as the narrator of old tells the tale, was swiftly notified of the manœuvre, and whence it arose. He was greatly grieved, quoting from his own words :
"That Elder Sweet whom I have intrusted in the nature of God's Kingdom, foster- ed in the bosom of my own affections, and introduced into Cheshire, should turn from and enter a conspiracy against me."
The church was grieved, too. "Elder Sweet's popularity somewhat sul- lied." A meeting was called to talk matters over, Elder Leland came over from New Ashford. Nothing could be effected. Elder Leland had seen no reason to change his views. The church had promised to forbear and wait upon him, and they could see no reason to change. Some of the mem- bers who had learned to sympathize with Elder Sweet were excommunicated, and together with the aggrieved, and those who had never joined any church, were the nucleus around which a new one was started, and which the year 1824 found fairly in operation, under the name of Elder Sweet's Church. And from this time for several years there were two churches of the same faith and practice at Cheshire Corners.
The Third church was somewhat puzzled as to the best mode of action. Elder Leland preached to them, and in the fall of 1826, John Vincent was ordained so that he could act as administrator and officiate upon occasions of communion. But the times were somewhat gloomy, the trials were sore and grievous, there appeared to come no more seasons for Zion to prosper. There were no more additions, the disagreements and revolutions had re- duced this once strong body to one hundred members, and at that point it bid fair to remain, except as lessened now and then by death and removal.
Hezekiah Mason who had ever been an influential member of the church had, as will be remembered, been a great admirer of Elder Covell, and upon him the original church had been inclined to thrust the somewhat onerous burden of meeting the pledged debt.
In June 1811, we find the death of Sally, wife of Hezekiah Mason, who died aged 57 years leaving 12 children and 18 grandchildren. In November 1811, this notice appears in the paper:
"Married at Stephentown, N. Y., by Rev. Benjamin Sheldon, Hezekiah Mason, Esq., of Cheshire, Mass., to Miss Elizabeth Sheldon, daughter of the officiating clergyman."
Hezekiah Mason moved to Stephentown at this time, and the loss of his name on the church and town books is very noticeable. He is brought back once more. On that last ride to the tomb, for he rests where he pre- dicted he should in the long ago when he walked over the hills with Uncle Stephen Northrop.
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FROM 1817-1827.
Elder Elnathan Sweet's church attached itself to the Shaftsbury Associa- tion in 1826 numbering only thirty a small part of those who were members at the time the meeting house was erected ; but blessings seemed to follow and in 1833 there are 50 names on the list of membership.
Human nature holds its own, and that these early Christians met with the same trials that come to their children, and that they succeeded no better than do their descendants, is clearly evident.
At a church meeting held August 2d, 1800, is found the following record, and one may pause a moment to picture the astonishment, and horror with which the devout brothers and sisters must have listened to the words of Brother B. who asserts in open meeting:
"We do not know that Christ ever made a public prayer. The Bible is no better than an old almanack, and all forms are nothing and we are in great error."
Sister Daniel Carpenter must have been a woman somewhat in advance of the time. She did honor to her husband's home, and doubtless helped him much in amassing the fortune he left. Her daughters were reared as ladies, and although the Deacon insisted that they should be taught to spin, and to manage all cooking and dairy affairs, they kept help which, tradition says, they frequently coaxed into doing the " stents " given them to do, spin- ning their rolls and hatchelling the flax. Sister Carpenter with her mani- fold duties, could not always manage the monthly church meetings ; but met with admirable coolness the efforts of the stern deacons, and church committees who tried so hard to lead her in the path that is narrow and straight for the children of men. As frequently as every alternate month they went to confer with Sister Carpenter concerning the "feelings of her mind," and returned reporting to the church that were in meeting assembled that they found her in "a comfortable state," whereupon a vote is taken to forbear yet a little longer, and two months later the committee men would start out on another expedition up to the Capenter homestead to inquire of the mind of its busy mistress.
March 3rd 1821, Joseph Seagrave is admitted by letter from the church at Woodstock, Conn., and chosen clerk by the Cheshire First church in place of Allan Brown moved away. March 20th 1823, Joseph Seagrave left Cheshire and Levi Mason is church clerk. Eddy Mason was son of Brooks Mason, an early settler; he was blessed with a family of far more than common ability. To each member he gave a good education ; Jane Mason attended school in Central New York, two sons Alanson P. and Sumner R. Mason studied theology at Hamilton and were ordained to the ministry. Sumner R. was settled at or near Boston ; taking the train one Saturday afternoon, to meet an appointment made to speak in some rural pulpit on Sunday morning, the gifted minister fell a victim to a railroad disaster.
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Alanson P. has been acting in some of the religious departments of the Baptist church for many years although not in active preaching.
When Jane Mason was a girl of scarcely twenty, she promised to become the wife of one Hasbrock who was studying for the ministry at Hamilton.
It was in 1826 that the call came from Burmah, from the faithful band of missionaries toiling beneath the torrid sun. This call was sent on to Madison University for volunteers, and six young men responded. among them Hasbrock. Intent upon his preparations, for there was but a short time before the day appointed to sail, he asked one of the brothers to go and break the tidings to his sister.
Arriving at the school, Mason rang the bell, and was ushered into the parlor where he was soon joined by his sister. After the first greetings were spoken Mason continued:
"Jane, could you be ready, do you think, in just two weeks to sail with Hasbrock for Burmah as a missionary ?"
Confused by the sudden announcement hidden in the question, per- ceiving from the solemn earnestness of the manner that her brother was dealing with facts, she answered while the tears crowded to her eyes.
" Yes, I can be ready in as many days if it be the Lord's will."
Then she listened to the story of the demand for workers, of her lover's service, and the ship at anchor in the offing ready for them to embark.
In two weeks all things were ready, and the bride stood by the side of her missionary husband with all the good-byes spoken, and the shores of her native land disappearing from view. For nearly sixty years did this woman labor in Burmah, her husband went down at his post in middle life. Twice she returned to visit America. One son took his father's place.
In 1883, she left the mission field that had grown up under her eye, and which had been familiar ground from its earliest infancy, and went home to meet the reward of a life spent in devotion to the nations in darkness.
There were up to the close of this decade no lawyers to tell of in Cheshire. Squire Ezra Barker was justice of the peace, and understood law sufficiently to act as practitioner for all cases that required arbitration in the neighbor- hood. His excellent judgment enabled him to decide matters left to him with skill, and in a manner to give universal content.
Squire Ezra Barker put up the large red house beyond the Hoosac whose chimneys may be seen from the village. There he lived for many years, dispensing a generous hospitality. He at one time owned eleven hundred acres of land in the heart of the village, his father having paid originally for some of it, a ninepence an acre. A son of this Squire Barker was a suc- cessful physician in Madison, N. Y.
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FROM 1817-1827.
It is a matter of tradition that Squire James Barker who was an intimate friend of Captain Brown urged him to come to the village and build a house next his own lot.
The Captain moved from his farm known now as " Prospect farm" into a house often spoken of as the Hinman place and opposite the site of the present hotel.
Squire Barker insisted upon making his friend a present of a building lot next to his own, and the friendly struggle ended in the erection of the elegant house. This building was up before the sawing of clapboards, and those for this house were riven as staves are split, they are of pine and it is said were all taken from one tree.
The whole place stood, when finished, a model of beauty and taste. The high rooms and wide hall are the admiration of all who enter there even at this era. Half way down the spacious hall stood in the olden time a massive side board of half circular form, upon it was always spread a sil- ver server filled with crystal flasks in which were the different brands of fine liquors, a huge water pitcher, a sugar bowl filled with " sugar loaf," a holder containing tea spoons, and goblets, both glass and silver. Whoever called upon the Captain during the day was invited to halt at the side board, and fix for himself what pleased his fancy.
None, probably, would need the assertion of the historian to convince him that there were many who never, whatever arose, forgot to walk around to inquire after the Captain's health.
While Captain Brown seemed to accept the present of Squire Barker, the latter did not live to see the consummation for in 1796, as we have said the Squire died and subsequently Captain Brown returned the price of the lot to his children. In 1818, Squire Ezra Barker died at Pittsfield where he had gone for treatment.
In the old burying ground a tomb-stone marks the last resting place of James Barker upon which is engraved :
"Here lies the Hon. James Barker, Esq."
Probably every village in the land can boast among its inhabitants at sometime during its existence a person of original character, with natural wit, a keen sense of the humorous and ridiculous, a tact that enables him to see the weaknesses and foibles of his neighbors, and present them in a way so thoroughly good natured and bright, that all enjoy the fun save the one that is "hit," and he dare not be offended so joins in the general merriment. Such a character must have been William Brown, nephew of Captain Brown, son of Elisha Brown.
He had acquired in some way the sobriquet of "Sweet Billy," given, I think, by himself, and the jokes perpetrated by him, the quaint, queer
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comments upon his neighbors, the verses composed in which the sly, half hidden doings of half a dozen years or more were brought to the surface, and thrown like a bomb shell before the public, would fill a volume if gathered together, and win for the perpetrator a fame as wide as that of Josh Billings or Nasby of the Cross Roads.
This does not come within our scope; but we cannot pass the subject without relating one or two anecdotes of " Sweet Billy."
One moonlight night just before Thanksgiving he was plodding home, wondering what the festive day would bring to him of pleasure. He had no turkeys that year, and Thanksgiving without a turkey! who ever heard of such a thing in New England ?
Thus musing he passed the thrifty home of Captain Brown and lo! in the orchard by the road side, in a low growing apple tree easy to climb was a troop of turkeys, young and fat, and quite the thing.
Sweet Billy paused a minute, then giving a low whistle he pulled from his pocket a red string, which he fastened securely around the leg of the finest and best fowl ; then returning to the high way he turned in at the gate, went down the yard and knocked with his walking stick at the kitchen door of Captain Brown.
The rap was quickly answered and the familiar face of the Captain ap- peared at the door, the tallow candle held in his hand above his head flickered in the evening wind, and sent its little ray of light down the yard and over the study frame of Sweet Billy, intent upon business.
"Come in, come in," said Captain Daniel. "Oh no," was the reply, " no, I can't come in. You ha'int got no stray turkey among your'n, have you ?"
" No, I don't think so. I saw 'em when they come in to-night and there was'nt no strange one, as I see. Why ?
" Oh, I am without a Thanksgiving turkey, he must have broke his string I reckon, and got off, and I thought as how, mebbe he'd strayed along o' yours. If he should be here the feller'd have a red string, most likely, about his left leg, for I tied him with a red string."
" We can soon fix that Billy. You wait till I get the lantern and we'll go an' look at mine, they roost gen'rally out youder in the apple trees, an' if there's one with a red string round his left leg why it's your'n, for mine ain't tied up, none on 'em."
So saying, Captain Brown lighted the lantern, and the two took their way across the yard to the orchard, where with the lantern they looked over the brood of turkeys, and soon found the "feller," tied with the red string, which Sweet Billy exhibited with triumph.
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FROM 1817-1827.
"Sure enough," exclaimed the Captain the fowl must be your'n, he is a mighty fine one say I." And Billy shouldered the turkey, and walked home, chuckling by the way. Thanksgiving came, the turkey was cooked in grand style with all the accompaniments in the way of vegetables, pumpkin pies, brown bread, etc., and soon many friends were invited to partake of the dinner, among the rest came Captain Brown and wife ; after the turkey was discussed and the meal nearly finished, Sweet Billy told the story in his happiest way making quantities of fun, not only for that day, but was repeated again and again by the bar-room fire; or when a band of neighbors in merry spirits gathered on the platform before the store of a summer afternoon.
On another occasion Levi Mason who was an irascible old man, had a fine field of corn surrounding his house growing to the very door.
One night in the fall when the nights were growing chill Mr. Mason was aroused by the ding-dong-ding of a cow bell in his corn field. Springing to his feet with the expression: "There, wife, there's them pesky cows in the corn." He ran out without even drawing on a stocking, thinking to drive them out in a minute.
The night was too dark to see, and the sound of the bell was all there was to tell what part of the field the cow was browsing. One minute the bell tinkled under the window of the farm house, the next a full, deep ding-dong came from the centre of the field, and a little later way in the farthermost corner a faint sound reached the ear while Uncle Levi ran hither and yon in a frantic manner, turning and doubling, as he sought to follow the sound giving vent to language more decisive than elegant as he expressed his opinion of cows in general, and that one in particular, until tired out, with patience all gone he went in to dress himself, and get his lantern. Whereupon Sweet Billy, carefully holding with his hand the clapper of the bell, stole noiselessly away. The next day he listened with demure face to Uncle Levi's story of chasing the "pesky cow," sympathized with him as he related it. and wondered with him how they got in, or how got out, but the story leaked out.
In 1821 the town voted that each family have the privilege of turning one cow giving milk into the road, and nothing more.
March 31st, 1823, Rev. Samuel Bloss left Cheshire. Revs. Elnathan Sweet, Ezekial Skinner, and Samuel Savory officiated on different Sundays. May 15, 1825, Elder Noah Y. Bushnell was called upon to preach for the First Cheshire church. He was appointed as church clerk, and for a long term of years presided over the parish.
In 1819, Elder Leland was called by the Baptist church of Pittsfield to become their pastor ; but preferring a broader field and feeling conscien-
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tiously that his work in the church was that of an evangelist rather than a pastor, he declined the call, although a flattering one, and remained among his friends of long years standing.
In 1825 Alpheus Smith of North Adams moved to Cheshire, and rented the tavern of Moses Wolcott; for some reason not possible to ascertain at this remote day the arrangement was short lived. In 1826 Moses and Aunt Freelove were at the helm again, and in 1827, Mr. Nathaniel Waterman entered as proprietor which place he held until 1835, when Mr. Allan Tucker from Milford near Boston took possession and was known for many years as the genial pleasing landlord. Small in stature he was lithe of limb and ac- tive, was always at hand to add to the comfort of his guests. The bar room always wore a bright and cheery look as very many of those living to-day can testify. In cool days, a bright fire of hard wood logs burned upon the hearth of the open fire place, arm chairs stood all about the nicely swept room, where the morning sun lay in bars of silvery light all the wintry morning hours, and where the villagers dropped in from time to time dur- ing the day to inquire of the news and to chat a while with the neighbors already seated around the bright fire. These old fashioned inns by the way-side were an institution that passed from existence when the era of steam dawned, went out with the stages. They, perhaps, might be voted slow by the rising generation, but they were at least, marvelously cozy and homelike, and neighbors sitting there to discuss the crops, the news, politics, the latest act of Congress-did not necessarily go home in a state of intoxication.
Flax in its cultivation, and various manipulations necessary to be gone over before it appeared-yards of snowy linen, was a great industry. When ripe it was cut and the seeds thoroughly pounded from it. Then it was laid upon the grass, and left beneath the sun and the showers until completely rotted, turned now and then while undergoing the decaying process, and when taken up pounded again with a mallet until the fibres were perfectly pliable then hatchelled, a hatchel being a brush with iron teeth. Some were coarse, some were fine and the design was to divide the flax from the tow. This step finished, the flax was carded or combed with a carding-comb, an instrument similar to that used by horse fanciers to comb the manes of their horses. The fibres at this stage were wound upon the distaff off from which they were spun into thread upon what was called the "Little Wheel," and finally were woven into cloth of various devices and patterns, table cloths, toweling, napkins, sheets, pillow cases, curtains, etc. One yard of cotton was obtained for two of the fairest strongest linen, woven so deftly and well that many a Cheshire house wife brings out to-day, a long, snowy table cloth from the recess of some choice drawer, saying:
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FROM 1817-1827.
I am going to lay my table for you to-night with a cloth spun and woven by Aunt Polly, Aunt Chloe or Betsey, as the name chanced to be.
During this decade Daniel Chapman established himself in Cheshire. He lived first in a red farm house just beyond Scrabble Town, owned and rented at the halves for a great many years by Moses Wolcott. Mr. Chap- man then bought the farm above the Whitford Rocks, which remained in the family for a long term of years. His father lived with him, already an old man and one who had a history. His home, when a young man, was New London, Conn.
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