USA > Massachusetts > Hampden County > Picturesque Hampden : 1500 illustrations > Part 15
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THE ROAD BETWEEN MONTGOMERY AND WESTFIELD.
About two miles from the village we get into wading boots and start them rapidly toward the brook that has bubbled and roared at various depths below us all the way. It is astonishing how hard it often is to get to a brook that seems close at hand. But during past ages it has cut for itself a channel far below the surface of its original level. In clefts of these rocky and pre- cipitous sides a dense under- growth flourishes; so we go slid- ing down, clutching at rocks and saplings, in a desperate hurry, yet realizing that the greatest haste may not involve the ut- most speed, thankful if we finally splash into the brook with noth- ing more serious than scratches and bruises, minus a few suspen- der buttons and plus a few rips and rents.
A FAMOUS TATHAM OAK. Perhaps there was some subtle relation in his mind between the fact that one of them was of the clerical profession, though clad in an un- clerical shooting jacket, and the fact that fishing was an apostolic employment.
he easily adjusts matters by saying he will just take us first and will be back shortly. The demands of fishermen seem to him so inexorable and immediate that he has responded to them when it involved the delay of a fair "school- marm" in getting to her post on a Monday morn- ing; and again when an eager young man had en- gaged transportation to Huntington to see "his best girl." In each case the conscientious dea- con recognized the supe- rior claims of fishermen to the right of way.
But in some shape we get there, and with trembling fingers rig our rods. How squirmy and slippery the worms are! What unreasonable obstinacy they show in resisting ef- forts to clothe our skeletons of steel in their soft and seductive flesh !
A RAILROAD CULVERT.
Packing rods and creels into the wagon, we climb to the seat, with the deacon
TATHAM - THE CHICKENS AT THE BACK DOOR.
between us. The vehicle is rather loose jointed, but the skepticism of for- mer days has begun to give place to a trembling faith that it will hold together for one more trip. But that raw-boned horse is always a surprise to us. Hampered by no overdraw check, he puts his nose to the ground like a hound following a trail, and drags us up the steep pitches in an incredibly short space of time. His wiry fibres are worth more on the Hampden hills than they would be if sliced into steaks in the stall of a Paris butcher.
109
PICTURESQUE . HAMPDEN.
There is an ecstatic thrill which one feels just then, the result of many subtle influences. Beauty is all about him, he is conscious of its charms, though not thinking so keenly of them as of the prospect of a bite. The miles of turbulent water stretching ahead of him offer boundless possibilities of luck. He may strike a "pounder," he may happen upon a pool full of hungry fish that will give him such sport as he has not had but once or twice in his life. Im- agination quickens expectation, every eddy and ripple looks hopeful. Slowly and cautiously he moves from rock to rock or stands mid-leg deep in the stream. Trout are proverbially fickle in their tastes and obstinate in their fancies. If they will bite they will, and if they wont they wont. We go on down the brook, sometimes rewarded by fair luck, and sometimes having to draw on the reserves of philosophy and patience. Unusual misfortune may prove the mother of invention, as when an unlucky sportsman, who had often followed Black brook, one day fell into one of its pools bodily, and not
MITTINEAGUE WATER POWER.
AMONG THE MILLS.
only got a complete ducking, but more distressing still, lost all of his precious worms. Nothing daunted, he used the eyes of fish already taken, with such success that the stock of ocular bait was frequently replenished, and at the mouth of the brook he had a handsome mess of eyeless trout.
Whether luck be good or bad, the poem of nature's reciting is always beautiful, and nowhere more so than on that wonderful stream. Eye and ear and nostril are ave- nues of perpetual and varied delight. The grand, the picturesque, the exquisite are
IN THE VALLEY OF THE AGAWAM, AT HITTINEAGUE.
all depicted in constantly changing form as we descend through the long succession of gorges. There are pools that may well give name to the brook, from their murky hue, suggesting un- known depths. At the head of such a miniature lake the water comes tumbling down in a silver cascade by a succession of falls, and the whole is enclosed in a rocky amphitheatre, the sides of which are garnished with ferns and mosses, and overhung with giant trees that admit the sunshine only in flecks that shiver on the uneasy surface, or in stray beams that at certain hours strike through between the great boles and wide-spreading branches. One chasm, perhaps one hundred and fifty feet long and forty feet deep, suggests a facsimile, on a small scale, of one of the great cañons of the Southwest.
Then we come upon open reaches where the rocky sides recede from the channel. We can walk along gravel beaches, or wade through shallow water. But everything is so beautiful - trees, rocks, flowers, ferns, mosses. In a cleft of a bowlder in mid-stream you may find a clump of violets, blue or yellow, or, more dainty than either, white, with the delicate pencilings on their fragile petals. One cannot fail to deplore that there is so much of loveliness that must escape all human notice, and so much that is seen by only a few eyes in the course of a year. But to one who does see and who does feel his soul swell with unwonted gratitude and awe and delight, it seems as though none of the myriad beauties that a glance includes were created in vain.
You have to be down at the brook level to appreciate it all, for many things can be seen only imperfectly or not at all from above its level. Thus, hard though it be to keep your footing on the slippery stones, and wet as the water is when you unexpectedly admit it over the top of your boot, or sit down
A VALLEY VIEW -MITTINEAGUE.
THE SCHOOL BUILDING.
without stopping long to select the exact place of repose, yet there are joys that so generously recompense you for such discomforts as to make them soon forgotten.
The animal life of the deep woods, of a type higher than the insect, is not very abundant. The lonesome thrush sounds his rich minor notes in plaintive cadence from leafy depths. Occa- sionally a partridge plays his mysterious tattoo, which so baffles the attempts of scientists and woodsmen to explain. Smaller birds
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PICTURESQUE HAMPDEN.
hop from bough to bough so near you as to prove that they have not be- come acquainted with the various weapons that human ingenuity has devised to destroy their innocent lives. Whatever the weight of our creels after coming down Black brook, we cannot help feeling that the trip through nature's wild garden has been fraught with charming experiences. The days spent among its beauties are red-letter ones in a fisherman's life.
The other remarkable stream to which reference has been made is Munn brook, running from Granville through the western part of Southwick into Westfield Little river, not far above Crane's upper mill. Its cliffs and gorges and pools are on a scale somewhat more magnificent than those of Black
ARCHITECTURAL CONTRAST.
brook. The stream is larger, and so are apt to be the trout. From "Win- chell's " to " Lambson's " it breaks through the mountains, and only a plucky athlete can follow its whole course. There are many vast pools that can be passed only by climbing far up on the mountain sides, because the banks are so steep and high at all surrounding points. But there is probably no other stream in Western Hampden that affords so many spots of wild and rugged beauty as that, with the exception, perhaps, of the headwaters of Westfield Little river.
Those in whom the double instinct, poetic and piscatorial, has not been born, need not expect to find all that has been suggested about these lonely
MAIN STREET OF THE PATCH.
perienced in the past and long to have often re- peated ere our fishing days are over.
JOHN H. LOCKWOOD.
WEST SPRINGFIELD.
This is the final chap- ter of the ride about the county, and, after the manner of the Irishman, I may say this ride is to be a walk. The town is barely five minutes distant from Springfield's Main street, by way of the old toll
A BIRDSEYE VIEW OF THE PATCH.
CONGREGATIONAL CHURCH.
bridge, for it lies just across the Connecticut, along the western banks of the river. The old bridge which serves as highway to the town de- serves more than passing notice. One would have to travel far to find its like. It is a covered, wooden structure, dating back to the first part of the cen- tury. The floor has a curiously uneven up-and- down rambling; nor is it perfectly straight longi- tudinally. Likewise, the spans from pier to pier vary in length. The net- work of great pine timbers which make the frame- work were hewed by hand,
brooks, but to such as are conscious of its indefina- ble force, these brooks of Western Hampden are well worth exploration. And such as taste their ecstatic joys will want to spend as many days as possible in their delight- ful fastnesses, between the middle of April and the middle of July. We who have known them for years can only wish for those who shall become familiar with them in the future, such delicious pleasure as we have ex-
THE VILLAGE SOUTH OF THE STREAM.
METHODIST CHURCH.
as the marks of ax and adze plainly attest. The interior of the bridge is divided into a double passage by a line of heavy supports running its entire length. On its south side is a narrow walk for foot passengers. An interesting flavor of antiquity hangs about the bridge, yet at the same time it gives an impression of strength and ability to withstand flood and storm for many years to come.
A mile above is a second bridge, which is a striking contrast to the lower one. " The North End bridge," as it is known, is in every way modern, and is one of the finest on the river. It is an open, even-spanned frame- work of iron, painted white. That seems the only right color for bridges of any length. In this they do well to imitate the spider's web of nature, which in structure they pattern after. Red, or any dark color, gives an effect of heaviness which is not pleasant. An airy effect of lightness is most becoming its purpose, and its open
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PICTURESQUE HAMPDEN.
CATHOLIC CHURCH - MITTINEAGUE.
architecture. Fancy the great Brooklyn bridge painted any other color than white. It never would do. Neither is it good in any bridge over streams the size of the Connecticut.
At the west end of the upper bridge you enter at once a hand- some park, which in the old days was the town common. This old common was the camping place of two British armies. Gen. Amherst, with 7,000 men, halted here for two days and two nights,
THE OLD STREET -WEST SPRINGFIELD.
One day when I was making a picture in the western part of the village, a little fellow in a blue cap came running toward me. He stopped a few paces distant and, after regarding my camera curiously for a while, asked, "Going to have electric lights over here?"
Later he concluded I had some sort of shooting machine, and said, "I'd like to have a gun."
"What, you have a gun !" said I.
" Well, I'd like to have a pistol, anyway."
"What for?" I asked.
"Oh ! to shoot things with. I could kill a hen."
"What do you want to kill a hen for?"
WEST SPRINGFIELD - A ROADWAY THROUGH A HILL.
MEADOWS AND HILLSIDES.
THE RIVER ROAD, NEAR MOUNT ORTHODOX.
on his march to Canada, and Gen. Burgoyne and his captive army were encamped on this spot as long a time on their way to Boston. It is now hedged with evergreen, and has many fine elms within or bordering its green level. But these trees reach the perfection of old age on the street which turns north at the western borders of the park, where the doubled arched avenue of great elms is as handsome as is to be found anywhere in the valley. Here, too, are many old houses of delightful early architecture, as charming as poems in their setting of elms, shrubs and near orchards, of which the passing years have made them so harmonious a part. All the older portions of the town are well sup- plied with finely grown trees and these attractive old dwellings, and only in the new village built up about the old toll bridge are they to any degree lacking.
HIGH SCHOOL.
"Oh! to eat," he replied.
When I fixed my machine to start on again, he asked, "Is that going off? Say, come and shoot a hen. Do! I don't b'lieve you could shoot a hen with that. Come on and let's see you."
I sat down a moment on my box, and sat writing with the camera across my knees. The boy went to fingering with the cap and presently took it off. I gave the camera a sudden jar and the little fellow popped his head back and jumped away in a great hurry. "My!" he said, " I thought 'twas going to shoot."
When I went on again I asked him if he knew where Bear Hole was. He said no, and added, "There ain't no bears here now."
I went down beside the stream close by, and glanced about, hoping to find a picture. The boy had followed me, and his question now was, "Lookin' for fish ?"
112
PICTURESQUE HAMPDEN.
THE OLD CHURCH ON MOUNT ORTHODOX.
On another occasion I paid a visit to this place known as Bear Hole. It is five miles from Springfield, and I went in a team. You catch no suggestion of the nature of the place from the outside. At the entrance is a pretty cottage in a grove, and across the road a barn and a group of sheds where visitors leave their teams. A road makes a steep descent into a deep, irregular glen. Half way down is a pond, bordered by whitewashed stone walls, where are two or three rowboats moored at the shore. Down the gloomy depths of the ravine a little stream tumbles over the rocks. Follow it and you come to a pavilion almost
A BRUSH HILL ROADWAY.
HIGHLAND FARM TROUT POND-FROM A PAINTING BY GEORGE HARRINGTON.
A FROZEN POND.
RESIDENCE OF H. S. HYDE, BRUSH HILL.
hidden in the grove surrounding. Here good things in the eating line are served to those who desire. Beyond it, a little up the slope, in a hole in the rocky hillside, is a real live bear. He is not, how- ever, the original owner of the premises, nor, indeed, the present one, but is restricted to a few square feet of rock-walled cavern behind a lattice of strong iron bars. Down the glen still farther is a charming little meadow, prisoned by steep, wooded hills. A brook runs along its northern borders and continues under the shadow of the eastern hill.
The land rises gently toward the north, and in the woods which clothe the steep rise of the hill is the famous Massasoit spring.
THE VALLEY, FROM BRUSH HILL.
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PICTURESQUE HAMPDEN.
A building with an open front marks the spot, wherein are seats for the weary traveler, and much wall space whereon he can pencil his name and the date when he honored the place with a visit. Also, I may mention that when I was there 1 found a glass goblet which had sprung aleak in the side, whence, when filled, a stream of water spouted like a miniature fountain. This goblet, I took it, was for the refreshment of the thirsty, and I therewith sampled the water. It seemed to me all that is claimed for it in the matter of purity ; indeed, it was rather too pure, if anything. And as to its cold- ness, it has a temperature as if it came from regions of eternal ice. The front gable of the spring house is decorated with a large sign, proclaiming the name of the spring and its date of discovery and purity, and ending up with the first line of the doxology, " Praise God from whom all blessings flow." This gives the feeling that the place is in someway connected with camp meetings or the open-air services of the Salvation Army, and that the open-fronted pavilion is a temple of worship serving as a rostrum whence the exhorters address an assembled multitude below. I drove away from Bear Hole with the impres- sion that it was a very
THE BEAR'S DEN.
pleasant resort for a " Pick Nick," as one of the signs has it.
Another outskirt which calls for mention is Tatham, on the extreme western borders of the town. It is a scattered hamlet whose center is, I suppose, the brick schoolhouse at the crossroads. This community claims the oldest and most beautiful white oak tree to be found in New Eng- land. It is on the Smith homestead, a little off the high- way. At the base it has a circumference of thirty-three feet, and for twenty-five feet above the ground nowhere has a measure of less than twenty-four feet. It is inan open field and has a wide, even spread of branches that seem as full of life and vigor as a young tree. Yet its age is estimated at over five hundred years. In early times the highway passed close by its trunk, and a sharp eye can still find traces of the old Bay Path within its shadows.
The most important of West Springfield's villages is Mittineague. This is a mile to the west of the town cen- ter. In the hollow along the stream are no less than five large paper mills. In their neighborhood are shops and tenements and groups of houses, but the most attractive residence district is the plateau of the high northern hill.
STREET NORTH OF THE COMMON -WEST SPRINGFIELD.
Across the bridge, by turning sharp to the right and descending a steep, short hill, you conie upon a low level by the stream, known as " The Patch." Here is a village of odd little houses, apparently made out of all sorts of second-hand timber and tin roofing. There is a sort of main street running through the district, but I could not determine whether there were other avenues or not. About the dwellings were little gardens wherein potatoes, beans and cabbages were flourishing. These small houses held large families, I judged, from the number of children who gathered when I appeared with my camera. It does not matter much so long as
MASSASOIT SPRING.
THE WATERFALL AT BEAR HOLE.
warm weather lasts, for then they live mostly out of doors, but in winter there must be a lack of elbowroom in some of the dwellings. I went down by the stream, which was so low I was tempted to wade out to get a better view. A large delegation of village children were on hand to watch the performance. They were a barefooted tribe, and when I left shoes and stockings on the bank and picked a careful way along the slippery stones in the swift running water, the majority followed me. Then one of the smallest of them fell in and though promptly rescued wailed and wailed and would not be comforted. This acci- dent discouraged a good many of my followers and they turned back. I asked some of the boys and girls who continued faithful if they too weren't afraid of get- ting in, but they said they waded there every day and were used to getting in.
West Springfield's most strik- ing landmark is the old white church on " Mount Orthodox." It occupies a hill north of the center, overlooking the river, and is in clear view for many miles up and down the valley. Close behind it is an interesting old cemetery. Up the river is a long reach of rich level meadow land that rolls up westerly in terraces of low hills. This is a famous region for dairy farming and market gardening. There is connected with this upper district an Indian story worth relating. In the old, old days there stood all alone on the river bank, opposite Chicopee, a rude little house. One spring morn- ing the woman of the place was boiling soap. She had a kettle swung over an open-
TOWN HALL AND PARK CONGREGATIONAL CHURCH.
114
PICTURESQUE HAMPDEN.
air fire on the sandy shore only a few paces from the edge of the water. Near by were her twin babies sleeping under a shadowing willow, and drawn up a little on the sand close by was a small boat. Her husband had gone to the village. The soap making was progressing satisfactorily and the woman was humming softly to herself, when she was startled by an approaching footfall. She turned and there was an Indian, in war paint, not two yards distant. Quick as thought she caught up a dipper of the boiling soap and dashed it in his face. Another
OLD TAVERN ON SHAD LANE.
Indian was close behind and she served him in the same way. Then she ran to her babies and attempted to throw them into the boat. One fell in the boat, but the other fell in the water. There was no time to rescue it. The
METHODIST CHURCH -WEST SPRINGFIELD.
CATHOLIC CHURCH.
But Tige seemed not much of a hunter, and, having barked a few notes, subsided. As for me, I got on the other side of a barbed wire fence with all haste. Soon 1 came upon some chil- dren gathering flood trash in the bushes growing along the bank. They, too, asked to have their pictures taken, and they, too, had a dog with them ; but we got along amiably, for I brought two or three of them into a picture I made. I let one of them look through my machine.
"Can you see anything ?" asked another.
"Oh, Golly !" said the fellow, with his head under the cloth, in rapture.
" It's all tooken, Mister, ain't it?" they said, when I put on the cap.
A MAIN STREET RESIDENCE.
BAPTIST CHURCH.
elms, and south and east the tree-lined banks of the Agawam and the Connecticut, which give it a pleasant variety that make it favorite sketching ground for Springfield artists. It is quite delightful all along up and down the river bank, and one gets charm- ing views of Springfield across the stream.
One spring day, as I was following up the dyke a little back from the water's edge, I was accosted by a group of boys who seemed to be holding a convention on an over- turned wagon body in a back yard. "Mister," they called, "take our pictures." They continued shouting, but I paid no attention. Then they began calling to a black dog that lay under a near tree. "Here, Tige! Here! S-s-s- st !Take hold of him, Tige !"
maddened sav- ages were run- ning toward her. She pushed off the boat and succeeded in reaching the opposite shore in safety, but one baby lay at the bottom of the river.
At the other end of the town, below the old toll bridge, is more meadow land, where are many handsome
MAIN STREET SCHOOL.
" Mister, she ain't had hers tooken," said one, calling my attention to a new- comer.
" Mister, he says my dog is cross-eyed," said a little girl, pointing a finger at the culprit, and then, patting the abused creature, she said: "You ain't cross- eyed, be you, Jacky? No, you ain't. So there." And the dog sat down and wagged his tail and let his tongue hang out and looked very happy.
CLIFTON JOHNSON.
CATHOLIC SCHOOL.
PICTURESQUE
HAMPDEN.
115
SUMMER IN THE MEADOWS-AFTER A PAINTING BY E. E. CASE.
RAILROADS IN HAMPDEN COUNTY.
Hardly a county in the state is better provided with railroad facilities than Hamp- den, while travelers who desire to see the picturesque attractions of the country com- prised in the tier of counties now covered by the issues of " Picturesque Hampshire," "Franklin " and " Hampden," can conveniently start from the southernmost shire to which this book is devoted. Railroads radiate in all directions from Springfield, the shire city, and the place furnishes an excellent base of operations for the summer tourist who wishes to explore the beautiful region north. This book will, however, tend to convince lovers of nature that Hampshire and Franklin cannot monopolize picturesqueness, and for the purpose of identifying the "counterfeit presentments" in the following pages, they will find the railroads centering in or passing through the county are among the best in the country.
The Boston & Albany corporation will bring the traveler from the east or west, and its roadbed and cars are well known for their ease and comfort. Its trains, both accommodation and express, are frequently run, and a desire to please its patrons is hinted at in the unique but praiseworthy notice on its pocket time tables, to the effect that passengers are re- quested to report any incivility of employes of the road.
From New York and the south, travelers may most quickly reach Springfield by the trains of the New York, New Haven & Hart- ford Railroad company. Probably no railroad system in this country has been more freely criticised than this one, yet it remains true that the roadbed is one of the safest, the
cars comfortable, and the officials of the road seem as solicitous as any for the convenience of their patrons. Fatal accidents, considering the yet un- removed danger of grade crossings, are comparatively few, and general safety has not been sacrificed to speed.
A third road calling for mention is the New York & New England, which links together the towns lying to the east back from the Connecticut, between Springfield and Hartford.
Running north from the city of Springfield is the Connecticut River rail- road, the model provincial road of the country, and those who desire to con- tinue their researches into " Picturesque Hampshire" or "Franklin," and
ENTRANCE TO THE OLD TOLL BRIDGE.
even the White Mountains and Canada, will find the " River" road indispensable. The people of the three counties are justly proud of it, and the stranger, "not to the manor born," will smile while he admires the thoughtfulness of the management in instructing its brakemen to call out at the Springfield terminus of the road, " Passen- gers are reminded not to leave par- cels and umbrellas in the cars."
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