USA > Massachusetts > Hampden County > Picturesque Hampshire : a supplement to the quarter-centennial-journal > Part 10
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Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12 | Part 13 | Part 14 | Part 15 | Part 16 | Part 17 | Part 18 | Part 19 | Part 20 | Part 21 | Part 22 | Part 23 | Part 24 | Part 25
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THE NEW BRIDGE AT THE "HOLLOW."
CAMPING OUT ON THE HILLS.
"Yes," said Uncle William Redtop, in response to my question, "there be some camping out up here," and he settled himself into a comfortable position in his chair on the piazza and continned: "Last summer two fellers eame up from down Northampton way. They had a pile of bundles in a spring wagon ; a woman and a girl were on the top seat driving and the boys were sittin' on the bundles. They were lookin' aronnd pretty sharp for a place to camp, and down here a ways they took a sharp turn up Beech hill and drove across Henry Toll's orchard, which is pretty rough ground, and gave'em a good shakin' up I guess. On t'other side is a stone wall and a pasture, and they couldn't go no farther. So they dumped all their goods ont there on the ground, and the team with the woman and girl in it turned around and started for home again. It was about three o'clock then.
" The fellers didn't seem to know just what they were going to do. They wanted to get up on high ground where they'd have a view off. The orchard wasn't much of a place for that and I guess they thought it was too civilized be- sides. They stood around and talked, and looked over the stone wall for half an hour or so. Across the pastnre was some clear, high ground, with a few maples along the fence. Finally the fellers got their stuff over the wall and began to Ing it across the pasture. It warn't an easy job they had ; for they had a stack of stuff and had to go back and forth a good many times. It was hot,
OLD BRIDGE AT WEST CHESTERFIELD.
I like to hear it nights. I shouldn't want to live in no place where they didn't have such a stream. After supper the fellers went inside the tent and lit a lantern and we could see the tent shining kinder dim like up there on the hillside for some time.
"Fust thing in the mornin' they were down to our honse to buy some milk. They said they didn't sleep very well. You see they conld feel the branches of them pines too plain through the blankets they laid over 'em. They had their overeoats on. The sun was hardly up over the eastern hills, and so early it is always damp and ehilly, and usually there's a little mist hanging about the holler over the stream. They said they was going down to the gorge, to look around by and by, but that morning they walked off into the woods, which they thought was pretty fine around here ; the trees was so tall and handsome. In the afternoon they were down by the saw-mill, poking around, and then they followed
THE TROUT BROOK.
46
PICTURESQUE HAMPSHIRE
the stream down half a mile to the gorge. They took off their shoes and stockin's and jumped along on the stones, or waded now and then, and this seemed kind of fine and wild to them; there alone with the stream, and high wooded banks on each side and the water workin' its way along through the stones and boulders. There were a few quiet stretches considerable clear of stones and in one of these the boys took a swim. It was down at the gorge they had the best time. That's about as wild a place as I ever see ; narrow with rough precipices on either side, and the bed of the stream choked up with great rocks and stones, and among 'em the water always roarin'. It's a grand sight down there
in the spring when the flood's np, the hollers full, the wa- ter just boilin', and filled with ice, and rubbish, and stones, that make such a noise grindin' and rushin' along, that you just can't hear yourself think. The boys I was tellin' you of climbed around there and had a pret- ty fine time accord- in' to their tellin'. When they came up out of the holler, they stopped at Henry WEST CHESTERFIELD GORGE. Toll's house, to see if they could buy some apples. Mrs. Toll came to the door. As soon as she understood who they were she told 'em Mr. Toll didn't want 'em on his land. 'Is that so?' said the oldest feller, 'I didn't s'pose there'd be any objection. But I haven't seen Mr. Toll yet. Where is he?' 'He's been up there lookin' for you, but he's out to the barn now,' says the woman.
"The younger feller went up to the tent and the older one went out to the barn. Toll was under the cow-shed, but when he saw the feller comin', he went out side of the road. He stood sort of stiff, with his feet square on the ground, and his hands on his sides, and the young feller saw 'twas plain he was going to get a good rakin' over. Toll had on an old felt hat kinder twisted and jammed in. He had a wrinkled, smooth-shaven face and he stooped considerable at the shoulders. The young feller tried to put a good face on matters by sayin' 'Good evenin', It's been quite hot today.' Toll just grunted a little. 'I find,' says the feller, ' we've camped on your land, and I hope you've no objections.' 'I want you to git off'n that land right off,' says Toll. 'If you don't, I'll prosecute yon if it takes the last cent I've got. Some men would have prosecuted you without ever a warnin' you, but that ain't my way, I always give a man
PECULIAR FORMATION OF ROCK IN BED OF RIVER AT WEST CHESTERFIELD.
fair warnin' first and then if he don't move I prose- cute.' 'Well,' says the boy, 'It was careless in us not askin' your consent before we pitched onr tent. But we were in a hurry yesterday afternoon, and I had no idea of there bein' any objection, so I really never thought of hunting up the owner.' 'You were careless and wuss too,' says Toll. 'You've been tear- in' down the stone wall to make a tire-place; I wouldn't a had a tire made there for no money. It 'd a been sure, the pasture's so dry, to have spread and you never could have stopped it. I've got two cows and the pasture ain't none too large for 'em ; and you've slashed around there among the trees and dragged in some wild cherry branches, and when them leaves gets wilted they'll kill a cow quicker'n pizen.' 'I don't think we've done any real harm,' says the other. 'We should put back everything before we left.' 'Well, I don't know whether you would or not,' he says. 'I've been up there and torn that fire-place to pieces, and put up the stones, and I flung them cherry branehes over the fence. I just peeked into your tent, but I didn't tech nothing. Some men would a torn it all to pieces, but that ain't my way. ] always warn a man tirst.'
" The boy saw it warn't no use talking, so he said they'd move the tent right off, and walked away up the hill, and he warn't feelin' aver comforta- ble in his mind, I can tell you. I don't think myself that they had done any harm to amount to anything, for they warn't the rowdy kind, but Toll is a pretty close old feller. Well, the boys went and called on Mr. Streets, who owns the lot next to the pasture and the ald gentleman said he'd just
as soon they'd be on his land as not. So they went to work and got the tent over the wall and fastened it to the same maple tree. They were mighty tickled to think they'd hitched onto that same maple. It was dark by the time they were through and when they'd got their milk and eaten supper I gness they were glad to go to bed, for I didn't see the tent lit up mor'n five minutes.
"The boys came on Monday and they staid all the week. One day they'd go off in this direction and another off in that and I guess they got to know the roads about pretty well, and didn't leave much country unexplored. They'd tramp the woods, and elimb around the caves and boulders of the hillsides, and follow the streams for miles. They fished some, too, but I never heard them tell they ketched anything. One of the fellers drew pictures. I see some of 'em. I didn't think much of 'em; but he said they were sketches and warn't finished yet.
" They invited me to eall at their tent, so I went up one evenin'. They was settin' out in front eatin' sup- per when I got there. They had a lot of food in a basket and more in a tin box. There was bread, and butter. and cookies, and milk, and cold chicken. They had a little tire going and had cooked somethin' they called coco'. They'd biled a couple of eggs in it. One feller spilt his by having the cover of his salt dish come off, so'twas more like salt flavored with egg than t'other way round. They had blackberries, too. They bought some most every day of our folks, and they said they picked and ate all they could hold during the day when they were walkin' around the fields. After they wash- ed the dishes, which they didn't waste no time over, they invited me into the tent and lit the lantern and hung it on the front tent pole. It was a pretty snug place, about eight feet square. The bed, when they rolled it out, took up half the floor room and their other traps scattered around didn't leave any spare standing room, I can tell you. They had some books and said
THE ROCKING STONE ON CANADA MOUNTAIN.
47
PICTURESQUE HAMPSHIRE.
GOVERNMENT SURVEY MARK ON CANADA MOUNTAIN.
they read aloud when they had time. Saturday noon their folks came for 'em. It wasn't the same brought 'em ont, but the other feller's. There was a man and [a woman and two little girls. They all took dinner at the tent and then went down to the gorge. The girls were pretty lively kind of girls and both talk- ed at once, and seemed to think that campin' ont was a pretty fine thing. They got everything packed up about three o'clock and drove off. Well, they said they had a splendid time, and I s'pose they did. If you like roughing it for fun, it's all right, but for me I'd ruther take it easy in a good comfortable house. What time is it by your watch ? Most two! Well, I declare, how I have talked. Shall have to flax around if I'm going to get that hay in this afternoon." J.
Mark Twain Contrasts California and New England.
One of the queerest things I know of is to hear tourists from "the states " go into ecstasies over the loveliness of "ever-blooming California," and they always do go into that sort of ecstacies. But perhaps they would modify them if they knew how old Californians, with the memory full upon them of the dust- covered and questionable summer greens of California "verdure," stand astonished and filled with worshiping admira- tion, in the presence of the lavish richness, the brilliant green, the infinite freshness, the spendthrift variety of form and species and
Clifton johnson q.
SAP-GATHERING SCIENTIFICALLY.
with monotony. Each season brings a world of enjoyment and interest in the watching of its un- folding, its gradual, harmonions development, its culminating graces, and just as one begins to tire of it, it passes away and a radical change comes, with new witcheries and new glories in its train. And I think, to one in sympathy with nature, each sea- son, in its turn, seems the loveliest.
From "Roughing It."
ROWENA DARLING.
The Story of one Abandoned Farm in Chesterfield.
BY REV. JOHN W. CHADWICK. A heap of mortar, brick and stone, O'ergrown with shrubs, o'errun with vines, That here was once a house and home, How ill the careless sense divines, Rowena Darling.
Not careless his, my friend's, who loves To wander in familiar ways, To talk of olden times, and-yes- To celebrate your simple praise, Rowena Darling.
Here, once upon a time, he tells, There lived a girl unknown to fame;
The country-side no sweeter knew ,
It could not know a sweeter name- Rowena Darling!
Here where the birches' silver gleam Shines where the hearth fire used to blaze,
The hearth-stone still you can desery, As smooth as in your loveliest days, Rowena Darling.
foliage that make an eastern landscape a vision of para- dise itself. The idea of a man falling into raptures over grave and sombre Cal- ifornia, when that man has seen New England's mead- ow expanses and her maples and oaken and cathedral- windowed elms decked in summer attire, or the opa- line splendors of autumn, descending npon her forests comes very near being funny. No land with an unvarying climate can be very beautiful. The tropics are not, for all the sentiment that is wasted on them. They seem beautiful at first, but sameness impairs the charm by and by. Change is the handmaiden nature requires to do her miraeles with. The land that has four well-defined seasons, cannot laek beauty, or pall
SAP-GATHERING ON A SMALL SCALE.
Here whisks about the squirrel brown ; Here thrush or robin comes and sings ; But standing here I can but think Of other days and sweeter things, Rowena Darling.
Here baked the apples in a row ; Here cracked the chestnuts ripe and sweet ;
Here-Ah ! I seem to see them now- You warmed your pretty buskined feet, Rowena Darling.
And here, when burned the embers low, And old folks long had been asleep, Your heart stood still to hear a voice That whispered-Oh! how warm and deep, Rowena-Darling!
Alas ! how many years have fled Since hearth and heart were warm and bright
And all the room and all the world Glowed with your love's supreme delight, Rowena Darling.
This rose-bush growing by the door, Perhaps you planted long ago : I pluck and kiss for your dear sake, Its fairest, be it so or no,- Rowena Darling!
Here is an interesting random tradi- tion concerning Chesterfield : The story has it that a citizen of this town named Jesse Willeutt, who lived in the town as early as 1775, heard the firing from the battle of Bunker Hill by putting his ear to the ground on Chesterfield hill and the identical spot where he stood at the time is pointed out to those curi- ous in such matters. A few years since, at a cattle-show at Cum- mington, Capt. Joel, one of the grandsons, appeared in the procession
VIEW IN REAR OF STEVENS' MILL, WEST CHESTERFIELD.
THE PASTURE GATEWAY.
48
PICTURESQUE HAMPSHIRE.
with five generations of the family by direct descent, on horseback. But few of the people of the vicinity that have not seen the captain officiating as marshal or officer of the day on many a patriotic or festive occasion, and in his latter years he sported a sash taken from a confederate officer by C. T. Macomber, at the battle of Newbern, N. C.
GERWADETA-A LEGEND OF WEST WORTHINGTON FALLS.
"Ah, here we are!" exclaimed Miss Miller, jumping lightly on to the large table- shaped rock in front of us and crossing to the other side. I followed, but gave a very per- ceptible start as I discovered that my next step would be some seventy-five feet below and upon the wildest profusion of jagged, broken rocks I had ever seen.
Miss Miller langhed. "I thought I would surprise you," she said. "It's West Worth- ington falls; isn't it lovely ?" It certainly was. For an eighth of a mile below, the gulch was literally filled with rocks, cubical rocks, prismatic rocks, round rocks, flat rocks and shapeless rocks, all thrown together into the wildest chaos. Here and there a tiny spruce had found a bit of soil and now raised its green tuft a miniature oasis on the waste of desert rocks. The brook that leaped madly among the crags at our feet gathered its force in the pool below and plunged through the tumult of rocks, falling, shooting, churning and eddying until it had lashed itself into a long line of white foam. But the falls! the dia- mond of all this unique setting. The oblique rays of the sun caught the flying spray and flashed the seven colors of the rainbow from the chromated light. The little cloud of mist which was thrown up by the fall of the water into the pool below was also kissed by the
BROOK AND OLD PENSTOCK ON ROAD TO WEST CUMMINGTON.
in tune to the musical murmur of the falls below, which lulled and swelled on the changing breeze. "Why isn't this place visited more?" I asked. "It's lovely." Miss Miller did not notice my question, so I asked another. "What are you dreaming about, Miss M -? Come, let me share your poet- ical fancies." " I wasn't dreaming about anything," she replied. "I was only thinking of the poor Indian maid- en ; do you think 'twas really true?'" I really thought I could tell better if I had ever heard anything about the poor Indian maiden and replied to that effect, throwing in a broad hint for a story. Seating herself on a large chair- shaped rock, which, considering it had no haek, answered the purpose admir- ably, Miss M- began.
"Long, long ago, when the Connec- ticut river cities were mere settle- ments, and the rest of Massachusetts was a wide wilderness, there ranged over the hills and vales that are now covered by our Hampshire towns, a
CUMMINGTON VILLAGE.
mid-day sun making a continuous rainbow. Large flakes of feathery foam danced on the boiling water and then, ven- turing too near the edge of the pool, were swept away by the down-stream current, while the breaking bubbles rose and fell like the happy participants of a fairy dance and all
"HAVE YOU FED THE PIGS?"
The
WEST CUMMINGTON AND DEER HILL.
large indian tribe called the Osacs. No other warriors were so hrave, no other Indian maidens were so fair, and no other Indian chief was so proud of his people as was Gutamatin of the Osacs. But bravest of the brave was the young warrior Hectel. No arrow ever sank like his, no tomahawk ever fell so fatally, while the sharply hooked nose, the flashing eye and the lip that always sneered, well bespoke the haughty pride of the fiercest of the Osac warriors. But how different Gerwadeta, the chief's daughter-the fairest of the fair. Her langh was sweeter than the song of the brook that murmured at her feet, or the birds that sang in the branches above her; her nnt-brown cheek was richer than the fruit that she gathered in the fall ; her glossy black hair was softer than the furs she wore in winter, while the quick sympathy and love that shone in her dreamy black eyes was a gift she brought with her from the spirit land. Hectel loved Gerwa- deta with a passion that even bowed his pride, and he fain would have gathered for his own this beautiful forest flower. But Gerwadeta loved another and watched for his coming as the flower for the sunlight. Yes, Gerwadeta the beautiful, the daughter of the great chief, dared to love Winone, 'Winone, the coward and paleface,' as the braves called him. Poor Winone, who had never sat in council, or taken a scalp in all his life. And often, when the camp was the gayest, or the dance the wildest, these two would quietly steal away to some secluded bower to chat, and then Winone would tell Gerwadeta of his dreams and aspirations
49
PICTURESQUE HAMPSHIRE.
A CUMMINGTON HOUSE.
and of how he hated their wild, ferocious life, the war path and the gauntlet, and how he shuddered for the victim at the stake; and say that he thought the day was not far distant when the tomahawk would be buried forever and the smoke of the peace-pipe would envelop the land. And then he would tell her of his love, of how she made him more patient and more forgiving, and when the braves teased him he thought of her and his heart was so full he forgave them all; that he longed to fly with her to some quiet spot, where he would build a cabin and they would live as the settlers did and be very happy. Winter melted
where she had sat for hours and watched the great fleecy white clouds drift through the heavens, or the smoky blue hills that rose, one above another, growing higher and higher and fainter and fainter, until they faded away into the distant horizon ; the home where she had dreamed of Winone and had been so happy; the home where lier father had sometimes praised and petted her. Would he not hear her now? He did not look up when she entered, only motioned to a pile of blankets near by them and waited. When the old warrior turned his face Gerwadeta knew there was no repeal. Every line in the dark visage was like steel. 'Gerwadeta,' said Gutama- tin, 'Heckel today saved the Osac nation ; he loves you and tomorrow you wed. Go, my daughter, forget the cowardly paleface, who tomorrow dies by my hand and learn
THE TOWER PLACE.
to love a warrior.' Gerwadeta cast one look of mute appeal, of fearful anguish, of deep despair, upon her father, but not a feature moved. Slipping a large hunting knife, which lay on the blankets, stealthily into the folds of her dress, she was gone. It seemed to Winone, as he lay in his own wigwam, that life had never seemed so fair before; the stars had never looked so bright as now, nor the eamp fire so cheerful, and when had a sentinel's step ever sounded musical before? Gerwadeta! How he loved her. He had never loved before. How hard it was to leave her. Here his reverie was eut short by a low hiss at the back of the lodge, which, having some of the Indians about him, he answered. The next sound was a smothered ripping sound as of a knife and a bright beam of moonlight fell on the ground beside him, by the light of which he saw Gerwadeta bending over him. The keen hunting-knife did as good service at the buckskin thongs as it had done before, and in a trice Winone was on his feet. Then out through the friendly slit, stealthily along the shadow of the wigwam, behind a screening oak, under
A BACK-DOOR SKETCH.
into spring; summer ripened into autumn, while Hectel and Winone loved, but Gerwadeta loved but one. The long torrid days of summer had shortened into autumn. The maize was still on the cob, and braided into long golden bunehes, dangled from the wigwam roofs; herbs bound in great bunches by thongs of deerskin swung from branches of the friendly trees. The richest pelts of the fox, beaver and bear were piled in every wigwam. It had been a year of plenty. But the little village was nearly deserted, not a warrior was to be seen and the squaws either glided silently to and fro or talked in low voices about their wigwam fires. Three days before, the pride and strength of the Osacs, smeared with the fiercest hues of war paint had gone forth from the village. For three days the squaws had placed arms in the light of the rising sun and still the warriors did not return. Just as the fourth sunset was struggling with the dark mantle of dusk, the first faint notes of the Osae war trinmph told the village that its braves were return- ing and in a few minutes Gutamatin and his warriors were in the camp. Hectel, fierce and prouder than
ever, and with many trophies dangling from his scalp pole, stood by the great chief's side, while Winone, bound hand and foot, was guarded with the rest of the prisoners. The story was a short one. Hectel had saved the day for the Osacs, while Winone had fled at the first onset. According to the ancient Osac custom, cowardice was punished by the great chief in the presence of the whole nation and the penalty was death. Be- fore Gerwadeta had time even partially to recover from the terrible shock of this intelligence, she was summoned to her father's wigwam, and filled with forebodings of pending evil she went. This wigwam was the poor girl's home, the home where she had learned all she knew of household love; the home
GETTING A LOAD OF DIRT,
SHELLING PEAS ON THE BACK STEPS.
50
PICTURESQUE HAMPSHIRE.
a long cover of brushwood, over logs, boulders and knolls, till in a few short minutes they stood np- on this cliff. 'Now,' said Gerwa- deta, looking eagerly at the black water below, 'We'll live the love of years in one brief hour, and then'-
"The next morning a sconting party was sent ont and both bod- ies were found in the pool be- neath us. Winone still held Ger- wadeta's hand and a happy smile was on the face of each."
Miss Miller had finished. The sun had long dropped behind the forest and twilight, the dusky daughter of night, mystified the whole scene with changing shades and shadows.
"And now, she resumed, with a flash of mischief in her grey eyes, "what would you say if I should tell you that I have the identity of this couple at hand ?" "I should say," I replied, "that I should like to see it." "Do you see that large eave-like hole in the rock on the other side of the falls and way below ns?" I certainly could, for it would have held sev- eral barrels of water and as though it had been scooped out with a giant's adze. "Well," said my friend, "That was where Wi- none's tomahawk struck when he went over the falls." And I was convinced.
WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT.
C. E. H.
ONE OF CUMMINGTON'S LANDMARKS.
Well up on the hill from the village of Cummington, and about half a mile from the Bryant place is an old house, now brown and weatherworn, with a sagging ridge-pole and numerous frameless windows, but having still about it many lingering marks of dignity and beauty. It is known as the
A CORNER OF THE BRYANT LIBRARY,
Tower place. About it in its day was one of the finest farms in the town and the big old house stood firm and staunch on its foundations, and was quite the lord of the little valley it overlooked. About it were many snug outbuildings and two big barns. It was a thriving place. From it every fall they took down great loads of butter, beef, cheese, pork and other farm produce to the Adams family at Quincy, Mass. It can be truthfully said that this farm fed the highest intel- lectual life in the state.
The house stands on a steep hillside, so that the rear door enters the second story. A few rods farther up is a thick dark grove which crowns the hill. Stepping inside on the upper floor one finds himself in the kitchen, where still yawns a linge open fireplace. In the parlor, on the northeast, is another fireplace. The room has a hard finish and is care- fully decorated in color. Between the eastern windows in
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