USA > Massachusetts > Franklin County > Deerfield > The story of Deerfield > Part 2
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strain. Every harvest time, guards had to be renewed and there was frequent loss of life, chiefly of the men needful to the community.
Conferences with the Indians were held at Albany and Boston in the year 1723 in the vain effort to conciliate them. The death in 1724 of the Governor of Canada, Marquis de Vaudreuil, at last brought a cessation of hos- tilities. His policy is well defined in an old letter which says, "Ye Governor of Canada looks for a speedy peace, but will do as much spoyle as he can before it comes."
It is very evident that many of the hostil- ities arose in this way. The French often undertook raids upon the English to keep their Indian allies in good humor.
Twenty years of peace now intervened, al- though not without annoyances from the In- dians. Much diplomacy was needed in deal- ing with them. In 1735 a great gathering was held in Deerfield. Governor Belcher and his suite met delegates of the Six Nations and a representative of the French in Canada here
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to renew pledges of friendship. At the same time, a service was held in the old meeting- house to ordain John Sergeant as minister and missionary to the Housatonic Indians in Stock- bridge. An imposing sight it must have been to see the New England dignitaries and the Indian chiefs in full regalia. The Indians rose in a body when addressed in their own lan- guage by Stephen Williams through an inter- preter.
During this interval of peace, which lasted until 1744, Deerfield grew in population. Out- side settlements were started at Green River (afterwards Greenfield ) ,
Wapping, and Bloody Brook, and at a place called "The Bars," so named because here, where the land rose up from the two intervening miles of meadow, were the bars of the great fence surrounding these meadows; so that after the crops were harvested, the cattle, duly branded, could be turned loose to graze in the autumn. The only road leading south passed through these bars, and it was thought a village would
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here be established; therefore a wide street was laid out. Two families, the Allens and the Amsdens, built here about 1730. A brook then ran beside the road, and near it and not far from the Allens' house an old squaw and her sick son lived in a wigwam, lingering after the rest of the tribe had departed because the lad was too ill to travel. Much kindness was shown them by the Allens at this time. At length, the son died and was buried on a little hill to the south, still called Squaw's Hill. A tradition, handed down from generation to generation in the Allen family, as one of them says, "by the blazing hickory logs in the large open fireplace," tells how', early in 1746, be- fore any sense of danger had come to the Deerfield inhabitants in that new and last war with France, the old squaw, evidently warned of coming danger, disinterred the body of her son, washed his bones in the brook, slung them over her back in a bag and departed over the hills,-the last of her race in Deerfield.
In August that same summer, rumors of an
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Photo by Frances and Mary Allen AN OLD DEERFIELD DOORWAY
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invasion were brought in, and the people in the outlying region sought the safety of the fort or palisades. On the 25th, Samuel Allen, with three of his children, two Amsden boys, and two soldiers to guard them, came down to the Bars to make hay. A party of Indians concealed in the woods nearby fell upon them, killed Samuel Allen bravely defending his children, captured the youngest, little Sammy, tomahawked Eunice without killing her; but failed to discover the older boy hid- ing in the tall corn. Both Amsden boys and one soldier were killed.
These Indians were part of a large force of French and Indians that had taken Fort Mas- sachusetts a few days before. "T is said they wished for more captives. Little Sammy was the only one they secured; he was carried to Canada. A year and a half later his uncle, Sergeant John Hawks, and two other men were sent to Canada to escort a young French officer taken at Northfield, and to search for Sammy. In vain was his search; even with
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the help of the Governor, he could not dis- cover his whereabouts. In despair, John Hawks was about to return home when one day, as he sat meditating what more could be done, an old squaw with a blanket over her head peered in at the door; at first Hawks took no notice, but as she came a second time, he recognized her as the old squaw of the Bars. With much mystery and many signs of caution she brought Sammy to him, and at last, after a journey of considerable danger, Sammy Allen was returned to his mother whose kindness to the old squaw was thus ten fold repaid. Sammy lived to be an old man but always declared the Indian way of life the best.
This was the last Indian raid in Deerfield, but by no means the last of the sufferings and anxieties they caused. Deerfield men were in this war as soldiers and scouts, as surgeons and colonels, until its close in 1763 when Eng- land at last owned all Canada.
The tide of English settlement swept almost
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all trace of Indian occupation before it. New towns were laid out, new houses built, churches and schools established. Free from outside harrying, the English soon found causes of worry and dissension in their rela- tions with the mother country. The great divergence of opinion between Whig and Tory became more and more intricate and ab- sorbing. Excited gatherings took place at Hoyt's Tavern (The Old Indian House) and strenuous arguments waxed hot. News was brought here once a week by a horseman rid- ing from Boston to Deerfield, where he was met by riders from towns farther away. Here the tidings of the Stamp Act, and later of its repeal, were discussed at length.
The most direct route from Boston to Al- bany in those days was by the "Bay Path" to Springfield, up the Connecticut River to Hat- field and Deerfield; thence westward along the Deerfield River to Hoosac Mountain, that great barrier of the lower Green Mountain Range. Here the Deerfield River turns
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abruptly north; and the trail then follows a smaller, dashing river that comes from a deep ravine of the mountains to join the Deerfield. Up this stream and over Mount Housac led the trail long known to the Mohawk Indians. It led along the crests of the mountains on- ward to New York State. A line of forts was established in 1744 from this line to the Con- necticut River: Fort Massachusetts near the New York border, later called Williamstown; Fort Shirley in Heath; Fort Pelham in Rowe; Forts Taylor, Rice and Hawks in Charlemont; Forts Lucas and Morrison in Colrain; Fort Dummer on the Connecticut. Scouting parties patrolled between these forts in times of greatest danger. In spite of this, many people were surprised and killed all through the years of Indian warfare.
The old "Albany Road," a section of the direct route from Boston to Albany, turned west from the "training field" or common in Deerfield village; and led to the river which was crossed at a ford called "Old Fort." From
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there it followed a course over the Shelburne Hills to join the curving Deerfield River further on. The old road over the hills is now scarcely discernible, and is impassable except for pedestrians. 1796331
In the village, "The Albany Road" appears to have been the scene of many industries. Most important to travellers were the sad- dler's, and blacksmith's shops. Here, too, were the felt makers, shoemakers, weavers, jewellers, and watchmakers. At the southern corner of the common, was a tavern; later used as a printing office for "The Franklin Freeman" published in 1831. During the Revolution, this tavern was kept by one Sex- ton, an ardent Whig; and was known as the Whig Tavern. The Tory Tavern was at the opposite end of the common.
In 1773 a meeting of Tories was held at Seth Catlin's and in December of that year oc- curred the Boston Tea Party, and a jollifica- tion party was held by the Whigs, who broke up singing:
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"Who went aboard the British ship, their vengeance to administer,
And didn't care a tarnal bit for any king or minister,
Who made a deuced mess of tea, in one of the biggest dishes,
Steeped the Bohea in the sea, and treated all the fishes."
The proposed erection of a Liberty Pole the next year, 1774, roused great indignation. It was drawn into town to be set up next day, but it was found in the morning cut in two in the middle. Nevertheless, a pole was erected in spite of all protests and the preaching of the old Tory minister, Parson Ashley. Upon this pole, patriotic poetical effusions were placed, more amusing to us who read them to-day than to those who were on fire with enthusiasm for the Liberal cause; or to those to whom it was a deep rooted aversion, in fact, a disloyalty from the Tory's point of view. "No taxation without representation"
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was the cry. A company of men drilled quickly; fifty were ready to set off at once when a mud-splashed, breathless rider arrived here April 20, 1775, with the news of the Bat- tle of Lexington the day before.
On May 6, Colonel Benedict Arnold came here and met Thomas Dickinson at the Barn- ard Tavern (now Frary House) to arrange for the purchase of beef; and so swiftly were his requests obeyed that the next day, al- though it was Sunday, fifteen great oxen were on their way to Fort Ticonderoga. Meantime, the Tories found life more and more uncom- fortable; although they still continued to drink their tea which was smuggled in under cover of some other commodity. Even the Tory Minister, Rev. Johnathan Ashley, was made to feel the animosity of the Whigs who at one time "cut off his firewood"; but it is doubtful if he was ever allowed to suffer seriously. When he refused to read the proc- lamation by Congress for a Thanksgiving Day, 'tis said that his son read it for him;
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and at the close, "God save the Common- wealth of Massachusetts," the old man arose and added fervently, "And the King, too, I say, or we are an undone people." Since, in those days, ministers were settled for life, it was im- possible for the Whigs to dislodge him.
Many of the most prominent families here were Tories. Bitter enmities arose; and, as there had been much intermarrying, results were often painful, and left curious contradic- tions of character among the descendants. At the close of the Revolutionary War, the tur- moil of feeling gradually subsided; and the Tories were soon taking the oaths of alle- giance to the new Republic.
But history should not be a record of war- fare only. It is enough to say that Deerfield has ever borne her part nobly in the succeed- ing wars of this country. Her men have proved brave and patriotic and her women generous and devoted to the cause of right. As the scene of struggle shifted away from here, Deerfield developed into one of the finest of
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the New England villages, a kind of commu- nity unique unto itself; not a mere rustic set- tlement, but the dwelling place of a fine, self- controlled people, fully alive to all the vital interests of the day, keen to criticise, eager to estimate, appreciative and glad to assimilate whatever was excellent. In these homes were men and women of genuine discrimination for the best; their churches, their houses, their books show it; the cheap and ornate had little place here. Formalities and fine bearing al- most invariably accompanied the wearing of the ruffled shirts and smallclothes of the men and the fine laces and flowing skirts of the women. Beautiful old silver and delicate china were gradually accumulated and cher- ished, and are still handed down as the most precious of possessions.
All sorts of handicrafts were the result of long years of isolation and the need to do everything for themselves. Tillers of the soil most of these people were, but they held their work in a respect that elevated it. Indeed,
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some of them looked half contemptuously at trade and store-keeping. Great pride in their lands was bred in their bones.
Their church was the center of interest. The old meeting-house built in 1729 was past repair in 1823, and in 1924 the stately red brick meeting-house was built; its beautiful spire adorned with the original gilt weather- cock bought by the town for the first meeting- house in 1731. The deep-toned musical bell is said to have been recast and a number of silver dollars added to the metal as it was molten, greatly enhancing its richness of tone.
In 1797, it was voted to build an academy, and it was formally opened January 1, 1799. The fine old brick building, now Memorial Hall, was its home until 1876. Pupils of both sexes came from all over the state, driving in chaises over poor roads from fifty or a hun- dred miles around. They lived in the Acad- emy with the family of the Principal, in rooms where tiny fireplaces were the only means of heat. A high standard of scholarship was
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Photo by Frances and Mary Allen
AN OLD DEERFIELD FIREPLACE
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maintained. Astronomy was taught and car- ried far by Edward Hitchcock, a Deerfield boy who became President of Amherst College. A planetarium and a lunarium were presented by Colonel Asa Stebbins. A course in "The Theoretical and Practical Art of War" was in- troduced by Major Epaphras Hoyt when war with England became imminent in 1810.
A musical society is on record in 1803. A society called "The Literary Adelphi" was formed in 1804, and "The Young Ladies Lit- erary Society" in 1813. Singing schools were never lacking. The village choir was assisted by stringed instruments. The itinerant portrait painters were well patronized and the por- traits often fine; not only portraying the per- sonality of the sitters, but often preserving marked family characteristics. Early editions of books are heirlooms here. The first Ameri- can edition of the Waverly novels was issued at intervals in paper covers. Eagerly were they watched for. The story is told of one old man who would sit by the blazing hearth
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of a winter's evening holding a broad-based brass candlestick containing a homemade tal- low dip in one hand and a new Waverly novel in the other. Probably cider and nuts interspersed the tale.
On an old, square, four-legged stand, in the dining room of one large family always stood a dictionary, a gazetteer and a botany; and many a meal was interrupted by the search for some word or place, or the genus of some rare flower just brought in. Conversation turned on things like these. Wit was abundant and appreciated. By no means were the people of those days dull and pedantic.
The library played a great part in the life of the people. We find records of a small library soon after the Revolution, followed by "The Social Library," "The Military Library," "An Agricultural Library," "A Juvenile Li- brary," and finally "The Deerfield Reading Association," which included most of those which preceded it. The Thursday evening meetings of this society were weekly events
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of much moment. They were held in a long room of the old Post Office. The postmistress was librarian and the moving spirit for many years. She sat at the head of a long table on which the new magazines were spread out. The members took seats on either side or stood near, while the young people gathered in subdued but animated groups in the back- ground. Drawing by lot for the newest maga- zine was conducted with great solemnity and many suppressed exclamations of dismay. "The Atlantic," "The Living Age" and "Lippin- cott's" and "The Galaxy" were great favorites.
After the Revolution, the occupation of the people changed, commerce commenced to be more prominent. Then began the raising of cattle for export, and long droves would plod their dusty way to the Brighton markets. Broom corn was raised in large quantities. In 1795, boats bringing merchandise began to come up the Connecticut to Cheapside; canals were built; warehouses established, and many commodities loaded upon those curious old
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boats to be floated down the river to Hart- ford. To bring the boats back long poles and Oars were used, an arduous process, super- seded in 1826 by a small steamer. The Deer- field River was ever the resource and the ro- mance of Deerfield. Its fresh, sparkling waters, unsullied by factories and sewers, provided fish in great abundance; the clearest of ice could be cut in winter. The spring floods brought fertility to the meadows they covered; firewood, too, piled up along its banks. The ravine at Stillwater, where the river left the western hills, often echoed to the songs and jests of boating parties and swim- mers; and skaters could follow the course of the river five miles to its junction with the Connecticut.
Eastward from the dwellings in the village home lots extended to the hill; westward to the river; each family had also its share of tillable meadow-land, a pasture on the moun- tain side and a wood lot. The divisions of meadow-land were known as cow-commons
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and the name "First and Second Divisions" are kept to-day. The wayward river sometimes carried off large portions of fields along its edge and left uncovered new land on its opposite shore. A load of hay crossing by a ford was not an unusual sight.
Every family kept cows: the breathless still- ness of summer mornings would be broken by the soft thud of their feet and the munching of the sweet, short grass along the village street as they were driven to pasture by reluctant boys. Fences were almost universal. The village green or common was surrounded by a white two-rail fence with large square- topped posts. Water was brought by pipes from springs on the hill. One church sufficed for these people until 1838.
Farming was almost the only industry. To- bacco and onions gradually superseded the other crops, although corn is still raised in large quantities by the few remaining farmers. One by one the great barns have closed their doors or they have been converted into
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studios. The home lots have become lawns or gardens; the pastures have grown up to bushes and young trees. Specialization has overtaken Deerfield. Her specialties are schools, the marvelous collection of Memorial Hall and the revival of old-time embroider- ing, weaving and other handicrafts.
The history of Memorial Hall is not out of place here. In the late sixties of the nine- teenth century, the families, gathered by the open fire of a winter's evening, would hear the familiar tap of a cane on the porch; the iron knocker would sound a quick rap and almost simultaneously the door of the sitting room would open and a tall, slender man with a long, white beard would enter, filling the doorway of the low-ceiled room. His keen, black eyes bespoke youth and vitality that even his bald head and white beard could not con- tradict. Taking his seat in the three-cornered chair by the fire, across the hearth from the old grandmother of eighty in her rocking- chair, he would begin to talk of old, old
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times. The child sitting between them under- stood little but remembers the repeated query -"Well, who was she?"-"Who did she marry ?"-""What year was that?" Not until he was over fifty did Mr. George Sheldon find lei- sure to devote himself seriously to discover the facts and piece together bits of informa- tion slowly but surely being lost to posterity.
As he drove about all over the country, from Northfield and Ashfield and Hatfield, seeking every clue, Mr. Sheldon also collected articles that he knew should not be allowed to disappear. Others became fired by his zeal and in 1870 the Pocumtuck Valley Memorial Association was formed and held its first meeting. In 1876 the Association purchased the old Academy building and placed these cherished things in a suitable and safe place. Since then the collection has grown continu- ously; and in 1915, Mrs. Sheldon built the fireproof wing for old manuscripts and other precious things.
The "History of Deerfield," from which
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most of the facts of this story are taken, was published by Mr. Sheldon in 1895. This work is the splendid result of years of infinite labor, and contains the best account of the activities of the Indians in this region of the Connecti- cut Valley. Also, as a result of Mr. Sheldon's labors, a complete genealogy of the families of Deerfield has been permanently recorded.
Deerfield has had her heroes of war, her Indian fighters, her Revolutionary soldiers, her splendid men in the Civil War, and her young heroes in the World War. She has had her writers, her painters, her poets; her artists of many sorts; and beautiful souls who ex- pressed themselves only by their fine lives, and by their enthusiasm for all that is best.
The beauty of Deerfield's surroundings and her long, elm-shaded village are well known.
Concentration of village life has passed away, and the more general life has come; and with it new ways and new people. But all unite to honor the old and to preserve all that is possible of the past.
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