USA > Maine > Kennebec County > Winthrop > An Account of the centennial celebration at Winthrop, Me., May 20, 1871 : embracing the historic address and poem in full > Part 5
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Is such a theme the theme for me to choose, And will the Muses my dull heart infuse With life and fire, so I may strike some chord That shall a fitting harmony afford;
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So I may wake some echo of a strain, Though brief and faint, perchance not all in vain ; Nor feel o'erwhelmed lest my unfinished task Should need indulgence more than I can ask ? Kind friends, forgive, and stray with me along, Nor turn at this, the prelude of the song.
One hundred years ago, this very day, The first town-meeting (so the records say,) Was held at an Inn-holder's house, which means Not what some college boys, with roguish spleens, Might half surmise, a place where all within Are held by one without who holds them in; But simply that the meeting was convened At an old tavern stand wherein was weaned The infant town, then christened, named anew, And clothed with corporate powers with much ado. On that great day,-anno urbis condita, No doubt the landlord did his bounden duty, And furnished freely all the needful aid, To see that corner stone most fitly laid. Perhaps a bumper crowned the festive board, Perhaps with merriment the table roared; (For in those times the keeper of an inn Most always kept a little "smile" within.) No doubt the yeoman did good service too, And put the thing magnificently through; Chose selectmen and constable and clerk,
. And all officials, setting them at work With busy hands, to make the new made town · A little jewel in King George's crown, For in his Majesty's ungracious name, The warrant issued, and the people came.
Thus organized and fairly under way, Our little ship of State set sail that day With much of pride and more of future hope, To brave the storms and with the billows cope. One plucky man, who from New Ipswich came, Some years before,-John Chandler was his name,- Held by conditional grant, as it would seem, Hundreds of acres, near the old mill streams And made his title good by building mills. This led to opening roads amongst the hills,
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Giving the outside settlers chance to come And cart their loads of meal and lumber home. And there were other names worthy of note, Conspicuous, mighty, in those times remote, Emblazoned on the records, sending down Leaven enough to leaven half the town ; Foster, Fairbanks, Stevens, Pullen, How, Whiting, Brainard, Stanley, and Bishop too; Cognomens which in poetry work in Most musical, as pretty as a pin,- I cannot mention all-suffice to say They were illustrious in that ancient day, And for the town did much,-did more, say some, Than Romulus and Remus did for Rome.
Other town meetings followed at the Inn ; In which the freeholders did now begin . To act on matters, some of grave import, Discussed and passed as in the general court. Graveyards were purchased, and highways improved; Bridges were built, and obstacles removed, Until the river towns beyond the streams Could now be reached by teamsters with their teams. Groceries were started, and West India goods Toiled slowly in through miles of dreary woods,- The heavy wagon creaking 'neath its load, The jaded oxen careless of the goad,
The weary teamster stopping now and then, To quench his thrist, then shout " gee up" again. Improvements still advanced, the woods gave way To waving grain-fields and the reaper's sway ; And the broad acres newly cleared and burned, Abundant harvests for the toil returned.
They voted money, pounds and shillings, pence, In those old days to pay the town's expense ; They levied taxes on the estates and polls, Which were collected like the miller's tolls ; They ordered men into the box by three's, To serve as jurors in the Common Pleas ; They favored learning and established schools, Warned out of town all stragglers, idlers, fools, Expurgating the trash like tares from wheat,- Reserving only so much as was meet 4
--
THE
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For this good town, whose honored name should be A synonym for good society. Religion, too, found carly footing here; Preaching was hired eight Sabbaths in a year, And twenty pounds were raised to pay the bills' Ere yet a meeting-house stood on its sills. And they were careful, too, what men they hired To preach the gospel from the word inspired, And sometimes voted that they only would Hire those whose moral character was good.
The history of the town hath once been writ; Much there that's told of course we here omit,- Yet one or two good things therein set forth A moment's rhyme we think are richly worth,- For instance this, illustrative of manners When men wore homespun, women used bandannas.
A Mr. F. once pillioned his old horse And started off, ('twas then a thing of course,) And asked a visit from a Mrs. Wood. Quoth she : " I'd go'n a moment if I could, But I'm a kneading bread which I must bake." "If that is all," quoth Mr. F. "I'll make The pathway clear. Just take your kneading trough And jump upon my nag and we'll be off." No sooner said than done. Both on the beast With trough and bread, a funny jag at least, Went trotting back to house of Mr. F., Where they arrived but little out of breath. He built a fire, she baked her batch of bread, Spent the whole day, at night went home to bed Same style,-riding as gaily on the pillion As modern girls would dance a brisk cotillion.
A certain fiddler, most presumptuous grown, Once pitched his tent without permit in town. The good folks rallied, but ne'er raised a rout; In a most legal way they warned him out. The constable whose christian name was Squier And surname Bishop, loosed, 'tis said, his ire, And in a rage e'en warned him off God's earth. Whereat the fiddler trembled at his wrath, And asking where to go, was answered plain : "Why, go, you stupid fool, go out to Wayne."
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One most consummate nuisance in those days Was Dr. Gardiner's dam, with no fishways, Down at the mouth of Cobb'see Conte stream,- A source of trouble which got up great steam ; For the old settlers, they were fond of fish, And half subsisted on that excellent dish ; But Dr. Gardiner's dam built tight and high, Embargoed all the fish from passing by, Spoiling the up-stream fishermen's delights, Infringing, too, the fishes' vested rights, Wronging both men and fish,-a two-fold grief Which called for some prompt action for relief. What should be done ? Ah, Dr. G., take heed, You'll catch it now for your unfriendly deed ! They called a new town meeting and let off At first a protest, like a gentle cough Before a sneeze, choosing a board of three To coax a fishway out of Doctor G. Coaxing was vain : The Doctor, he said No: No fish around or through his dam should go. Whereat the settlers fired a louder gun, Remonstrating and threatening, both in one. Here was a casus belli, cause of war More palpable than Green and Trojan saw. They did not fight to right this double wrong But fired full many a protest loud and strong, And boldly voted,-voting every year A fresh committee to present more clear Their grievances against that stubborn dam, Which locked the stream where once good fishes swam. Alack a day ! Not ten long voting years With double shotted protests, barbed like spears, Availed them aught. That dam, it would not down; So finally,-they let the thing alone.
But hark ! There is a tumult in the land, And a more serious conflict now at hand,- A conflict not of merely local strife, But one in which a people strike for life. England, harsh mother, from her sea-girt isle, Bloated with wealth of many lands the spoil, Drunken with power-proud mistress of the sea, Lays heavy tribute by her stern decree On all the provinces throughout the land;
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Their voice in council, hushed by her command, Their sacred chartered rights all cloven down, Their ministers spurned even from the throne, The people helpless, crying for redress, The monarch laughing at their vain distress. Ah, there were murmurings, gathering wide and far, And stern resolves unmoved by threats of war. A voice from old Virginia, loyal then, Electrified the hearts of living men With words of fire, till flew on every breath The clarion war cry : "Liberty or Death !"
And where was Winthrop on that trying day ? Did she not arm in earnest for the fray ? Ay, this old township heard the trumpet call, And sent her sons to conquer or to fall. Those were the times that tried men's souls. Alas ! Should her young sons the dread ordeal pass, And come again to these their hill-side homes, To spend their days and find their burial tombs ? Heaven only knew what was in store for them :- Who speeds the right will sure the wrong condemn. Prompt at their country's call a score when forth To the provincial army of the North Then mustering at old Cambridge, marshaling To meet the red-coat minions of the King. The blood, that flowed from many a mortal wound At Lexington, lay fresh upon the ground, And the raw infantry were on the drill For their grand charge at glorious Bunker Hill. But this is history,-and I need not tell .
A tale which every school-boy knows full well : Only the part this patriotic town Took in the contest should be written down, And honorable mention made of those Who joined the ranks against the country's foes. But few returned to these new homes to dwell : Some died of hardship,-some in battle fell, And some who privateered came back from sea To share the blessings of a country free.
We must not loiter longer on the way To tell what happened in the olden day. Let us advance our pinions to the breeze,
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And, like a good ship o'er the laughing seas, Fly onward through the lapse of rolling years. A wayward pilot in the Muse, who steers Sometimes a devious course, too prone to dash The craft on breakers with a fearful crash, Making appalling shipwreck :- let us try And pass the dangerous breakers safely by, Bringing our good ship to the offing now Of later days,-a port which we do know. Lo, here we come with all our canvass free ! The gleaming beacons on the strand we see, The old familiar shores, the rocks, the hills, The emerald fields, sweet lakes and streams and rills,- A thousand scenes in memory treasured well, Crowd into view with many a tale to tell.
Dear native town ! May I not bring to thee A passing tribute, slight howe'er it be, --- Some little word, a token fondly laid Upon the altar where our childhood played ; And where a musing fancy loved to roam, Enraptured with the beautiful at home ! May I not pause one moment to renew The dear delights which laughing boyhood knew,- Here where the hills hold in their sweet embrace So many a lakelet, touched with native grace ; Here where the woods in spring-time were so green, And all the landscape secmed a fairy scene ; Here where we wandered, truants from the school, And penance paid for many a broken rule,- Loving the freedom of the woodlands more Than all the tasks the teacher had in store ; And willing martyrs to the rod, if we Could thus atone for this our truant glee ! Was it the weakness of a boyish heart To deem no other scenes could c'er impart Such wealth of happiness as seemed to come In those long tramps through woods and fields at home ; To dote on every nook and pathway where The wild flowers bloomed and fragrance filled the air ; To love each hill-top on whose magic height Our roving footsteps climbed with new delight,- Till our young hearts leaped up with blissful bound At all the pictured loveliness around ;
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To sigh for these dear scenes when forced away. And homesick, pine thro' many a weary day, Returning often, bag and baggage home, When no one gave the kind permit to come ? Ay, call it weakness of a boyish heart; It was a yearning which would ne'er depart, With boyhood's years,-a fondness which would cling In later life, tho' time and change might bring Their winter chill, and years of absence quell The youthful ardor of its powerful spell ; A steadfast bond asserting its control, A true attachment anchored in the soul.
Come hither, Muse ! nor longer stop to dream ; The hour is flitting-gather up your theme And bear it onward to a fitting close ; Let not your verse relapse to stolid prose.
These modern times are different from the old ; Improvements come with innovations bold ; And skill and craft and industry have wrought Strange revolutions which the sires ne'er thought. The manufacturer and the artisan, The farmer, trader, the professional man, Have long ignored the old-time ways and arts ; And marvelous changes now in various parts Have taken place till the fair town has grown . A populous-indeed a wealthy town. The village here, once called the Chandler Mills, Lapped in the valley, flanked by ancient hills On either hand, hath spread its borders wide, And feels to-day almost a city's pride. The mill-stream winding from the lake above Is tasked full many a powerful wheel to move ; And the steam engine brings its force to bear. Screaming its shrill note on the startled air. What would the settlers of the old time say Could they stand here, on this centennial day, And see the progress of an hundred years, And hear the shouts, the pæans and the cheers ? What would the veterans say ! How would they gaze Around in strange bewilderment, and raise Their trembling hands and voices in surprise, Till tears of joy should moisten their dim eyes !
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Who are the men who've helped build up the town, And laid of late their early burdens down : Whose generous hearts were with large love imbued, Whose labors live, a legacy of good ; Whose memory green is fondly cherished here, Whose ashes sleep within the churchyard near ! They claim some mention at our hands to-day : We have a debt of gratitude to pay Which this good town with all its wealth and pride Can poorly pay and ne'er can lay aside. The white-haired father,* who 'neath yonder roof Preached words of life, enforced with many a proof,- Who by example and by precept taught And for long years in every good work wrought, Did well his part for the dear town he loved And closed a life of labors well approved. Another, too, yet in a different sphere, With kindly impulse, left his blessing here; O'er whose low grave the monumental stone Was reared by grateful townmsen, as to one, A benefactor genial, kind and good; A man of culture, generously imbued With native gifts of intellect and heart,- A keen, quick mind, most liberal to impart Its stores of knowledge, brilliant, too, with wit, Whose ready shafts would like an arrow hit ; A master of the pen, who if to-day He walked with us would give his genius play, And bring to these festivities a cheer Whose note should ring in every listening ear. We'll let him rest 'neath his memorial stone,- Here where his life was spent and labor done, And cherish long, whatever fortune comes, The honored name of genial Dr. Holmes.
'Tis time to stop. In sooth, how short is time ! Yet time is long when drags a tedious rhyme. Much must be left unsaid, full much unsung ; Some random sheets shall here aside be flung, And we will curb the headstrong, wayward Muse,- That flighty bird, that warbles so profuse.
* Rev. David Thurston.
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But this protracted stanza should not cease And die away in these sweet times of peace Without one earnest word-one loud halloo- For Winthrop boys, who, with "the boys in blue," Struck the grim monster of secession down, And gave their laurels to the good old town. The days are fresh before us, with the glare Of gleaming bayonets, and the wild blare Of war's dread trumpet calling loud-"To ARMS ! Defend the country, save her flag from harms!" The fire enkindled, ah, how soon it burned ! The spirit of the ancient days returned, And Winthrop boys, as promptly as of yore, Were on the war-path, sword in hand, once more. No idle boasting, valiant in parade, But cowering timid where the bullets played, Marred their fair records. On the field of strife Full many bled and some surrendered life. They speak to us on this centennial day, With words more eloquent than tongue can say, And lay an offering on the alter here Which this old town may well be proud to bear.
Farewell, the Muse! This is indeed the last; But look ! what vision from the misty past Is this that moves across our pathway now, With moderate pace all cumbersome and slow ; What lumbering wagon of the days of old, What old black horse whose years are all untold, Whose head and tail and fetlocks all hang low, Whose tattered harness, built an age ago, Was made the strain of Time's hard wear to stand ;- What gray old man who drives with palsied hand And looks about with quite indifferent gaze On all the folly of these modern days; Whose pride is with the past, who stops his team In yonder street and seems to sit and dream, And wonder what this motley crowd are at, Gazing at him, his team, his coat and hat, As if the like were never seen before, And were not stylish in the days of yore !- We know him now, tho' we were but a babe
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When he was old-this same old " Uncle Jabe." *__ Welcome, old man, we'll grasp you by the hand ! You are the sole survivor in the land Of those old veterans who did speed the plough In this good town near eighty years ago. Thrice welcome now, for you have lived to see This gala-day, with your great country free, And your old township prospering all the while Beneath the bow of Heaven's approving smile : A boon vouchsafed by Providence to few,- Therefore a wecome hand we reach to you !
Farewell the Muse, coy mistress of all song ! Farewell at last; the end approached full long At length is reached. Enchantress, fare thee well! Hushed be the echo of thy ministrel spell. 'Tis gone-Our harp is on the willow bough : The blue-eyed maid retiring, leaves us now, And goes serenely through the welkin blue, Waving to us, as we to all, Adieu.
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* Mr. Jabez Bacon, upwards of ninety years of age, and the oldest inhabitant now living in Winthrop.
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Address of Ex-Governor Chamberlain,
Fellow citizens and friends: I cannot mistake the spirit of this greeting. Embarrassed as I ought to be by this extraordinary demonstration and the consciousness of little desert, I must con- fess with gratitude that it relieves and reassures me. I had prom- ised your committee that I would join with you to-day in doing honor to the memory of the good men and women who laid the foundations of this town, and those also who have brought it to this high excellence and fame. But I emphatically assured the gentlemen that I had not time to give the least preparation for the things which ought to be said on such a day as this. He who speaks for a century should weigh well his words. He should seek to compress into them something of the wisdom, and set forth in them some of the lessons, with which the lapse of years so eventful must be fraught.
It was trying enough, therefore, to feel that whatever I might be prompted to say on this occasion must be uttered without reflection, and be lacking both in substance and shape, such as were due to the day and to the honored assembly. You may imagine my consternation when, on arriving here, I found myself announced in the Order of Exercises for what might seem to be a formal oration. I am glad however to see, in the fact of your remaining here, that you no longer dread any such thing ; and this greeting I take as a compliment to my kindness and common sense, which will not compel you to stand here to listen to many words be they well or ill prepared. Nor do the admirable addresses which have preceded, leave you any more to desire, or me any- thing to say-although much to think about.
Yet, I trust the time will never come when I have no heart to respond to influences like these ; when my thoughts are not quick- ened by such recitals; or when words of congratulation and thanks- giving do not rise to my lips at the recollection of such noble deeds as have been wrought here, and of the blessings with which a
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benign Providence has followed honest endeavor. May the time never come, indeed, when, standing before so goodly and gracious an assembly thrilled with one great thought, quickened by the same sacred memories, animated by one great common interest, and inspired by the communion of high and helpful brotherhood, my spirit shall not catch something of the scope and significance of the occasion-thinking nothing which concerns human interests alien to itself-and touched with a power beyond its own, join in the vast accord.
I congratulate you, therefore, citizens of Winthrop, upon all these evidences and exhibitions of prosperity with which you mark the progress of a century, and illustrate this celebration. I greet you, men and women and children, as yourselves tokens that the glory has not departed from this Israel. Nay, I see upon your very faces that the faith and virtue of those who have gone before form the matter and mould of your characters to-day-that the toils and trials, the sufferings and victories of a hundred years bear bloom in this garland of strength and beauty which surrounds me. Yes, the century flower blossoms to-day !
One thing I have thought of here is that these fruits are not borne without labor. Not without toil-both earnest and patient -do we achieve results like these. Where there is no struggle there is no victory. Indeed, I have sometimes been so bold as to think that beyond the value of the things we have won, and per- chance beyond the glory of the victory, there is positive gain in the struggle itself. It is good to grapple with adversity-to make a way for ourselves through opposing circumstances-to fill out, and fashion, and harden, and polish our characters, by resistance -not only defensive, but offensive-against besetting forces. By the attrition of conflict is the discipline of strength. Look at the people in climes where no toil is needful, where nature pours plenty and luxury at their very feet, without struggle or sacritice of theirs. Have such people any real advantage in these things ?
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Does their character or condition to-day show it? Does the whole history of the past tend to show that mere ease is advantage, or plenty, power? No! the people that are idle and at ease, are low, feeble, and deformed ; sunk from the type of manhood, a prey to the stronger, slaves to the stranger, slaves even to themselves. But what now are the leading nations of the earth ? They are those that have wrought and wrestled-that have tried and been tried. They are the people that have battled with adversity-that > have laid their hands on savage nature and subdued the wrath of the elements. They are the people that have learned the lesson of power-that force must be directed by skill-that skill involves discipline-that discipline implies self-denial ; and that self-denial involves temperance, intelligence and the culture of all good. In this husbanding and training of strength which toughens the sinews of the body, is wrought also the fibre of the spirit; and hence comes that manliness which is virtue-that strength which is power-that obedience to law which is the mastery of the free. These I say are the people who are leaders of men to-day, because they have mastered the brutal everywhere, both around them and within them. This is the secret of that all-conquering Roman might, which mastered the world in its day, and the spirit of which gives laws in lands its armies never trod, and in a civili- zation beyond its dream. This, I take it, is why the nations of the North have almost always overborne those of the South. This is what gives our race its prestige and position. It is preeminently this which has given to New England its character. It is this also which gives our State a marked and honored standing among her sisters. With a climate that is called rigorous, and a soil that is called sterile, she has wrought out an industrial, social and intellectual prosperity, inferior to none. Remote from the great centres of art, and enterprise, and politics, she has reared men and women for every sphere of life whom the world could ill have spared. Is not the lesson nobly taught to-day, that bravery to do and to endure is more than half the victory.
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But we are here especially to celebrate the organized applica- tion of individual force, in that unit of civilization-the town. While listening to this history my thoughts have run back over the career of towns-the part they have played through the ages -mightier than that of kings and conquerors. How ancient and solemn, and august their dignities ! How eventful their histories ! How greatly have they contributed to our ideas of society and government, of liberty and law. Strongly contrasted too is our institution of the town from others elsewhere and gone before. There were the walled towns of the Orient, as a physical defence against enemies. There were the towns of Greece and Italy once potent rulers in the earth; but forgetful of the true sources of their power, a prey to Saracen and Hun, and Northman, forced to yield themselves subjects to petty princes who cared for them only to get service from them, till the people rose from very agony, and established those famous Municipal Republics, which have left us the striking lesson that there can be no freedom without tolerance. There were the towns of the Netherlands and Ger- many, which passed through a struggle of centuries to gain those rights which give them fame and dignity, and power among all nations of the earth. Then the elaborate system founded by King Alfred in England, in which I half suspect that wise man sought mainly to secure the equal contribution of citizens to the public expense-to take care that no man should escape his taxes ! Con- trasted with all these, though having something in common with them all, is the idea of our New England town. In contemplating your history to-day, I see nobler motives at work, and higher ob- jects involved. Here was indeed something like a Mutual Insur- ance Company. The hurt of one was felt by all. All conspired to help each. Each man was strong with the power of all the rest. It was more than this. It was not merely preservation but multiplication of good that was sought. Your founders forthwith set up instruments for the common benefit. They established in-
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