USA > Maine > Oxford County > Woodstock > History of Woodstock, Me., with family sketches and an appendix > Part 12
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A POISON ELDER.
Rowse Bisbee, who built the first mill in town, and was the first settler at Pinhook, was a man of few words, but of very · , strong feeling. After he moved to Pinhook, he had some dis- agreement with the minister, who was a blacksmith. He had no wordy controversy with him, in which he would stand no chance; but one day he walked into the shop of the minister, bearing a stick of the poison or stinking elder, which he stood up by the side of the forge, and went away without speaking a word. It was his expressive way of informing the minister the kind of " elder " he considered him.
NOT A MODEL TEACHER.
John Annas, who at one time lived in the Whitman neigh- borhood, attended meeting one Sunday at the school house, and at noon was asked to hear a class of boys recite their lesson. Annas had some good qualities, but he was so addicted to the
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use of profane language that the bad words would often escape his lips without his being conscious of it. He heard the class through, and the boys recited so promptly that he thought they deserved to be praised, and he proceeded to address'them, in a voice that was audible all over the room, as follows : " Scholars, you have recited a perfect lesson ; you have done well ; you are d-d good boys." He was not asked to hear another class in that school.
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THE TOLLAWALLAITES.
It was not always so, but there have been times when the people in the Lunt neighborhood, so called, were a happy-go- lucky set. They had no regular abiding place, but circulated between this town, Raymond and Auburn. If any one is curious to know more of them than is given here, he is referred to ex-sheriff Littlefield, of Auburn, who, as one of the overseers of the poor, has had some experience with them. They would not work under any circumstances. They could subsist on berries in the summer, but the first hard frost would send them pell mell to the overseers for help. This finally became so common, that the overseers of the poor determined to send them to the town farm. They had a horror of going there, and went home with empty hands, But the way they flanked the town officials was found out afterwards. One head of a family went to the overseers and said if he could be furnished with a barrel of flour and a little salt pork, he would try and get through the winter; they were furnished him, as being the least expensive course in his case, and he immediately went home and opened a free boarding house. All'the neighborhood turned out and lived on the barrel of flour until it was gone, and this thing was repeated until every family had been furnished with the same amount of supplies, which were disposed of in the same way. It was said that during that winter they had a dancing school in the neighborhood and that every person who attended
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it, including the teacher, was living on the bounty furnished at the expense of the town. This story was probably the inven- tion of some malicious person who held the "Tollawallaites" in low esteem.
BADLY SOLD.
During exciting political campaigns, there were a few resi- dents of Woodstock, the same as in other towns, who would sell their votes provided they could find a purchaser. But it sometimes happened that the purchaser was himself badly sold. One year, when the vote in the county promised to be quite close, and votes were in unusual demand, one of those who hoped to avail himself of his right of suffrage to turn an honest penny, went to the party leaders of one side and offered to vote that ticket for a barrel of flour ; his offer was promptly accepted and the flour furnished in advance. He then went to the other side and offered his vote on that side for six dollars in goods ; this offer was also accepted and the goods handed over. When election day came both parties were on the lookout for him, but he did not put in an appearance. They then sent teams after him, which arrived at his house about the same time and found him sick in bed, with hot bricks at his feet, and suffering intense pain. They were obliged to go away without him, but as soon as they were gone, he was able to get up and go about his work.
On another occasion, the vote of an east part of the town resident was challenged, on the ground that he had received aid from the town within three months. It seemed that a doctor's bill, for services in his family, had been presented to the Select- men, though it had not been paid. Thereupon, a leading party man advanced the five dollars necessary to liquidate the debt, directing him to go to West Paris, settle with Dr. Russell, get his receipt and then come back and vote. He started off, but did he carry out the programme arranged for him ? Not he;
che
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he knew a trick worth two of that; he took the money, went home and staid there, and his friend and benefactor watched for him in vain until the polls were closed.
CHASED BY A PANTHER.
The truth of the following story is not avouched for by the writer, though there are strong grounds for believing it authentic. It occurred nearly a hundred years ago-and long before the first settler built his cabin in this town. The descendants of the leading character of the adventure say that the story has come down to them, and they believe it, and the principal details, as related by them, are here given. One of the first settlers in Paris was Lemuel Jackson, of Middleboro, Mass. Rumford and Paris were settled nearly at the same time, though when the Indian raid was made into Bethel in 1781, the settlers in Rumford went away and did not return for over a year. Until the road was built through Woodstock in 1796, there was no communication between the two settlements, except through the wilderness, guided by a line of spotted trees. It is said that in the spring, Mr. Jackson, being short of potatoes for seed, made the journey alone through the woods to New Pennacook (Rumford) for the purpose of procuring some of the settlers there. He secured the potatoes and started for home late in the afternoon, intending to stop over night on the way. It was not an uncommon thing for the early settlers, when visiting neighboring settlements, to spend the night in the woods. Near the brook which passes through Pinhook at the time of which we are speaking, was a deserted camp which had been used by sable· hunters, and which was built after the rude manner of those days. Jackson arrived at this camp about dark, and decided to spend the night here and pursue his homeward journey in the morning. His bag of potatoes was deposited in the camp, and he was arranging for a fire, when he was startled
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by a savage scream which almost froze his blood. He had heard a similar sound before, and knew that it was made by the most dangerous animal of the northern woods, the dreaded American panther. He also knew that if he remained where he was, he would soon be attacked, and that the old and rudely constructed camp would afford him no protection. His only hope, and that, under the circumstances, a forlorn one, was in flight, and this at once he resolved on. Seizing his bag of potatoes, for these were too important to him to give them up without an effort to save them, he bounded off through the woods at a rapid rate. He struck the Little Androscoggin at the foot of Bryant's Pond ; up to this time, he had heard nothing more of the beast, and a glimmer of hope entered his heart that he was not pursued, but as he proceeded along the river bank, this hope was dispelled by the loud cry of the animal, which now seemed quite near. He now felt the necessity of putting forth every effort, and to this end he threw away his bag of potatoes and rushed through the dark woods at an accelerated speed. He heard nothing more of the panther for some time, the animal probably having found the bag of potatoes, and, impelled by curiosity, had stopped to examine it; hope again brightened, soon to be dispelled by the terrible screams of the beast, which now seemed nearer than at any time before. The case was now desperate, and Jackson felt that the terrible beast might spring down upon him from any of the dark trees which seemed to frown above his head. In running, his hat was knocked off and he sped on without it. It is probable that the panther stopped again to examine the hat, and this gave the fugitive another short respite. He rushed on, tearing his clothes and scratching his face against the brush which he could not see, and guided by the sound of the rapids on the river, along which his course lay. Again he hoped he might escape his pursuer, and again the dreadful cry reached him, showing that the beast was still on his track. Why the panther hesitated about attacking him is hard to be understood. It may be, however, that, governed
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by his cat-like nature, he was playing with him, feeling it in his power to accomplish his purpose at any time. But Jackson sped on, and now the twelve long miles from the old camp are nearly accomplished ; his clearing appears in view, but the river, which must be forded, runs between him and his cabin. He rushed into the water, and the panther, having come into the clearing, and with the instinct of his race taking in the situ- ation, and fearful of losing his intended prey, leaped in after him. Jackson gained a little in the water, and near the opposite bank stood his cabin. Calling to his wife at the top of his voice, he rushed up the bank; his wife heard and opened wide the door, through which Jackson rushed headlong and fell prone on the floor. Realizing that there must be danger near at hand, Mrs. Jackson at once closed the door and adjusted the strong bar which answered the purpose of a bolt. Hardly had she done this when the animal sprang against the door in a manner that made the cabin tremble. But it was proof against his attacks, and, prowling around in the vicinity the remainder of the night, at daylight he vanished into the forest.
MRS. NUTTING'S DILEMMA.
After James Nutting moved to Greenwood, his wife, one day, accompanied by her sister Sarah, who afterwards became the wife of Nathaniel Swan, came to Bisbee's mill, both mounted on one horse and also having a grist of corn. The road was but a bridle path, with trees across it, and they were delayed in getting their grist, so that it was dark when they started home. When they came to the fallen timber which obstructed the road, which they could not see for the darkness, their faithful horse leaped over each one, without unseating the riders or throwing off the bag of meal. When within a mile of home the saddle girth broke, throwing them both off and also the grist. Here was a dilemma, but Mrs. Nutting was equal to it, and
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taking off her garters, she repaired the broken girth, loaded the grist, and mounting, proceeded home, where they arrived in safety.
BEARS ON A BENDER.
The following incident took place in Greenwood, though Woodstockers may have had a hand in it: One year the bears were plenty and unusually bold and troublesome to the settlers. John Sanborn, of Greenwood, after baiting them with molasses for a while, one night mixed with the molasses quite a quantity of New England rum, and the next morning had the satisfaction of finding two bears stupidly drunk. Calling together as many friends as he could to aid him in dispatching his game, a prop- osition was made to have a little fun out of it. So, after a good drink all around, and procuring several ox-chains and some fence rails, they proceeded to securely fasten a rail to each bear. They then commenced to "wake up the animals," and with one or two men at each end of the rails, they could make the bears go in any direction they pleased, and they enjoyed the sport hugely. But they kept it up a little too long, until the men begun to grow drunk while the bears were sobering off. The result was, that some of the men got pretty severely handled, and would have fared worse, had not a new relay of help arrived and killed the now thoroughly aroused animals.,
ELDER DUNHAM'S RACE WITH THE BEAR.
When Elder Dunham was building the house south of Pin- hook, which he long occupied and which is still standing, he had occasion to go up to the store for some nails. His son, Rufus K. Dunham, remained at the house, and was upon the frame where he could see his father as he returned. He noticed a black animal following in the footsteps of his father and only
of
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a short distance behind, which at first he supposed to be a large dog, but as his father drew near and the animal kept about the same distance, he began to be suspicious that it was not a dog. Finally his father turned up from the road toward the frame and his follower also turned up. Rufus then, in a low voice, told his father to look behind him, which he did, and at once recognized his pursuer as a moderately-sized bear, and not more than fifteen or twenty feet off. The Elder at once sprang into the frame, dropped his dish of nails, and seized an axe and rushed out. The tables were now turned, and the pursuer be- came the pursued. The bear crossed the road and ran down through the level land toward the place where Newel F. Rowe now lives. Rufus, from his perch on the building, could see the whole affair. Near where Rowe's buildings now stand was a plowed field, and across this the bear pursued his flight, the Elder at no time being more than two rods behind him. But the Elder found the bear's strength too much for him, and, as he crossed the old road on the "Whale's Back " and plunged into the swamp beyond, the pursuit was abandoned. The bear went over through the Bryant neighborhood and passed into Greenwood near the foot of South Pond, being seen at various points on the way. As he passed into "Shadagee," the people turned out and pursued him until he was captured.
A SEVEN DAYS' BEAR HUNT.
In the spring of 1838, Andrew Richardson, a famous hunter of Greenwood, started a large bear, either in that town or Albany, soon after he had come out of his hibernating state and was very fat. He was one of the ranging kind, with long legs, and diffi- cult to capture. Mr. Richardson followed him with dogs among the Greenwood mountains, for several days, when he struck out. towards Woodstock. There was considerable snow on the ground, and tramping through the snow was very hard for both
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pursuer and pursued. The bear was followed through the day, and was generally found in the morning but a few rods from where the dogs left him at night. His flesh disappeared, and it seemed that the longer he was chased the faster he could travel. The dogs left him one night in Joshua Young's wood lot. Mr. Young then lived on the place now owned by Daniel Day. The next morning, " Bill" Young, son of Joshua, a well known local character, not overburdened with sense, went into the wood lot to cut some firewood for the house. As he was pass- ing along, he suddenly came upon the bear, which had been resting through the night, and had just got up, and was looking round to see if he could find something for his breakfast. Bill came within a few feet of him before he saw him, and when confronted by this gaunt monster, he was nearly frightened out of what little sense he had. He was so paralyzed with dread, that he could neither advance nor recede, but his most prom- inent faculty, in which he excelled most men, was in full play. He could scream, and that he did scream, no one who at that time lived in that section of country has since doubted. It was such an outburst of agony as has rarely, if ever, escaped from human lips. It echoed through the forest, and was caught up by Berry's Ledge and the Curtis Mountains, repeated by Molly Ockett and other more distant heights, until the country, for a radius of miles, was filled with the hideous and indescribable noise. People heard it at their firesides and rushed out of doors, and were bewildered at the fearful and incoherent sounds that proceeded from the direction of Young's woods. But Bill was really in no danger, for the bear, hungry, tired and footsore though he was, could not stand this outburst, and vanished out of the wood lot and down the hill toward Paris, as fast as his long legs would carry him. A large crowd, with additional dogs, soon assembled to pursue the bear, and he was shot by Asaph Paine before noon of that day. The writer of this, with others, was watching the bear at the moment the fatal bullet struck him. The bear was on the Paris side of the
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mountain, south of Daniel Curtis' place, and had just come upon a bare spot at the top of a precipice, when Mr. Paine, who was about thirty rods away, sighted him and fired. The wounded beast fell down the precipice some thirty or forty feet, the fall breaking his back; but he would still grasp the saplings with his paws and teeth, and drag himself along; another bullet, fired at short range, put an end to his life and misery. By means of a rope, his body was dragged down the mountain side and through the field to our door. He was a huge monster, and terrible, even in death, to the group of children which looked upon him at a safe distance, of which the writer was one. Mr. Richardson soon came up, and putting his foot upon the dead beast, exclaimed with an oath, "I told you that you should rest from your labors on the seventh day." He had been pursued seven days.
DEACON LANDER'S BEARS.
In the spring of 1836, as nearly as can be remembered, about the last of March, Deacon Seneca Landers, who was suffering from rheumatism, went into the woods to procure some hem- lock gum to make a plaster for his lame back. He lived east of Pinhook, his road connecting with the Sigotch road half way up Billings' Hill. He went southerly from his house towards the General Cushman neighborhood, where there was a heavy mixed growth of hard wood and hemlock. There were occa- sional bare spots, but the ground was mostly covered with frozen snow, more especially in the woods. As he was passing along, axe in hand, looking up at the trees, he was startled by a strange noise, and on looking around he saw a large bear crawling along on the crust directly toward him. At first, he thought that he was the object the bear was making for, and began to consider how he could best defend himself from this sudden and un- expected attack, but before he had time for reflection, the
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bear disappeared out of sight. On examination, Mr. Landers found that the bear had gone into his den, which was under the roots of a large maple tree. This tree had been partly blown down, but had lodged in the top of another. Its broad, spreading roots were lifted up as the tree inclined, leaving a clear space underneath nearly ten feet in diameter and three feet high. The surface of the earth was not broken, save in one place, and this was the hole through which the bear had disappeared. It was capital winter quarters for Bruin, but there was only one place of ingress and egress. Mr. Landers took in the situation at . a glance, and cutting a log as large as he could carry, he chucked it into the hole, and then climbing a tree, he halloed for help. William Brooks then lived on the William Rowe place, and his son Mark, a lad some ten years of age, was standing in the yard when he heard Mr. Landers call. He and his father immediately started in the direction of the sound, and on arriving on the spot and learning the particulars, Mark was sent back to Pinhook for more help, while his father and Mr. Landers remained on guard. When Mr. Landers first called for help, Rufus K. Dunham was coming along the " Whale's Back " road towards Pinhook, on horseback, and distinguishing the word " bear," he hurried along to Pinhook, and before young Brooks arrived, the whole neighborhood had been aroused and had started for the woods. Rowse Bisbee seized his old "Queen's arm " and butcher knife, Solomon Leonard a pitchfork and rope halter, while others took axes and clubs. It was not long before nearly fifty persons had assembled and stood around the spot where Bruin was bottled up. Mr. Bisbee found that he, in his haste, had left his bullets, and a boy was dispatched for them. In the meantime, a council of war was held with a view of agreeing upon some plan of attack. The plug was pulled from the mouth of the den, and the bear, becoming uneasy at such a demonstration, began to march round the enclosure, growling and gnashing her teeth, exposing herself to view every time she passed the place of entrance. Mr. Leonard had a small dog
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called " Watch," which he tried to send into the den, but before he was fairly inside he received a blow on his head which sent him bounding through the air, and he did not care to return. At one time, as the now infuriated beast was passing the mouth of the den, Chauncey C. Whitman had the temerity to thrust in his arm and catch hold of her hair, when she quickly turned and came out before them all, and such a stampede has rarely been witnessed ; some sprang into trees, others upon high logs, but most of them ran away at the top of their speed, and the bear, finding herself alone, returned into the den. By this time the bullets had arrived and Mr. Bisbee com- menced to fire at her, but she grew shy and stopped her promenade around the den. They then cut four holes into the den, on opposite sides, into which they inserted as many poles, and getting the ends under the bear, and bearing down upon the other ends by a lever purchase, they succeeded in lifting her to the roof of the den. Then, with axes and crow-bars, they made another hole through the earth over the bear, and soon her head was seen through this opening. Henry Packard raised his axe and struck her, but the axe glanced off, and she received only a flesh wound. The bear struggled and got away, and was seen to take dry earth from the side of the den and cover the wound with it to stop the blood. They again rallied, and the next time they raised her up Elder Dunham struck her, cleaving the skull and burying the blade of the axe in her brain. They then took the halter and pulled her out, when she immediately sprang up, and, standing upon her hind legs, uttered a most dismal and unearthly yell, which again caused a stampede, but the poor beast immediately fell dead. On ex- amination, it was found that she had two cubs, which accounted for her returning to the den after she had once driven away her invaders, and of her persistency in defending it. One of the cubs was shot by Mr. Bisbee, and the other was taken out alive by Elder Dunham and kept for several months by Chauncey Whitman, when, it being so mischievous, it was killed.
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PERSONAL MENTION.
In Family Sketches are given brief notices of quite a large number of the citizens of Woodstock, past and present, to the extent that the space would permit; and under this heading will be given only some account of those whose portraits appear in different parts of the book. Personal notices here, as else- where, are necessarily brief, as the whole matter of the volume must come into certain prescribed limits. They"are not in- tended even as an epitome of the lives of the persons represented, but are simply designed as explanatory of the portraits which, without such notices, would be without interest to persons unacquainted with the people they represent. The value of the volume would have been enhanced by portraits of some of the early settlers, but in most cases this was impossible, as but few left portraits, and the descendants of those who did were not interested enough to furnish them. For dates of birth, &c., of persons named here, see Family Sketches.
JOHN W. BROOKS.
John Wesley Brooks, born in this town (see " Brooks " in Family Sketches), was educated in the town schools and at the Academy at Norway. He taught school several terms, and in 1862 he went into trade at West Paris. In 1864, he sold out
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and went to Portland, and was clerk in a wholesale store until the great fire in 1866. He then went to Boston and occupied the same position in a large store, and also traveling for the firm in Maine. In 1868, he went to Chicago and worked for various firms, remaining with one for eight years. Since that time he has been traveling for Warner Brothers, large dealers in millinery goods and corsets, and in that capacity has visited, many times, all the important places in the west and south-west. He is also engaged somewhat in real estate speculation in Chicago. He married Ada Blanche, daughter of Levi C. Pea- body, formerly of Northfield, Vermont, afterwards of Winona, Minn., and now of Chicago.
WM. M. BROOKS.
Wm. Mark Brooks, born in Paris, came into this town with his father's family when a lad. He attended the town schools here and a few terms at the Academy, fitting himself for a teacher, in which he has achieved a .marked success. He. took to learning as a duck to water, and, without taking a col- lege course, he is much better educated in the classics than many who have graduated. He also has a rare faculty of imparting his ideas to others, which has served to make him the popular teacher of youth, which he is. When not engaged in teaching, he has generally employed himself upon the farm, in which occupation he takes great pleasure.
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