Saco Valley settlements and families. Historical, biographical, genealogical, traditional, and legendary, Part 21

Author: Ridlon, Gideon Tibbetts, 1841- [from old catalog]
Publication date: 1895
Publisher: Portland, Me., The author
Number of Pages: 1424

USA > Maine > Saco Valley settlements and families. Historical, biographical, genealogical, traditional, and legendary > Part 21
USA > New Hampshire > Saco Valley settlements and families. Historical, biographical, genealogical, traditional, and legendary > Part 21

Note: The text from this book was generated using artificial intelligence so there may be some errors. The full pages can be found on Archive.org (link on the Part 1 page).

"We gaze around, we read their monument ; We sigh, and when we sigh we smile."

Children : Eliza Ann, b. July, 1813; Jeremiah, b. July, 1815; Martha G., b. Sept., 1817; Elbridge G., b. Sept., 1819; Sally, b. in 1822.

4. HANNAH, m. John M. Barnes.

5. BETSEY, m. Jacob Bray.

6. REV. BENJAMIN G.

7. STEPHEN, succeeded to homestead, went West.

8. SALLY.

Deserted Hearth- Stones.

ILLICK MILL, SETTLEMENT. Nearly a hundred eventful years have passed away since a road was "bushed out" from Nason's Falls, at South Limington, across the level plains to the "old Alfred road," near the well-known homestead of Cyrus Bean, then in the plantation of Little Falls, and about one mile southwest from the present hamlet of Bonnie Eagle. This thoroughfare crossed the stream that issues from Killick pond, and was extended, in the winter season, along the clearings in the "Dalton Right." As Killick pond was about three miles long, sur- rounded by high banks, it afforded ample room for flowage and formed, at its outlet, an excellent water-power. Taking advantage of this, a few enterpris- ing men, having an eye to business and improvement, planted a settlement here. Mills, a store, blacksmith's shop, ordinary, and several dwelling-houses were erected. Fields of considerable extent were cleared along the side of the stream, orchards planted, flowers cultivated, and as the road traversing their plantation was considered to be a permanent highway, hopes were cher- ished that the place would, with the increasing population of the townships, become a prosperous centre of trade.

As this " Killick Mill road" formed the connecting link in the route followed by many of the New Hampshire and Vermont farmers, when trans- porting their produce to the Portland market, two brothers, Amos and David Towle, built an old-fashioned tavern at the Killick Mill settlement for the accommodation of these and other travelers, This great, wide, rambling house stood on the swell of land on the right-hand side of the road as the pilgrim goes toward the west, some distance east from the bridge. Long ranges of sheds containing many compartments, provided with doors and connected with the stables, were built above the house; these were for the Vermonters' long pungs and loads of farm produce, and there was no use for locks and bolts while Towle's great watch-dog, "Holdfast," was unchained. This soon became a popular "putting-up place," and Towle's Tavern and the toddy mixed there were known and talked of by many of the best farmers in at least three states.

It has been said that AAbel Crawford used to count fifty teams in a day as they passed his house in the White Mountain Notch on their way from Ver- mont to Portland, and as many as twenty of these have been accommodated at Towle's Tavern for a night many times. This winter caravan usually came

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down from the north during the early weeks of the new year and was absent from home under ordinary circumstances eight or ten days; when snow-bound and belated, two weeks. This annual market-trip was much talked of by the stalwart "Green Mountain boys" as they went from house to house in their neighborhood. Several days were required for "gittin' reddy." Their loads consisted of whole hogs (dead, of course), dressed poultry, sausages, cheeses, butter, dried apples, fox and mink skins, baskets, brooms, axe-handles, goad- sticks, stockings, mittens-anything and everything raised and manufactured on the farm that could be turned into cash, or bartered for such knickknacks as they needed in their homes.

Although the Towles looked for these market-men the first of January every year, there was no certainty as to when they would appear; the contin- gency of bad roads and weather must be considered. Sometimes a man of business, a lumber-dealer or cattle-man, or a dignified magistrate going to attend the assizes, would dine at the tavern and bring word in advance that the farmers might be expected on such a day. Being thus forewarned, the family was forearmed and enabled to have everything in readiness for the recep- tion and comfort of their annual patrons. The landlord from the road-side, and his wife from the kitchen window, watched betimes for the coming of the head team, and listened for the "clink-clonk-clank " of the great bronze sleigh- bells that could be heard for a long distance across the level lands on a clear, cold day; their music was very pleasant to the waiting landlords. When the long train was driven into the tavern yard there was shouting and great con- fusion. These lusty, cold, hungry teamsters were a noisy crew. As soon as the horses had been provided for, and the great pungs secured in the sheds, the market-men would gather up their robes, dinner firkins, and whips and start for the bar-room, where these would be piled in a corner for the time being.

An enormous stone fireplace, piled with burning logs, threw out a cheer- ful warmth and mellow light. A rough-and-ready group soon formed a circle around the long hearth, where boots were removed and the benumbed feet toasted until they tingled with the rush of a stimulated circulation. When all had been made comfortable by the great fire without, and a generous lining of hot toddy within, the hearty fellows went for their firkins. What were these for, when guests at a public house, where were ample provisions for man and beast? Why, it came to pass in those days that farmers, when on their way to and from market, carried their own food; the tavern-keepers only had pay for baiting, lodging room, and what their company drank; this was con- sidered to be enough. Well, these portable larders were placed before the fire and warmed awhile; then the covers were removed and placed on the farmer's knee where they formed the round table from which these were to take their courses. Such strapping fellows were naturally good feeders; but what could be expected after a ride of forty miles in a cold winter day !

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Neither the fastidious nor abstemious were present at Towle's tavern on these occasions. Indigestion and dyspepsia were torments then unknown; the robust appetite regulated the diet. See how these Vermonters assail their round "cupboards "! With the greasy bone of a spare-rib in one hand, and a big doughnut in the other, their jaws were kept busy for a full half-hour. To "gnaw a bone " was no disgrace, for all knew the adage true, "The nearer the bone the sweeter the meat." A little oil from the delicious roast caused the face to shine, and the flip with which they washed their supper down made their hearts merry. Sometimes the housewife at home would make a couple gallons of bean porridge for her husband's long journey. This was provided with a short stiek connected with a bit of bed cord, put into a flaring tub, and exposed upon a snow bank to freeze. When all was ready, this con- gealed mass, which resembled a block of Roxbury "pudding-stone," conglom- erate and gray, was hung by its loop upon a stake at the pung side, and took care of itself till wanted. As a convenient instrument, the Vermonter carried a small axe in a cleat on the outside of his pung, and when "bean porridge hot " was wanted, he chopped a hunk from "bean porridge cold," which, according to sayings of the old folk, was "best when nine days old." This was warmed in a basin at the hearth-stone and eaten with great relish by these hardy men.

The coming of the Vermont farmers was looked for by the Towles as a speculation, and the welcome accorded them had a mercenary undertow ; but the millmen, the smutty-nosed blacksmith, and heads of families of the settle- ment gathered with the strangers in the great bar-room for pure companion- ship's sake; for the royal good time they had in listening to the stories told by the men " from the northard," and the general good-fellowship that pre- vailed at these evening gatherings. These mid-winter nights would be snap- ping cold and enormous piles of fire-wood must needs be burned. The ice would crack with startling report on the pond, the "runners " of a passing sled scream over the frozen track, and nails start from the tavern walls ; but what cared these jovial fellows who toasted their shins, smoked their pipes, and told tales in Towle's tavern ! Their horses were comfortable in the stables and their produce safely housed, so let Jack Frost rave and tear.

It would be a late hour when the men of the settlement bade the Ver- monters "good-night" and went home; then the weary wayfarers would spread their buffalo skins upon the bar-room floor, " camp down" with their feet toward the fire, and soon be snoring like the tearers of strong eloth and the drone of a big fiddle. They would be up, betimes, to replenish the fire-wood or to solace themselves with a whiff of their pipe, and so the night wore on. Long before the blinking stars had retired before the coming day, these exu- berant countrymen were up and about their business. It was twenty miles to Portland, and they must have an early start. After a mug of hot flip to warm

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their marrow bones and a breakfast of porridge-chips, they were away after their horses. Full of good-fellowship, lively, talkative, whistling, they assisted each other when "hitching up," and not one drove away till all were ready; then, big Dick Wilbraham, the "Lyndonville giant," who acted as "captain of the host," cracked his long whip, shouted "good-morning," to the landlord, "come on," to the Vermonters, and guided his tall, mottled horses into the road-way, followed by his "companions in travel." Slowly they climbed the long Killick hill * as each walked by the side of his team; then, standing upon the small platform at the rear end of their long pungs, they applied the lash and were away at full pace cityward.

Reaching Portland as early as ten in the forenoon, the remainder of the day would be spent in disposing of their load; the following morning would find them making purchases of a new gown for Molly, a fur tippet for Susan, a cap for Jim, a fowling-piece for Ned, and a steel trap for Zeb. Besides these articles, such hardware, crockery, and "chicken fixens" as were needed, but not raised, on the farm. Evening found the whole company once more at Towle's Tavern in the Killick Mill settlement, where they were to tarry for the night; for the night? We shall see.

Supper done, checker-boards were brought forward, the round-cornered cards taken down, and while the Vermonters, with the mill-men, studied how to outwit each other in their silent, harmless battles between "king-row and corner," or between " clubs and spades," the spectators watched the games with their heads enwreathed in clouds of blue incense that emanated from their odorous pipes, and joined in the congratulations bestowed upon the champion players.

We have incidentally mentioned one Dick Wilbraham, called " Wilbram " for short, the big man from Lyndonville, Vermont. Now he stood six feet seven in his stockings, was broad in proportion to his height, and a perfect Hercules for strength. No two men of his neighborhood had been able to

* KILLICK POND .- It has been assumed in tradition and print that this beautiful lakelet was named for one Kellog, or Kelloch, who once lived somewhere in the neighborhood, and it is now about time to refute the statement. My reliable grandfather, who was born in 1780, informed me that when the "Dalton Right," in the northwestern part of the plantation of Little Falls, was settled, some very large and beautiful masts were cut on the bank of the stream which forms the outlet of this pond. Among the company sent up from Saco to assist in hauling the masts to the ship yards in that town, was a Scotchman, and as the teamsters stormed at their oxen but could not draw the enormous load up the long hill near the pond, this foreigner shouted : "Bide, mon, bide, ye hae come to a killick." From this expression by Sandy the steep ascent was named "Killick hill" ; afterwards the pond was known by the same designation. Now this tradition, if such it may be called, has not traveled very far down the stream of time through the channel of human affirmation, and has some foundation in fact outside of itself. The word Killick is of Scottish origin, and always used to denote a halt, a sudden stop ; the exact meaning of the word employed by the Scotchman when the mast-team "got stuck" at Killick hill, nearly, or quite, a century ago. The same name, involving the same idea, is now applied to a small anchor. Where is the evidence to show that a person named Kellog or Kelloch ever lived in the townships on either side of this pond ?- Author.

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hold him down since he reached maturity. He was now in the prime of man- hood, firm of fibre, and dangerous to trifle with when his "dander was up." His abundant good nature, sound judgment, and lively conversation constituted him a pleasant companion. In emergencies he was always equal to the occa- sion; when imposed upon, a terrible retaliator. His dialect was strongly tinctured with that peculiar flat pronunciation and long-drawn accent which originated in northern New York and insinuated itself, like a great, thin-edged wedge, into nearly every part of Vermont. He was, withal, something of a wag, and his quaint expressions and penetrating jokes were long remembered and rehearsed at the fireside years after he lay in his seven-foot grave among the green hills of Lyndonville.

There was in the Killick Mill settlement, at the time of which I write, a character locally known as Nat Brandford, whose fame as an athlete was well established by his feats of strength exhibited when the saw-mill was raised, where he carried one end of the "fender beam " to its seat upon his brawny shoulder unassisted. This man was not over tall, but almost superhumanly thick, with a neck like a statue of "heroic size," and a square jaw that told of terrible will and determination. His was an animal organization, as expressed in every lineament of his bull-dog head and member of his muscular body. He was quarrelsome, hateful, and vindictive.

It was unfortunate that two such men as Dick Wilbraham, of Lyndonville, and Nat Brandford, of the Killick Mill, should meet; but such was the case at Towle's Tavern more than once. Nat had hurled several insulting hints at Wilbraham, but the latter passed them without any noticeable umbrage, and the muttering of an expected storm had passed away. Nat had frequently boasted of his willingness to "tan Dick Wilbraham's jacket for him," and by some imprudent and meddlesome person this half-threat had reached the big Vermonter's ears and soaked well into the flesh and bones of his stalwart body. This one-sided spirit of. jealousy, for it was nothing less, extended itself into others; and had they confessed the truth, it would have been known that there existed among the Killick Mill settlers and the farmers from Vermont a genuine longing for a test of muscle between these formidable men. So much more the pity, for it was self-evident that if the affair culminated in a corporeal contest, somebody would be seriously hurt; possibly, property would be destroyed.

For a purpose Nat Brandford had challenged Dick Wilbraham to a game of checkers. The latter played the white "men," and the former the black, for he claimed that "luck was commonly with the niggers." As the game slowly progressed, and the two men cautiously moved their "skirmishers" toward each other, every faculty of forecast was brought into exercise. They were both old hands at "checkers," and this game would be a masterpiece for one of the competitors; there were some reasons for thinking that the harm-

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less pastime would be supplemented by a game of more radical consequences. Worst of all, that hellish liquid that has promoted more hatred between men, more crime, more murders, than any and all other inventions of the prince of darkness, was setting on fire the axles of anger, and the burning wheels were revolving with increased velocity; at this rate of speed, a collision, a crash, could not be averted. What a tempest of rage was brewing in the breasts of those men! What the end would be none could divine. Every person present was silent, and with bated breath, as those who dread impending calamity, watched the movements of the checker players. Nearly every "man " had been swept from the board by the "jumps " of Dick Wilbraham's "crowned" warriors, and the last "nigger " on Brandford's side had been driven to a corner where it could not be extricated, when the "brakes " were thrown off, and the latter shouted in a voice that had been steeped in hate :

"Dick Wilbraham, you cheat."

"You lie, Nat Brandford," responded the Vermonter, and springing to his feet he shouted, "Clear the floor."

With all haste chairs were hustled to the wall, while Amos Towle loudly cried for interference between the angry men. It was without avail; not a person present would raise a hand to hinder the coming contest. In half the time I am writing a line it was all over. Springing like an enraged panther, with as much agility as if he had been an oily-jointed circus performer, Dick Wilbraham seized Nat Brandford by the neck and his leather breeches, and raising him bodily from the bar-room floor dashed him through the window, sweeping sash and glass away like so much gossamer, and landing them in an enormous snow bank some distance from the tavern-side. For a moment the almost breathless spectators stood speechless, not having the power to move; then, like the victorious lion that roars over his prey, Dick Wilbraham lifted the safety valve of a voice that must have vent and screamed with a terrible, blood-curdling scream until every man about him sank into a chair and he was left alone upon his feet. Only a brief interval passed, when he turned to the landlord with an expression of face that was full of meaning and said: "Mr. Towle, go out, and if Nat Brandford can be found and is alive, tell him to go to his home and never, never, NEVER cross my path again." This spoken, a deathly paleness spread over his frenzied visage and he went to his seat at the fireside. In an hour he was as calm as if nothing had happened, but the affair had cast a heavy shadow over the evening's enjoyment and conversation declined to a low level.

Nat Brandford was not seen again for the night. The settlers retired to their homes filled with astonishment at what they had seen, and the Vermont farmers, feeling that their cup was full, spread down their buffalo robes and silently sought repose. They were up for an early start, but before leaving for their homes noble-hearted Dick Wilbraham sent his compliments to his

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vanquished foeman in the following half-serious, half-sarcastic remark: "Mr. Towle, you tell Nat Brandford for me that when his broken bones are set, and his wounded face and hands are healed, to send the doctor's bill to Dick Wilbraham, of Lyndonville, Vt., and he will pay it."

When a lad, while searching for straying sheep in company with my grandfather, I made my first visit to this sylvan solitude under the Killick hill, where once nestled a cluster of peaceful homes. While resting npon a deserted door-stone, under the sweet white bloom of an old apple tree, the aged sire told me the story of the settlement and its abandonment. The place was so beautiful for situation and its history so full of lively incident that it was ever after invested with charming attraction; and for years I frequently wandered about the bush-grown fields and along the brook-side, giving free scope to my fancy till I mentally reconstructed the mills and dwellings, and repeopled the lonely place with happy and hearty men and women.

There remained, forty years ago, the timber bridge, the decayed ruins of the mill-dam, some old cellars, tumble-down stone walls, scrubby fruit trees, and, growing among the tangled grass and over-towering weeds, a rose-bush produced its annual crimson flower as a memorial of the beauty-loving soul by whose hand it had long ago been planted, and now "shed its fragrance on the desert air."

Many years had passed, and memory's picture of the spot had become quite faded and dim, when the author formed the acquaintance of a dear old lady whose calm, peaceful face was enwreathed by snowy locks, and learned that she was born at the Killick Mill settlement, in the well-known tavern kept by her father, David Towle, and his brother Amos. An hour's conver- sation with this venerable woman, who seems to be the last surviving person who lived in this early hamlet, recalled all the particulars related to me in my boyhood, and I longed to visit the place once more, where, in my early years, the tinkling sheep bells carried by the wandering flock of my grandfather inspired my pensive meditations. The wished-for opportunity was soon afforded.

It was a balmy autumn afternoon when the author turned from the main road, over which the Alfred Shakers used to pass when on their way to visit their brethren in Gloucester, and made his way along the bush-bordered path that marked the course of the old, discontinued Killick Mill road, and down the winding hill to the spot where the broad-spoken Scotchman applied the name by which the locality has since been known. The declining sun was sending his glinting rays through the yellow foliage of the white birch, and enflaming the scarlet maples; the tasselled sumac was blushing by the hill-side, the golden-rod bowed with its offering of wealth, and the lonesome pines were filled with solemn whisperings. Moving forward to the brook-side, where was found a mossy mound, we sat down and listened to the bubbling waters as

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they wound in and out among the stones in the stream-bed. A loon laughed upon the pond and a green-plumed drake convoyed his well-dressed progeny to the seclusion of the flag-covered cove. A noisy kingfisher sprung his rattle while crossing the mill-stream and the red-crested woodpecker beat his reveille upon a decayed tree not far away. No tone of sheep-bell reached my ear, no intrusive traveler came to disturb my reverie. How changed these scenes ! Near where I reclined the rumbling mill-wheels once raised waves of echoes that chased each other over the hills; here were heard the laborer's lusty shout, the ringing anvil, the traveler's hearty hail, the plaintive lullaby and merry laugh of childhood. Gathered around the ample fireplace of tavern bar-room, resting strangers told the news and gave the latest market price. At the evening hour the weary mill-men assembled and stimulated hope by outlining plans for the future, and as they one by one sought their homes no bolt was drawn, but the latch-string, that primitive emblem of hospitality, was left outside the door. Night crept down the wooded hill-sides and sat upon the surrounding forest ; threw its shadows along the field-sides and enwrapped beneath its sombre folds the quiet hamlet. The reigning stillness was only broken by the falling water at the mill-dam, the barking fox in the dingle, and responsive dog at the house-place.

Now the tangled grass hides the concave door-stones once polished by passing feet, the long-deserted fields are overgrown with bush and brake, the hearth-stones have been carried away, and the unfailing spring, from which the sweating mill-hand and reliant housewife filled their wooden pails, pours its unwanted waters down the vale. The trapper and fisherman pause to view the enchanting scenery of the quiet spot, the mink and otter hide beneath the decaying timbers of mill and bridge, the chirring squirrel sharp- ens his claws on the spruce tree, and a chickadee trills his simple note on the withe-rod.

The arms that wrought at mill and forge have long been dust, the mother's soothing lullaby has been hushed in the realms of eternal silence, while the children once sportive in the homes of this promising hamlet have nearly all departed to the unexplored country of the dead.

Tradition has reported the existence of some little graves on the borders of the village plot, but my careful search failed to discover any indication of such underground cabinet, and we discontinued investigation with the con- clusion that the upheaving frosts and trampling feet of ruminants must long ago have obliterated all traces of these unmonumented places of sepulture. But the ceaseless murmuring of the sheltering pines will be the restful requiem of the little sleepers who early escaped the ills of a heart-breaking world through mortality's narrow gate-way.

The long shadows were creeping over the hill-side once more, reminding the loitering visitor of approaching night, and, unwillingly, we turned away

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from the crumbling, dissolving remnants of the deserted village to attend to the duties of the active present.

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Saco Valley settlements and families. Historical, biographical, genealogical, traditional, and legendary, Part 21

Author: Ridlon, Gideon Tibbetts, 1841- [from old catalog] Publication date: 1895 Publisher: Portland, Me., The author Number of Pages: 1424

Author: Ridlon, Gideon Tibbetts, 1841- [from old catalog]
Publication date: 1895
Publisher: Portland, Me., The author
Number of Pages: 1424