Saco Valley settlements and families. Historical, biographical, genealogical, traditional, and legendary, Part 25

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 25
USA > New Hampshire > Saco Valley settlements and families. Historical, biographical, genealogical, traditional, and legendary > Part 25

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).

John Brown built a saw-mill on the outlet of Long pond in 1802, and in 1804 put up a grist-mill on the same stream, on his farm. This saw-mill was standing a few years back and may be now.

Theophilas Smith built a saw-mill on the Great Ossipee, where the cov- ered bridge on the South Hiram road crosses, in 1824. Col. John Warren purchased this mill in 1834, and two years later put a grist-mill into the base- ment ; and only a few years afterwards the whole establishment was burned down.

The Thompson mills were purchased by Cotton Lincoln, and in 1841 he rebuilt the grist-mill, and the saw-mill in 1843.

The town of Baldwin was not richly endowed with water-powers; the streams upon which the few small mills have been built were not of sufficient volume to drive much machinery, and being without capacious reservoirs, and diminished in summer by drought, they are unreliable. Quaker brook, since known as Dyer's Folly brook, has furnished power for small mills since an early day; on this stream Isaac Dyer owned a mill, and on it the Weed mill was built. Subsequently the Youngs ran a mill where Dyer's mill was built, on the east side of the Bridgton road. On Break-Neck brook small mills have been owned by various parties. Ephraim Richardson formerly owned a mill

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EARLY MILLS AND LUMBERMEN.

where that of Appleton N. Burnell now stands. On Pigeon brook Edward R. Bacheller had a mill in which he was killed by the machinery. The old Clark rake factory was on a stream where the mill of Amos Richardson was recently burned down, in the western section of the town.

The first mill, a saw-mill, built in Hiram was owned by John Ayer. It was in the deep glen on the right side of the road leading to the Hiram hills, a little way above the Old Red mill now standing above the village known as Hiram Bridge. This mill was driven by the great, old-fashioned, but excellent "overshot" wheel, and when the stream was at spring flood it afforded abun- dant power for the lazy old saw.

William Stanley built a saw-mill on the stream that issues from the Spec- tacle ponds, in the southwest part of the town, at an early day ; it was close to the lower pond, near the road now leading from the chapel to the home of Daniel Gray, and was one of the first mills in the town.

Gen. Peleg Wadsworth built a mill on "Shookham " brook about 1819. This was on the Samuel D. Wadsworth farm. The stream was in some way fitted for driving down logs, and was known subsequently as Canal brook. Several mills have since stood on the site. The General also had a grist-mill on his farm before his death, in 1829. A mill was built on Hiram Great fall many years ago, but the time has not been ascertained. Mills were built early on Hancock brook at East Hiram.

In Denmark the early mills were built on Moose brook before 1800, by Cyrus Ingalls, who came from Andover, Mass.

The first mills in Brownfield were on Ten Mile brook, which takes its rise in Hiram, and flows northeasterly to Saco river. Burnt Meadow brook forms a tributary, coming from Dyer's pond, and about 200 rods from the point where the two streams form a junction, Capt. John Lane had a mill. In an old deed of date 1789, from Henry Young Brown to Simeon Bucknell, of Hiram, twenty acres of land about the old mill on Ten Mile brook are con- veyed, and the conditions were that the said Bucknell should for the term of sixteen years maintain a good grist-mill on said brook, where said Bucknell then had a mill. This old document shows that there was a mill there before 1789. Mills were also built on Shepherd's river, near Brownfield Centre, by the early proprietors of the land in that section.

The following, of date May 26, 1773, has reference to the action of the proprietors of Conway respecting early saw-mills and grist-mills in that town:

"On consideration of a vote passed at the first meeting of the proprietors of Con- way for Capt. Timothy Walker to have one hundred acres of land, his two mills to be in the centre with the mill privileges, and as said vote was passed without sufficient noti- fication, but as sd Walker is now ready to give bond to serve the Proprietors with said mills therefore Voted to confirm said hundred acres of land as laid out to sd Walker his heirs or assigns the conditions of his bond to run as followeth: That until there shall be another grist-mill and saw-mill built in Conway the sd Walker his heirs and

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EARLY MILLS AND LUMBERMEN.

assigns shall keep a good Grist-Mill and Saw-Mill in good repair and give good attend- ance at the same to serve the Proprietors or Inhabitants of sd Town in the following manner: To saw all timber that shall be brought into the mill-yard which sd Walker is to always provide convenient for the mills for one-half of the lumber the said timber shall make which is to be sawed into proper stuff according to the owners directions and grind well for customary toll and if after other mills are built in said Town sd Walker his heirs or assigns shall think it for his interest to keep up said mills or one of them then he or they shall serve the said Proprietors and Inhabitants in the abovesaid manner so long as he or they shall think proper to keep the mill or mills up. At another meeting held Sept. 29, 1773, voted to Thomas Chadbourne about fifteen acres of land in Conway with a mill privilege on Pudding brook near Mr. Eastman's bounded on every side by lot No. 12 on the condition that he build a good saw-mill on said mill privilege to be completed by the first of November next and keep the same in good repair forever and to saw logs into boards or other lumber for the Proprietors or the Inhabitants for one-half of the lumber or at the rate of boards at nine shillings per thousand. Likewise build a good grist-mill on the same stream in two years from the first of November next and to grind for the Proprietors or Inhabitants in a proper manner and to keep the same in good repair forever and be ready at all times to serve them in a proper manner and that there shall at all times be a proper convenience for logs and lumber at said mills. Also voted to Thomas Chadbourne as an Incourage- ment for building a grist and saw mills on Pudding brook so-called in said town one hundred acres of land to be laid out by the Committe."

At a proprietors' meeting held in 1765, it was "voted to Capt. Timothy Walker of Pigwacket one hundred acres of land beginning at the Grist Mills and immediately surrounding the mills, which was afterwards known as the ' Mill farm.'"

Thomas Chadbourne sold his interest in the mill privilege and all his improvements thereon to Richard Eastman, then said to be on Kesauk brook.

Among the early mills built in the town of Bartlett was a grist-mill owned by Joseph Thompson on the Ellis river ; this mill was long ago swept away by a rise of water. A Mr. Goodrich built a saw-mill and grist-mill on the falls that are now known by his name, and mills have since been maintained there. Another early mill was owned by one Abram Allen, near the village, and after many years of service it was allowed to fall down. A saw-mill was built by John Pitman, about 1810, on the East branch, and a saw-mill and grist-mill on Rocky branch were owned by Stephen Burbank.

The Lumberman's Camp.

WINTER in the woods! Snow-bound with a vengeance! The most intelligent representatives of our more populous centres have but a faint conception of the part played in the drama of human life by the hardy lumbermen when camping in the backwoods. Isolated from the comforts of home, from the restraints and refinements of society, and exposed to all the dangers incident to their bold employment, the lives of these timbermen are peculiarly trying. But with all their deprivations and hardships there are pleasant and beneficial phases in the backwoodsman's experience. The very conditions to which he is subjected insures to him the greatest blessing of human existence-that of vigorous health. Disease can- not exist amid the medicinal exhalations of the balsam tree, or aching limbs be found upon a bed of cedar boughs. Accidents are not infrequent. The upraised axe of inexperienced chopper sometimes becomes entangled in bush or overhanging branch, and, being diverted from its course in the downward stroke, goes wide of its mark and makes a deep and dangerous wound in foot or limb. In severe weather these men are sometimes badly frost-bitten, and great suffering is occasioned thereby. The greatest danger to the axemen is from falling trees; to teamsters, when descending the steep hills before the heavy load of logs. By one misstep or the breaking of a chain many have lost their lives.

Before our New England race had degenerated by intermarrying with three generations of cousins german; for want of pure air and healthful exer- cise when the bones were growing; before the curse of cooking ranges and French courses were known in the family, no finer specimens of physical manhood could be found than in the lumber camp. The use of a four-pound, narrow axe threw the shoulders back, expanded the chest, and drove every dormant function of the system into the chain-gang of activity. With every respiration the capacious lungs were filled with about a gallon of the health- giving properties with which the forest is pervaded. The constant changes of position necessary for doing the work that engages the woodman's attention, and the copious perspiration caused by his robust exertion, were conducive to a vigorous circulation of the life current and eliminated from the body every poisonous ingredient.

There is no locality so well protected from the storms and tempests as

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the deep, sheltering forest. The thick trees not only break the force of the wind, but form a protecting canopy over the workman's head. Besides, those who go to the lumber swamp are well equipped for resisting the cold. Their bodies are clad in coarse, thick woolens; the feet are protected with several pairs of heavy home-made stockings, and the face and neck supplied with abundant whiskers and hair. These men live near nature, are on good terms with her, and derive the beneficent blessings flowing from an observance of her laws. Brave, noble-hearted fellows! Somewhat rough, like a chestnut burr, outside, but all right in the region of the heart. No spirit of narrow- souled meanness would be tolerated in the camp. "All are in the same boat," and sympathy is reciprocal.

So long as strong drink is kept out of the woods, peace and harmony usually prevail; when that curse of the human family is admitted, strife and discord run rampant, quarrels and fighting are the order of the day. The most successful managers at the present day will not allow strong drink in their camp. Much more work is accomplished, much more peace enjoyed.

Life in the lumber camp is not so monotonous as the uninitiated might suppose; indeed, it has as much of variety, of mirth, of good-fellowship, as almost any situation one can conceive of.

There are, ordinarily, five departments to fill among those in the timber swamp, and the various "hands " are known as teamsters, choppers, swampers, and sled-tenders. The cook, sometimes called "the old woman," has his dominion within the camp or at the wood-pile.

The "boss" purchases his oxen, engages his crew, and starts for the swamp while the ground is yet free from snow. It is a busy day when prepara- tions are being made for the journey from the settlement to the backwoods. The long rail-carts are loaded with barrels of beef, pork, and flour. There must be bags of mneal, bundles of fish, and boxes of herring; also, potatoes, onions, beans, salt, and the "trimmings" necessary for a winter's cooking. Packs of quilts, blankets, and men's clothing follow, as a matter of course. A box of new axes and a few tools for repairs fill the complement.

When we consider that eighteen or twenty men are to be supplied with food during a long winter, and that those thus employed and exposed will eat double the quantity of food required when at home, some estimate of the stores necessary to be taken to the woods in the autumn can be formed. As many as six fat oxen have been butchered and eaten at one such camp in a winter.

The work of the cook is arduous and wearing to an extreme. While the men of a crew, as a rule, are not very fastidious, there will be chronic growlers who are never infinitely happy unless finding fault: such are a "sid in the teeth " of the camp cook, and sharp quarrels between the two are not unusual. But if the "boss " is in camp he has a word to say about such matters and his decision must be regarded as final. As a rule, the cook must cut his own

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firewood, keep the camp in order, and carry hot food to the teamsters, chop- pers, swampers, and chainmen a mile or two distant in the woods, in two large firkins suspended from a yoke across his shoulders. Meanwhile, a fire will be built of dry limbs, a tea-kettle put on, and hot coffee and tea made. Men who have toiled in the cold since daylight will "lay-to" and eat steaming baked beans under such conditions, when they would spurn such a dinner in their homes. "Ah! but they taste wonderfully good out in the woods." So say the old lumbermen when telling their "experiences."

When night comes on and the weary men with faces covered with frost, and beard jeweled with icicles, come to camp, all is bustle. The teamsters are busy at the hovels putting up their cattle, while the crew gathers about the roaring fire upon "deacon's seat" to remove moccasins and hang their mittens up to dry.

By the time the teamsters have come in and all are comfortably warm, the busy cook has his hot supper on the long, board table and the hearty fellows gather round to tighten their waist-bands. How the food disappears! Will the company ever be satisfied? Supper over, the men attend to such work or recreation as seems most congenial. One will be found whittling a goad-stick, another an axe-handle, and a third making a yoke. A group upon the "dea- con's seat" will be playing checkers with bits of leather, cut round or square, for the "men," while others, whose heads can scarcely be seen for the smoke rising from their pipes, will be reading a well-worn newspaper. A fiddle or banjo will often be heard in camp at evening, and some hilarious yankee will try his foot in a "double shuffle " at the fire-side. Stories are always in order in the lumberman's camp, and the more they stretch the credulity of the listening company, the more are they enjoyed. The competition in "telling tales out of school" is sometimes sharp, and roaring laughter follows. When the cook has washed his dishes he finds a seat by the fire, and knits his stocking foot as deftly as any old grandmarm in the chimney-corner at home.

When the weary men are ripe for rest, one by one they tumble from the " deacon's seat" upon their couches ; but when in a mirthful spirit many a "trick " is played upon each other and many a keen-edged joke passed down the long tier of bunks until the last owlish fellow has "turned in " and joined the snoring chorus.

When an ox becomes lame, or his neck so badly chafed that he is unfit for the yoke, the teamsters will away to the pond or stream for fish; if a "yard " of deer has been found, and there is a sharp crust on the snow, there will be venison in the camp before night.

If the lumberman's winter quarters are not too far away sleighing parties from the nearest settlement sometimes make the camp crew a visit before spring. On one occasion the good wives among the farmers on the upper reaches of the Saco decided to visit the logging camp on the mountain side

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some two miles away. The day appointed was clear and bright and the crisp air was exhilarating. All hearts "devised liberal things." A goose, turkey, and several fat chickens should be carried as a donation to the lumbermen. It was a merry company that drove up the well-trodden woods-road, and the greeting received was of the most cordial kind. A woman's face in camp was a benediction; a pronounced benediction, as some of the young men found out before their departure.

The horses were provided for, the women laid aside their wraps, and assisted the embarrassed and apologizing cook in preparing for an extra good dinner.

Newspapers were spread upon the table as a substitute for a cloth. The turkey and goose were nicely roasted in the old-fashioned manner before the hard-wood coals. When all was ready the company gathered about the boun- teous board to enjoy the repast. It was noticeable that the men of the camp appeared more tidy than was their custom ; that they were not as hila- rious and uncouth in manner. All were ashamed of their rude table and rough, board seats ; were abashed in the presence of so many strangers. One there was, a teamster, who could not eat goose flesh; anything, even crow or owl, before that. He could scarcely bear to sit with the company at table, so obnoxious was the goose upon which the others were feasting. Many compli- ments were passed by the ladies to the camp cook for his nice bread and pancakes, and the members of the party were soon on the best of terms.

When the meal was over the women and girls "cleared away " the dishes, put the shelves in order, and then went for a walk down the logging road to search for spruce gum, and "take the wholesome woodsie air." The whole day was spent about the camp. In the evening songs were sung, the violin put in tune, and "projects tried."

The moon rode high above the forest at the hour of nine, the teams were hitched up, and after much "tucking in " by the gallant young woodsmen, "good-nights " were spoken, and the jingling sleigh-bells were soon heard far down the mountain side.

It was a late hour before the lumbermen found any inclination to seek repose. The conversation was somewhat spicy and the dreams that followed rather romantic. At any rate, the day had been a pleasant one, not soon to be forgotten, and we may well believe that some of the farmers' daughters felt their "ears burn," if there be any occult connection between compli- mentary speakers far away and the subjects conversed about.

Some days subsequent to the visit and royal feast, when making his great batch of bread for supper, the absent-minded cook made a mistake between two basins that had been placed side by side on a shelf and poured the goose- grease into his pan for "shortening." Unwilling to waste so much good flour he decided to take the risk of being found out, baked his bread, and placed

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it upon the table, the same as if nothing had happened. The men appeared unusually hearty that evening and eagerly devoured the warm biscuit. Even the teamster who detested goose, who never wanted to hear goose mentioned, declared aloud that the cook had beat himself; that he had never made any bread half as good before, and asked for the secret of his success. "Well, Sam," replied the cook, "they ought to be good, for I shortened 'em with goose- grease." This turned the laugh upon the fastidious teamster, and he was afterward asked many times if he would have his biscuit shortened with goose.

Flapjacks! Pancakes! Fritters! Many are eaten in the lumberman's camp. How are such cooked? There is some novelty about this culinary art as practised by the backwoods cook. The indispensable utensil is a light, long-handled frying-pan. Into this the thick batter is poured, it is held over a bed of coals, and when one side of the pancake has been well browned, with dexterity of movement it is thrown upwards from the pan and caught again as it descends, the uncooked side down. An experienced camp cook will repeat this operation a hundred times and never fail to recover his revolv- ing flapjack before it reaches the fire.

Being bantered by several fun-loving members of the "old bachelor's family," who would do almost anything to "raise the wind," Polly, the man cook, at one time declared that he could throw a pancake out at the smoke hole in the roof and catch it when descending outside the camp. A wager was instantly laid and the experiment tried. A great, spreading batch of bat- ter was poured into the fry-pan, everybody commanded to "clear the track," and the crisis came. Turning his eyes toward the hole overheard, " Polly" estimated the distance, calculated the time that would be required for his cake to descend, and, bracing himself for the supreme moment, sent the steam- ing fritter on its aerial flight. Quickly turning upon his heel, the cook rushed for the door, but struck his head against the cap-piece and fell like a stunned bullock. Such shouting, raillery, and explosions of laughter as followed this amusing adventure when the crew found that "Polly" was not seriously injured ! The question, "Where's your pancake? Say! Polly, where's your flapjack?" rang out again and again, until it passed into a proverb, and for months afterward, when the choppers and teamsters were coming into camp, they would hail their cook by shouting with all their strength, " Polly, where's your flapjack? S-a-y, Polly, w-h-e-r-e-'s your pan-c-a-k-e?" The reader may be sure that the novel experiment was not repeated.

The preceding anecdotes illustrate, in a simple way, some phases of life in the lumberman's camp. Many are the side-shaking episodes that are wit- nessed there; some too highly seasoned for the printed page. When the long winter has passed and the men turn toward their homes, they cast many a longing look backward to the rude log-camp in which they have enjoyed so many pleasant hours, but which they would never see again.

Mast Dines and Hasting.

RINCELY, patriarchal pine! Grand monarch of the primeval for- est ! Fit emblem to emblazon on our state escutcheon! Of all the noble trees found on the banks of the Saco, none were compar- able with the white pine; it was majestic, graceful, venerable, and awe-inspiring. Kingly, like Saul, it stood "head and shoulders " above all other trees of the wood. Some of these were two hundred feet in height and full six feet in diameter. Their chronology was vast in its reach; by count- ing their concentric rings it has been ascertained that some of the sentinel pines cut upon the Saco intervales were a thousand years old. Their age was recorded without an error for ten centuries and kept securely in their own trunk. For a thousand years these had been swayed by the mighty tempest and menaced by the lightning of heaven's artillery only to take deeper hold upon the foundations of the earth. They scaled the mountain side like a phalanx of giant grenadiers, and, standing upon the summit, caught the first beams of the morning and the last purple ray of the setting sun.

The sacred writers exhausted the resources of their language, under the inspiration of an imagination kindled at Eastern altar fires, in descriptions of the cedars of Lebanon, but these were not as majestic as the noble pine. Doctor Holmes, who has always possessed a lively admiration for great trees, says he never approached a certain giant oak in Chelsea without taking his · hat off; what, then, should be his reverence for the ancient pine that lifts its green banners above all the oaks of the land.

One may stand beneath the sapling's shade and talk of the "whispering pines," but he who sits far below the foliage of the old forest monarchs when they are touched by the passing winds will hear voices that sound like the distant ocean's roar; their music ranges through infinite variations in sweetness, compass, and power. There are swelling strains like the chorus of a mighty orchestra; sounds as solemn and awe-inspiring as the piteous music of the Miserere, or the wail of a lost soul. Again it floats in gentle undulations like the dying echoes of a vesper chime, or the symphonies of an angel's song.

Year after year, century after century, these veterans had cast their lengthening shadows across the Saco's dark waters as the western light was fading above the horizon. Before the continent was known to the vikings of the north, or ever the sagas had been written, the bold eagle that disdained the lower altitudes perched upon the pine tree's topmost bough. When Colum-

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bus reached our shores these venerable trees were six hundred years old. Invested with the power of speech, what a history they could unfold! What race of human beings passed under their swaying branches a thousand years ago? Was the land inhabited then by the nomadic red man, or did these great trees make record of the earlier centuries of their growth in the silent, uninhabited wilderness? As the seasons succeeded each other, the snows of winter sifted through their branches and the wild flowers of summer blos- somed at their feet. The agile squirrel climbed their dizzy height to feed upon the seeds of their corrugated cones, and while the centuries were run- ning their race, their yellow needles had been silently falling upon the untrod- den carpet below. The wild drake hailed the mountain monarch as he guided his winding column on its annual migration, and the passing clouds swept their emerald harp-strings with their trailing skirts. Their posterity was like the vast army that covered the valleys and hills, their genealogy beyond the power of man to tabulate.

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Saco Valley settlements and families. Historical, biographical, genealogical, traditional, and legendary, Part 25

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