Saco Valley settlements and families. Historical, biographical, genealogical, traditional, and legendary, Part 36

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 36
USA > New Hampshire > Saco Valley settlements and families. Historical, biographical, genealogical, traditional, and legendary > Part 36

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).

Well, these new recruits entered the mills and worked two months for

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sixty cents a week and their board. "Board! What do you call board?" asked a silver-haired woman, as I wrote, who was down there in 1848. I can- not write what she likened the "living" to. Of course, when settlement-day came the wages did not aggregate much, but away the glad girls went, and the way they decked themselves out in artificial flowers and bright ribbons was death to their pocket-books. But when the wages gave them from four to five dollars a week they went in strongly for cheap jewelry. There were gold beads for Amanda's plump neck, rings for Triphena's dimpled finger, long, swinging pendants for Rachel's ears, and a "buzzum pin" for Prudence. What a time they had, to be sure, when at their boarding-house they pierced each other's ears. How they squalled and danced about !

Still writing about stage-drivers, as the reader will presently see. It is now autumn, and the " sere leaf" is falling. This is the season for the factory girls to sing, "We are homeward bound," and mean it, too. A half-dozen of these have settled, made their purchases, packed their trunks, which some- times contained "factory cloth " for which the possessor could show no invoice, and were waiting for "Berry" to drive down to their boarding-house-"cor- poration boardin'-house," if you please. Hark! "Crack!" That's Bill's whip- snapper, true's you live, and the old, reeling, bouncing coach comes rumbling down the street. A hurried kiss for the mistress of the house, a thousand good-byes for their room-mates, and a blush for the young men standing around, and these merry-hearted, " hame-going " girls are seated upon the "hurricane deck " back of and above the driver. They were all acquainted with Bill; of course they were; didn't they go down with him in a shower, and get sousing wet? Ah, yes, crack goes the long whip, and they go up Main street as if the "deevil " was after them, with the ribbons a-flying and the cheeks a-blushing, homeward bound ! a forty-mile ride into the hill-country. They laughed, they joked, they sang songs that would have made their puritanical old mothers' ears tingle and eyes snap with great amazement. Never mind, they were going home, and the pent-up mirth beguiled the hours on the road. And do you think those old stage-drivers-there! What did I tell you, reader ? -- were a dull, sanctimonious set? Well now, beloved, you may be assured that their humorous eye-teeth were " cut," and that their witticisms, though harmless, were sometimes rather highly flavored for sober folk. They were, as a matter of policy, sociable fellows, who, if they did not, like counter-girls, sell smiles by the yard like tape, disposed of them in quantities for gain to win the favor of the traveling public. It paid to be polite and accommodating, and so they practised such virtues. The popular Bill Berry could readily adapt himself, and the atmosphere about him, to the capacity or character of those who sat on the box with him or on the high seats of the four-wheeled synagogue, above. He could be grave or gay, serious or hilarious. Of compliments, he had great store, and distributed them most liberally when he had a half-dozen good-

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natured, appreciative factory girls aboard. He enjoyed their company, and, being then a single man, in no danger of being sealped, he had been known to take his pay by a draft on a pretty girl's cheek, in lieu of silver, as he handed her down at her father's door.

When leaving Saco he was observed to be silent and thoughtful for the first few miles out. He was, on such occasions, waiting to discover what drift the conversation would take, so that he might know what kind of an expres- sion to hang out. If the company were mirthfully inclined, and the themes were calculated to stimulate entertaining comment, he would not long remain a " silent partner." If, on the other hand, a smoothly-shaven man with a black coat and white neckeloth was on the top within ear-shot, Bill was as serious as a man under "consarn o' mind"; indeed, he could assume a very religious air, and engage in theological discussion with apparent enthusiasm. But when he had a bevy of choice spirits on board, a dozen mill girls homeward bound, ready to explode with exuberant animal life, and he knew it, a wonderful sense of relief was experienced, and expressed in no doubtful way, when the straight- laced dominie had reached his point of departure; then there would be music in the air all along the route. Aye, a free, traveling concert for all who lived along the way.

Farmers' sons toiling in the fields, hearing the rumbling of the coach or the melody that floated on the air, would lean on the hoe or rake, raise their chip hats, and shoot kisses at long range, while Bill cracked his whip, and through a cloud of summer dust would go down through the valleys with horses at the full gallop. Some sarcastic remarks were heard about "green girls still tied to their mothers' apron strings," who were seen peeping from window sides or cape-bonnets in the blueberry patch of the cow pasture.

Bill Berry not only knew every man who lived along the route, but was familiar with their peculiarities. He had a quick, discerning eye that instantly saw the funny side of everything that appeared on the road. He was ac- quainted with the Bean and Smith families in Hollis, knew of their keen mother-wit, and the quaint things they were capable of saying. He would sometimes overtake one of the Beans on the road, and chat with him as they walked at the coach-side, to draw out something for the amusement of his pas- sengers. At one time, when walking his horses up the rising ground below the old Joe Haley place, he fell in with Charles Bean, and a little way ahead the well-known and short-legged Sam Graffam was stubbing along. Berry asked Charles what ailed that little man going over the hill. This was the answer : "There's nothin' ails the man, Mister Berry, only the seat of his pant-a-loons drags in the sand." That was a " Bean blossom" of which we have a field full in another department.

On another day as Berry drove down the Guide-board hill into the old Alfred road, between Moderation and Bonnie Eagle, he encountered Cyrus Bean, and

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for the fun of the thing, invited him to climb up and ride. As they crossed the Gulf bridge they saw another man, somewhat out of proportion, waddling along by the road-side. His trunk seemed to be large and well developed, but his nether limbs were scarcely long enough for comfortable locomotion. Bill saw there were all the essential combinations for sport, and in a pitiful tone of voice asked Cyrus what caused the man's lameness. He instantly replied is his inimitable way: "Why, Mister Berry, the man aint lame at all; he's just like a toad, "allers the tallest when he's a-sittin' down." How Bill Berry roared! Crack went his lash, and the horses galloped up to the old Brice Lane tavern door, where, with great demonstration of gratitude, and "I'm greatly ableeged to ye, Mister Berry," Cyrus took his leave of the gallant knight of the whip.

At one time the stable-man at Cornish did not "grease the wheels" of Berry's coach, and the axle became hot on the road, a few miles out of Saco. He saw that the horses were sweating more than usual, and found the axle and box welded and the latter turning in the wheel-hub. Nothing discon- certed, he unloaded, set his mill girls to picking strawberries, and was off to a farmer's for some kind of a vehicle with which to carry his passengers into town. At last he came with a long hay-rack, about half filled with straw; upon this he seated his jolly crew, hitched on his leaders, and leaving the coach by the road-side drove to the tavern in rustic gear. What a shout went up all along the street as the crowds of interested spectators beheld this novel spec- tacle going with the speed and noise of a war chariot through the town! It just suited Bill Berry, who was on the very crest of the wave of human glory.

Neither roads upheaved by frost nor blockaded by snow could stop Bill Berry; he was bound to be on time, and would take down bars and drive through fields when the highways were impassable. It was his custom to run the hills and upon the apex to stop for his horses to rest. He considered this easier for his team.

But it was when " Ike " Dyer put on his opposition stages and undertook to run Berry off the line that affairs assumed a somewhat serious and some- times dangerous aspect. Dyer had the money, and the Cloughs, for whom Berry was then driving, had the pluck and good horses. Every trick that "witty invention" could contrive was employed by the competing drivers to gain an advantage. The two stages left Saco at about the same time, and the driver who found himself in the rear watched for a clear track and ran by the rival stage, if possible. Berry almost always took the lead and kept his position. He kept an eye out at the side, and with whip in hand was ready to tickle the ears of his leaders when an attempt was made to pass him on the road. It was something fearful to see these two furious Jehus running their six-horse teams for dear life, while the old bounding, careening coaches. with their frightened passengers, went heaving through clouds of dust as thick

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as that raised by a powerful whirlwind. When approaching the taverns the "tug of war" was on, and with vehement driving and terrible risk of life and limb each sought to reach the door-stone first. It was in a race like this that the accident, before-mentioned, occurred. But Berry was an expert reinsman, who knew all the arts of coach navigation; he had the best horses and the contempt of danger that nearly always made him the victor.

Alas! poor fellow; he had just been happily married and was moving his household goods across the river, at Hiram, when his spirited horse became unmanageable and went over the side of the old "stringer " bridge, and the kind-hearted and popular stage-driver lost his life. It was not known whether he was killed instantly by a stove that was on the load when he fell, or if he was drowned. He could not swim, always having a dread of the river. Hun- dreds assembled along the banks on the following day as boatmen were drag- ging for his body, but it was not found until several days after, when, during a heavy thunder shower, it rose and was taken away for burial.

Few men in the common walks of life were so well and favorably known as Bill Berry. He had a host of warm friends, who delighted to do him honor; and it affords the author great pleasure to write this humble tribute to a manly man, who kindly noticed him when a barefooted school-boy, trudging along the dusty road. He had an inexhaustible fund of humor and an inter- minable string of stories with "pints" in them with which to regale his pas- sengers. He would sometimes have that musical genius, Murch Chick, upon the high seat above him, and by well-applied flattery keep his magic fiddle- bow going until he swore that his "elbow-grease had all run out." At other times the dry wag known as Orse Smith would be upon the box, and then woe betide the sober man in the company. He who could restrain laughter when the quaint sayings of that unfortunate fellow were in the air was dead enough to be buried.

These were days of slow travel, when the stage-driver was looked upon as a man of considerable importance. As he came into the towns and hamlets along his route the idle ones would be assembled about the taverns, waiting for the arrival, to watch the driver as he came sweeping around the curves to the broad door-stone and shouted "Whoa !" With what nonchalant airs and dexterity he threw the long reins to the hurrying hostler and wound the long lash around the hickory whip-stock! He was regarded as a hero and a dashing gentleman by the young folk; this we are sure of. And when the fresh horses were in harness and all was ready, the driver would enter the tavern hall and lustily shout, "All aboard "; then what bustling of passengers ! And the comments made by the spectators! While the saucy mill girls slung squibs at those along the way, they, themselves, became the subject of many a sarcastic ejaculation.

Lewis O'Brion, Esq., of Boston, informs me that he commenced driving

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stage the 2d of March, 1847, when sixteen years of age, and drove nearly all the time until April, 1859. Not all the time, however, from Cornish to Saco, but from 1853 to 1859 he drove from Madison, N. H., via Freedom, N. H., North Parsonsfield, Limerick, Waterborough, Hollis Centre, and Salmon Falls, to Saco. He says: "William Berry left the Cornish and Saco line and went over to drive from Portland, via Baldwin, Hiram, Fryeburg, and Conway. Naham and Levi Clough followed William Berry, and Jacob Mudgett followed Clough. Albert Weeks, of East Parsonsfield, followed me on the line from Saco to Madison, via Limerick. I am quite unable to tell you when the stage quit running from Saco."

John Smith, born in Newbury, Vt., came to Conway in 1833 and estab- lished a stage line between the mountains and Portland. He made five journeys to Washington to secure mail routes. He estimated that the miles covered by him when driving stage would have equaled nine journeys around the world. He had many adventures with rival stage-drivers, who had put on competing lines of coaches and tried to run him off the track. He was not the kind of man, however, to succumb to opposition; it was only an impetus to greater exertion, and he extended his daily line so as to cover the whole distance between the mountains and Portland in a day. The distance was more than one hundred miles, and his coaches came down through the Crawford Notch very early in the morning, so early that forty miles were cov- ered before breakfast, which was taken at Fryeburg. On the journey back he dined at Fryeburg and took tea at the foot of the mountains. He sold to little Job Cushman, who was as fussy as an old maid. He disposed of the line to Naham Clough and bought the stages running between Bridgton and South Paris, where he connected with the Grand Trunk Railroad.

Levi Clough, brother of Naham, drove on the regular line from Saco to Cornish, thence through Kezar Falls and Porter village to Freedom, N. H., at the time Isaac Dyer put on his opposition stages, and had many an adventure on the road and at the hotels, where he changed horses. He was a little, waspy fellow, full of crazy pluck, and sometimes took great hazard with his passengers when his temper was up. At one time the rival driver reached the Tarbox tavern at Moderation before Clough, and stopped right in the drive-way by which he wished to reach the door-stone. "Little Levi " kindly asked him to move out of his way, but he replied with taunting language, mingled with oaths. "Very well," said the yellow-haired knight of the whip, and, cracking his long lash over his leaders' heads, he drove them over the door-stone, against the tavern, inside of the other small coach, and dragged the whole team, with driver, into the road, smashing wheels and tearing away the paint. From that time forward Levi had the drive-way to himself. He was witty, full of humor, and by craft sometimes induced a woman to ride with him, while by some misunderstanding her husband would be left to the trun-

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dling stage run by the rival driver employed by Ike Dyer. After leaving the box Levi Clough went into the army, and served as wagoner. Returning, he secured a small pension, and spent his last days at Cornish and at the Soldiers' Home at Togus. He was a kind-hearted man, who could tell a good story, and his genial manners and chivalrous spirit won him the warm esteem of the traveling public. "Little Levi" died in 1892.

A Mr. Morse owned the line from Limerick to Saco, via Waterborough and Salmon Falls, many years, and I think he ran the stage from Limerick to Moderation, via North Hollis, calling at the old brick tavern there. At any rate, it was known as the " Morse stage." Robert Whitehouse held the whip on this line for a period, but afterwards drove Irom Moderation to Saco. The line between Limington and Buxton Centre, via West Buxton, was long conducted by Lemuel Davis and his sons, but he was succeeded by "Rod" Larrabee and Alonzo Lane, of Bonnie Eagle, and bought out Job Cushman on the Bridgton and Paris line, where, at his death, he was succeeded by Sumner Davis, his son, who continues on the box as a painstaking and pop- ular driver.

The Western Reserve Gmigration.

E have elsewhere intimated that swarms from the settlements on the Saco river had gone forth to establish homes in distant localities, where their posterity may still be found. Such an exodus occurred in 1795, 1798, and 1800. Elder Morris Witham, a Baptist preacher and land speculator, said to have been a native, or an inhabitant, of Standish, made a journey on horseback to the Western Reserve, now Ohio, in 1795-7, and possessed himself of an extensive tract of land in that territory. It has been said that this land consisted of claims he had purchased of Revolutionary soldiers, but for this we cannot vouch. He first sat down in the Little Miami valley, now within the corporation of Cincinnati, but not being contented there he purchased a thousand acres of land ten miles east of Columbia, where he selected the location for a settlement.

After an absence of several months, he returned to the Saco, bringing such a glowing account of his visit and of the rich bottom lands, pure water, salubrious climate, and beautiful timber, that he induced several families to sell out and follow him to the then far West. He might have been seen dressed in black garb, wearing a broad-brimmed hat, riding on an old yellow mare, from one neighborhood to another, up and down in the Saco valley, where, gathering around him a group of the amazed settlers, he would enlarge upon the description of what he had witnessed. Being a minister of the gospel, every one then believed all he said. He told of soil, black as gunpowder, in which corn and wheat grew higher than the tallest of men; of fountains of water, inexhaustible and sweet as nectar; of natural grasses for pasturage, where cattle became hog-fat in a few weeks without attention; of tall chestnut growth from which fence-rails could be split with an axe-stroke, as straight as a line, and of abundant cedar from which clear clapboards and shingles could be made that would never decay. He said Mohawk potatoes grew as large as "Caleb Kimball's foot"; and, judging from that of his son Eleazer, seen by many of us, these tubers must have been of enormous proportions. We may hear more about them presently.

The fact was Elder Witham was a man of many superior parts, who wanted to preach the gospel and speculate in land at the same time. He believed that the saints were to inherit the earth, and wanted to secure his share before the territory was absorbed. He was a General, otherwise "Hard-shelled,"

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Baptist, whose creed was just right: and he wished everybody else to become Baptists. As we survey the movements of the elder, assisted by the testimony of several very excellent persons interviewed in the West, who were personally acquainted with him, it appears that he cherished the hope, that when settled down upon his claim on the Ohio, surrounded by a cluster of families apart from all other communities, and undisturbed by any interference from the other religious sects, he could build up a little kingdom of his own, all of one theological stripe. Certainly, if he could herd the old sheep, he might put his own religious ear-mark on the lambs ; if he should feed the flock, he also might hope to share in the fleeces thereof. Why not? This was according to the apostolic teaching that the ox that treadeth out the corn shall not be muzzled. He was not like his ancient noble predecessor, Nehemiah of sacred story, tempted to go down to the plains of Ono, but to the rich bottom lands of the Western Reserve. We shall see that the whole inception and execution of the elder's plan, so far as it was executed, had not been a hap-hazard, but a well-arranged, scheme, which bid fair to materialize, and to assume organized form.

He surveyed and laid out his land, disposed of to those who had followed him to the West, very ingeniously. These lots were so arranged that the owners, by building their farmsteads on one end, would form a hamlet all in compact association around a common centre.

He returned a second time (and the last) to New England, in the autumn of 1799, for the purpose of inducing other families to go West. Having waited until those who had first emigrated could harvest a crop from the new land, he brought to the East in his saddle-bags some of the fruits of this goodly country to prove the statements true made by him on his first home- ward trip. There were potatoes of tremendous size, but not as large as Caleb Kimball's foot; ears of corn large, long, and well-ripened, and a braid of prairie grass of remarkable growth. With these "specimens of the grapes from Eschol" he rode from neighborhood to neighborhood, exhibiting them to the amazed inhabitants. As a further proof of the fertility of the soil, he had brought letters from those who had followed him West for their friends and kindred in the Saco valley. These epistles were as high colored in descriptive phrase as the narrow schooling of the writers would admit of. One wrote that their potatoes grew so large that while he was employed with his pen a brother was sitting on one end of a Shenango, eating potato and butter, while the other end was roasting in the embers of the fire-place. Another stated that the corn was of such phenomenal growth that the kernels were cracked with a sledge-hammer before they could be ground in a mill. The only trouble com- plained about was that the wild grasses were so nutritious that their cows in a few weeks became so fat that their milk was dried up and they must be turned for beef.

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These specimens of their first harvest, and the descriptive letters written by the homesick pioneers, were the bacteria of an early western fever, brought into the Saco valley settlements, that spread until many families were hope- lessly infected. The excitement grew, and industrious men neglected their farm work and assembled in groups of dozens to discuss plans for removing to the westward. As a result, those who owned good land and comfortable buildings; whose expanding fields were dotted with a goodly number of cattle and sheep; who had passed through the preliminary struggle of cutting away the forests and of subduing the soil, and were entering upon an era of agri- cultural prosperity, were overwhelmed by this western wave, sold their farms and stock in haste, at ruinous prices, pulled up stakes, turned their backs upon kindred and native land, and followed, rather anticipated, the advice of Horace Greeley -to "go West."

Many of these farmers spent about all the money received for their farms and stock for large horses, wagons, and harnesses for their journey. In one neighborhood they hired a man, supposed to be a shrewd business calculator, to go to Haverhill, Mass., to purchase horses, one of which was said to have been so broad across the back that Joe Decker, Sr., rode about the door-yard standing upon his hips. All the cord-winders in the Saco valley were called to cut up sides of leather and make harnesses for these big horses, while the millwrights and wheelwrights were cutting and slashing with all their might to build wagons of commensurate proportions for the accommodation of the emigrant families and their few remaining household goods.

It was a sad season indeed when the hour of parting came, and we can- not apprehend the strength of motive that was powerful enough to separate these members of a family connection under such circumstances. Were they possessed of the finer sensibilities of filial affection and kindred attachment, when they could voluntarily isolate themselves from all the associations that would seem to have bound them to the homes of their childhood, and encounter unknown conditions? They well knew that these separations would be final, so far as this world was concerned.

From the lips of an aged man in southern Illinois, where I was visiting twenty years ago, I wrote down some reminiscences of the parting scenes and journey as he remembered them when, as a lad, he was carried West by his parents. It was a balmy morning in June, at "flax-bloom time," when those composing the emigrating party took leave of their friends and left the Saco valley. Arrangements had been made for the families of Bradbury, Warren, Lane, Townsend, Bennett, Rounds, Wentworth, and Redlon to meet at Salmon Falls, and from that point to follow Elder Witham, who was to return to the West, as he had come East, on horseback. Some of the fathers and mothers in middle life, with their children, had passed the night at the down-river home of their aged parents. Before daybreak there was much confusion, as

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Saco Valley settlements and families. Historical, biographical, genealogical, traditional, and legendary, Part 36

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