Saco Valley settlements and families. Historical, biographical, genealogical, traditional, and legendary, Part 39

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 39
USA > New Hampshire > Saco Valley settlements and families. Historical, biographical, genealogical, traditional, and legendary > Part 39

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).

Our story is ended. Good-night.

Abandoned Burning-Grounds.

PARAPHRASE .- I went by the burying-ground of the slothful, and by the grare-yard of the man void of understanding ; and lo, it was all grown over with thorns, and nettles had covered the face thereof, and the stone wall thereof was broken down ; then I saw, and considered it well ; I looked npon it, and received instruction.

HEN traveling between London and Bradford, in a midland railway carriage, I found myself in a compartment with a well-informed and socially-inclined English gentleman, who had but recently returned from an extended tour through this country. He men- tioned, during our conversation, several customs he had observed in New England that had impressed him unfavorably, and, inter alia, alluded to the many small and widely-scattered family burying-grounds and isolated graves he had seen while traveling by rail through our country towns. Begging par- don for seeming to be sacrilegious, he ventured the remark that this manner of interment would occasion the angel of the resurrection a deal of unnec- essary trouble when he issued his proclamation for the sleeping millions to come forth.

It was not strange that one reared under the parish system of old England should fail to apprehend the reasons for the existence of these numerous ham- lets of the silent dead, or that he should be affected by their sad and neglected appearance. This conversation renewed a train of thought which I had fre- quently indulged that will now find partial expression in this connection.

During the past year, while driving from town to town seeking for infor- mation for my literary purpose, I have seen hundreds of these unprotected, abandoned, bush-grown resting-places of the departed by the road-side; in field-corners, half-enclosed by tumbling stone walls; in the pastures, overrun and downtrodden by the ruminating cattle, or in the wood-lot, overshadowed by the wide-spreading trees. Many of these lonely graves have been visited, and while lingering around such uncared-for homes of the dead my busy fancy would formulate some startling pictures of the life history of those whose dis- integrated bodies reposed below. In imagination I saw the sturdy pioneer, as with high hope and invincible fortitude he entered the wilderness to hew out a home for himself and children. I saw the forest recede before the aggres- sive woodman and fertile fields expanding with the march of improvement. Homes were built and children grew to manhood and womanhood. I followed the patient, toiling parents down through their many years of care and labor,

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saw the marks of age come on apace, and witnessed them growing feeble and helpless under infirmity. I saw the venerable sire reluctantly leave his seat at the fireside to take his bed and die. But the form of a noble son crossed the range of my mental vision and I became sensible of a feeling of relief. As the pale horse and his rider drew near, I saw this son standing at the side of his dying father, and heard the faintly whispered request: "William, when my journey is ended, bury me under the sheltering maples down in the quiet field-corner, where I was wont to rest at noontide under their cool shade, and when thy good mother shall be called to follow, gently lay her down by my side; there let us rest together." After a little space 1 fancy the mournful, slow-moving procession, winding along the farm-side to this chosen place of sepulture, while the venerable mother, too feeble to go from the house, watches the receding form of her husband from the casement. Only a few weeks pass and the widow, who had been the faithful assistant of her husband and the loving mother of his children, was borne to the same beautiful spot and housed away. As the summer passed the new-made path leading to the par- ents' graves was well worn by the feet of a son and daughter who occupied the old homestead; the flowers planted there were kept fresh and flourishing; but when the autumn winds blew chill across the seared fields the visits to the sacred spot became less frequent, and when winter fell were fully discontinued. The compassionate maples softly covered the lonely graves with their leafy tributes, and old winter spread over them his coverlid of snow.

The returning spring-time finds the brother and sister making an early visit to the grave-sides. During the summer, the brother takes to his home a bride, and finds in her one who claims his attention during his hours of rest. 'The sister goes alone to her parents' graves, and before the winter wind sweeps o'er the plain, by quick decline, she, too, goes down to death, and is laid by the side of those she loved so well. The three mounds are buried under the accumulating snows. A little stranger comes to the fireside of the old home; a magic link imported from the land of mystery to bind the parental hearts more closely. Again the returning songsters and budding trees, as harbin- gers of summer-time, appear. But the flowers once planted by the graves at the field-corner have withered, and the rank grass grows tall and unhindered over the mounds. The path once made smooth by frequent footfalls has become lost in the mazes of luxuriant vegetation.

We now pass over an interval of a few years, and find a happy father and mother beguiling the noon-time hour and the evening's rest with the sportive entertainment of a beautiful child. Its flowing ringlets borrowed their waves from the father's brow, and its great brown eyes their expression from the mother's soulful orbs. Death meditates a triumph here. Spare that darling, thou inscrutable monster ! He heeds not the prayers of any, and cuts down the father's hope and mother's idol. Again must the sods of the field-side be

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turned by the cutting spade, and a little bed be made for "wee Lawry." The hour of gloaming saw that little grave close over the brightest light of the home, and hearts once warmed with love's cheering flame grew cold and leaden. The pressing duties of farm and household demanded attention, and it was well for the sorrowing ones that it was thus; but wounds such as were made in these hearts do not soon heal; a loving parent's memory of its offspring can never die. The mother plants clusters of little pansies and forget-me-nots about " wee Lawry's" grave, and spends many an evening kneeling in medi- tation there.

The California gold fever seizes the husband, and he causes the follow- ing to be published in the local newspaper :

"FARM FOR SALE .- The subscriber will expose for sale, at public auction, the well-known William Maynard homestead, with all the farm implements upon the place. This pleasantly located farm consists of two hundred acres suitably divided into fields, meadows, pastures, orchards, and woodland. Much of the soil is a rich, mellow loam, underlaid with moist clay. On this farm are two never failing wells of excellent water, and the pastures are supplied with abounding brooks. The buildings consist of a dwelling-house, of two stories, in good repair, a large bank-barn, stables, and other convenient farm offices. The whole estate will be disposed of without reservation to the highest bidder on the afternoon of Wednesday, June 4, 1849. Terms, cash, when title is delivered. No postponement on account of the weather."

The day arrives, and the people from the country-side are assembled. The auctioneer promptly mounts the platform and opens the sale.

" How much am I offered for this fine farm?" A few bids are made, when a bystander approaches the salesman and asks him if any reservations are to be made for roads or other purposes. Turning to the owner the auc- tioneer asks aloud : " Are any reservations to be made for roads or any other purpose?" Conscience now reproves with all her silent power; she thunders at the heart-door of him who alone can hear. He turns his eyes toward the field-corner while a quickened memory reminds him of his father's dying wish, "There let us rest together." But with faltering utterance he confirms the salesman's declaration by answering : "No reservation."

And while the sale goes on a sorrowing wife weeps bitter tears for her first-born behind the curtained window. She has heard the announcement that there will be "no reservation," and looks across the field as she exclaims unheard : " My dear wee Lawry!"

The paternal homestead is disposed of, the deed of conveyance acknowl- edged, the money paid down, and -the bones of the lamented dead become the property of a stranger.

When a liberty-loving Lincoln stood in the Southern slave-mart and saw fathers, mothers, brothers, and sisters sold, like so many beasts, under the ham- mer, his soul revolted at the horrible scene, and he whispered between set teeth : "If ever I have a chance to strike slavery I shall hit it hard." He

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struck that hard blow with the emancipation pen and set the millions free. But what shall we say of that unnatural son or daughter who would, virtually, put the remains of their parents up at auction, and who might as well ask of the gazing throng: "How much am I offered for the bones of my late father ? How much for the dust of my sainted mother? What will you give for the mouldering form of my only sister ; for the little body of my buried child?"

What can be the feelings of such! Do they remember the cramped, callous hands of the father who toiled for them, and those of a loving mother, pale and purple-veined, that ministered to them in childhood's helpless hour? Shall these be made merchandise of, and be sold because, being dead, they cannot raise a voice to remonstrate? While living these were free, and shall they now be sold into slavery? Though dissolved and changed, the precious elements of which these once familiar forms were composed lie closely within the protective recesses of the grave, and should forever hallow that spot to those who are bone of their bone and flesh of their flesh. Then why this common abandonment of the bodies of departed kindred; this shameful neglect of their chosen resting places? Must their graves be uptorn by the relentless share of the stranger's plow, and be seeded down for his harvest? What cares he for the bones of such as were no kin to him! With unfeeling heart he drives the undeviating coulter through their grave-mounds and oblit- erates the last indication of their burial-place with his unsparing harrow. He mingles their unctuous mould to nourish his growing crops and grinds their dust into the meal from his bread corn.

How can those once fondly loved be so soon forgotten! Bethink thee, sons and daughters who have sold the remains of thy parents. Remember- est thou thy mother's pale but calm and saintly face bordered above with shin- ing hair, upon which the frosts of age fell more thickly from year to year ? Because dead and buried from thy sight, shall her image be effaced from thy memory? Have the living friends of later years crowded thy mother from the stage of recollection? But, kind reader, where is that worn-out form to- day? Away in some bush-grown pasture, downtrodden, neglected, unmarked, unvisited, unthought of, abandoned to the elements and the ravages of time. Why this disregard of filial obligation; this uncivilized exposure of the re- mains of our departed friends ?

This picture has abundant foundation in fact, gloomy though it be. Hun- dreds of just such neglected and forsaken burial lots are scattered over the old fields, the pastures, and the woodlands of our state; and from some seen by me, the winds have swept the sands till the bones of those once buried out of sight lie exposed to storm and sunshine. It would be of melancholy inter- est to take the census of the dead, if it were possible, and then learn how many bodies of the fathers, mothers, brothers, and sisters, lie in an unmarked, unnoticed, and even in an unknown grave. The dust of thousands lies today

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beneath the crumbling furrow of our cultivated farms, penetrated by the in- vading roots of growing forests or washed away by fretting rivers. Should the dead in unknown graves stand upon their feet before us, they would present a great host, almost innumerable.

One hundred and six years ago, one of the pioneers of the plantation of Little Falls built his log-house and opened a clearing near the western bank of the Saco, and the first-born son soon first saw the light there. This pretty child, named William, was seated, for safety, by its mother in a large basket, as was then the custom, while she went from the house to gather wood. At the time a great fire was burning on the hearth. The movements of this child overturned the basket, and when the mother returned she found its body roasting on the bed of coals where it had fallen. Upon a moderate elevation, just back of the house, a grave was made for this child, which formed a nucleus under the pines, where others of the early dead in the settlement were buried. To this spot mothers came at evening time to weep over the graves of their sons and daughters, and for many years it was looked upon as a sacred ground. But while the century has been running its race past the yearly mile-posts, and the dust of little William has mingled with the annual harvests gathered from the Saco's fertile intervales, the remains of Hannah Holmes, his mother, have reposed under the shadows of the Green Mountains of Vermont, and those of his father under the sods of Ohio's blossoming prairies. A week after the burial of little William, another child born in the settlement was named for him, and that child died in " second childhood," at the ripe age of ninty-seven years, in 1885.

The little graves were not marked by any chiseled monuments, the lot was not enclosed, and for many years was left undisturbed, but overgrown with shrubbery, weeds, and rank grass. During the last decade, the home- stead so early cleared on the "twenty-rod strip," close to the boundary of the "College Right," has several times changed owners, some of whom have gradu- ally encroached upon the hallowed ground with their plow, till, when last seen, scarcely a remnant remained to indicate the spot. A few more years and these early made graves may be ploughed under, and their existence would be unknown to the rising generations, but for this chapter.

During the period of the plantation in the Saco valley townships an old man was shaving shingles at his camp on the intervale, and was there seized with a fatal illness. So painful was the malady that he was obliged to crawl upon his hands and knees toward his home. On reaching the house of a neighbor, his distress and weakness were so great that he could proceed no farther. Stimulants were administered which afforded temporary relief, and he was assisted to his own house, where, before morning, he passed away. Being the first person to die in the settlement, he was buried on his own land, on a high elevation overlooking the passing river. From that time, this remote

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and secluded spot became the burial-place for the community, and although one or two bodies have been interred there during the past fifty years, the whole enclosed ground and some early-made graves are overgrown by pines of con- siderable size. When last visited by the writer, the grave-mounds, which had originally been raised some distance above the level of the surrounding ground, were still distinct. Having been protected by a strong fence for many years, it bore no evidence of having been disturbed by vandal body-thief, ruthless plow- share, or trampling cattle. The whole enclosure was thickly carpeted with the yellow needles of the sheltering pines, and no falling footstep of intrusive visitor could have disturbed the rest of a conscious sleeper below.

Here we found many tiers of well-mounded graves, arranged by families in regular order, side by side and equidistant. These families, while in life, had been connected by ties of blood, and by constant association had been almost the same as one household. It was proper and pleasant to place them in neighborly nearness in this place of earthly repose. Only one inscribed monument had been erected by which the names of those buried here could be known; this was a rude, granite slab upon which some country blacksmith had cut the initial letters, "N. T."

An aged man, who had spent all his years on the adjoining farm-side, was called to the spot, and from his lips the names of all buried here were written down upon a chart prepared for that purpose. This document will be pre- served with jealous care to obviate the possibility of having any who rest there overlooked and left behind when the awakening morning dawns and the res- urrected hosts take up their march toward their eternal home in heaven- wherever that may be. This was a retired, restful, and beautiful place. The pines, interlacing overhead, formed a complete canopy over the graves, the gentle breeze whispers soft and lonely through the trembling foliage, while one by one the falling needles drop noiselessly upon the mounds over the silent sleepers. The lowing of kine at the farm-yard on the hill, or the rum- bling of the distant mill, may reach the ear of the meditating visitor; other- wise, all is hushed and still. The ground is literally death's dominion, unquestioned and undisturbed. Years have passed when no human foot pressed the mellow earth here. Townsmen, and even neighbors, do not know of the existence of this plantation cemetery. The descendants of those buried there do not know where the early members of their families were interred. The singing birds, guided by some indefinable instinct, seem to understand that here their brooding will be undisturbed, and with each succeeding spring their plaintive notes may be heard in the little grove when feeding their young.

The first person buried here was born upon the battered sea-coast of old York, in 1728, and nearly all who followed him down to the valley of shadows were reared in the new clearings, within hearing of the wolf's shrill cry. Although one occupant of this ground has been resting here since the begin-

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ning of this century, there is at least one person living who remembers his funeral, and another who has conversed with his widow, who survived him only a few years.

Side by side those who rest here had walked to the house of God in the woodland road; they had listened to the long prayers and sermons of Fairfield, Willard, and Coffin, and took the marriage vow in their presence. The history of their checkered lives has remained unwritten, and yet they were, by rea- son of the eventful period in which they lived, filled with thrilling incident and startling adventure, the record of which would prove as fascinating as romance on the printed page. Some fragments of well-supported fact have fortunately been rescued from the slippery fingers of tradition, and such may be employed as landmarks to direct the willing fancy when bridging the chasms, until nearly all may be substantially reproduced in connected, intelli- gible, and entertaining literary form.

Upon a beautiful tract of table-land, in one of the river towns, one who had birth near the outlet of the Saco cleared his farm, successfully cultivated the soil, played the anvil's ringing music, reared a family of sons and daugh- ters who died before him, and when very aged gave his property to a towns- man to care for him in his last days. He had lain the body of his first wife, the choice of his youth, down to rest in a spot of her choosing, between the river and his house. In the deed conveying this homestead a reservation of a burying-ground, four rods square, was made. The patriarch died, as all patriarchs must, and was buried between the remains of his two wives. Only low slabs of ledges were placed at the head and feet. The years rolled on; the property changed hands many times, but the original "reservation " was incorporated into every deed. Within a few years a metallic road for the iron horse was laid across the farm, within a few feet of the three graves. For- merly it had been a retired, sylvan spot, under the shoulder of a protecting hill; now, the thundering caravan shakes the ground and the shrill scream of the locomotive rends the air. Alas! the mutations of time.

Only a short time has passed since a grandson of the original proprietor of the farm came from a remote corner of the state, and, accompanied by a kinsman, visited the old home. To his surprise, scarcely a remnant of the family burying-place could be found. The "reservation " legally made by the prudent old man, and recorded in the county registers, had been ignored by succeeding owners of the farm, and each, impelled by that unbounded selfish- ness and greed that feeds upon its own indulgence, drove his plowshare a little nearer the three lonely graves, until the unswerving coulter had grazed the head-stones and they had fallen from their place, ready, when the spring plowing should be done, to be turned under along with the remains of those whose resting place they were intended to mark for all time. This seen, the trespassing proprietor's attention was called to the "reservation " in his title,

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and he promised not to go beyond his rightful boundary again. The follow- ing spring found the ground neatly enclosed by the kind-hearted grandson, and it now presents a respectable appearance.

Only a few years ago one of our farmers, busy with his seed-time hus- bandry, saw a woman slowly moving down a well-worn cow-path that led across his pasture ; a pasture that had been a cultivated field and part of a farm, from which the buildings had been removed many years ago. Curiosity impelled the plowman to watch the strange movements of this wandering female. Pausing occasionally to scan the surrounding ground, she at length hastened forward and sat down upon the door-stone where the farm-house stood. Here she remained for some time, evidently in deep meditation; then arose and crossed the pasture to a secluded, bush-grown corner, and there, half hidden among the brush-wood and menacing briars, she knelt by the graves of her parents. The faint murmur of a mourning voice was borne across the furrows to the farmer's ear, and he comprehended all. Calling at the house of a neighbor, where she was remembered by an aged woman, she told her pathetic story. She had married when young, in a factory town to which she had gone to find employment, and moved to the then far West. Her only brother had sold the old homestead and gone away to seek the golden sands of California. Her husband and children had died and were buried on the banks of the Ohio river. She had gathered up what little means was left, and after an absence of forty years came back, a lonely pilgrim, to visit the spot where she was born, and the deserted graves of her beloved parents. She went her way with falling tears and none knew whither her faltering steps did lead. Who can analyze the emotion that swelled in that poor bosom as this lonely daughter's tears fell upon the graves of her father and mother ? She had not forgotten the sacred spot during the long years of absence, and when the last duty to her own family had been performed, her weary feet must tread the old familiar ground once more before she folded her hands for rest. The young trees have grown tall over those two lone graves and the rank weeds bend thickly over them in each returning summer. The weather- colored and mossy head-stones lean westward, and when the sun bends low his slanting rays touch the names inscribed upon them.

A Horsebach Journey Celestward.

N the borders of the Merrimack river, Nature has displayed many of the most charming specimens of landscape scenery that any- where adorn our broad land, and many of these have been in- vested with undying fame by the sweep of a Whittier's magic pen. On the green banks of this noble river many of the Puritans who early landed in the colony came and built quaint towns and hamlets; among these were the Merrills and Bradburys, respectable and respected, who were allied by the marriage bond and lived side by side on the "Salisbury shore," where they caused to be erected great, old-fashioned mansions, which, after resisting the ravages of more than two centuries, are said to be standing still and comfortable for occupancy. As those who came to our shores from old Eng- land had been born in houses of stone that had been the homes of several generations of their yeoman ancestors, the most substantial dwellings built of wood seemed fragile and perishable; hence they used the best oak timber for frames, as if building the hull of a "merchantman" that was to battle with the tempests of an angry sea. Many good examples of such colonial mansions may still be seen, in a fine state of preservation, in the old Merrimack towns.

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Saco Valley settlements and families. Historical, biographical, genealogical, traditional, and legendary, Part 39

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