Saco Valley settlements and families. Historical, biographical, genealogical, traditional, and legendary, Part 41

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 41
USA > New Hampshire > Saco Valley settlements and families. Historical, biographical, genealogical, traditional, and legendary > Part 41

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).

As the morning dawned the whole household was astir, and the hearty greetings tendered as each emerged from their chambers were pregnant of tender regard, and the aged sire caught his blooming grandchild in his arms with the exclamation : "Pattie, you pretty duck, come here and receive my blessing," imprinting at the same time a kiss upon her fair brow. Before breakfast the grandfather, his son Samuel, and grandson Humphrey took a walk along the "Shore" to observe the changes that had taken place; they strolled down to the ship-yards and went into the great hulls of half-built vessels there; they entered a boat and rowed across to the Newburytown shore and climbed up the vale where the old corn-mill was early running. Returning, they all gathered about the table and satisfied the demands of nature. When the morning devotions had been attended to, the men wended along the old pathway to " Rocky hill," calling on old acquaintances by the way, and con- tinuing their perambulations to the main road that leadeth from Almesbury- town (now Amesbury) down to the Salisburytown ferry, thence along the "Shore" to the "Point," where the family mansions stood. On the fourth day the Newburytown folk came over the Merrimack, and nearly the whole com- munity came out to spend the afternoon upon the broad green fronting the mansions. Social recreation was at food-tide, and all were as happy as Hebrews in the land of promise. Before parting, old-time hymns were sung.

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A HORSEBACK JOURNEY WESTWARD.

and prayer was offered by the young Newbury-Narragansett parson, whose fame as a scholar and preacher had preceded his coming. Here it was arranged that, two days before starting on the long journey to the Saco river, the Salisburytown folk should all go over to spend forty-and-eight hours with the families of Coffin and Atkinson and such neighbors as might see fit to come in as guests. This two-days' visit would embrace the Sabbath, on which occasion the parson would preach for the edification of his old neighbors and schoolmates. Accordingly, all the Bradburys, Merrills, Morrills, Osgoods, Pettingalls, Worthings, and Curriers mounted horse and formed a jovial company riding to Newburytown. The meeting of so many old families formed an opportunity for extending acquaintanceship and the strengthening of old bonds of friendship. The hours were full of social enjoyment seasoned with prudent mirth and graced with primitive courtesy and hospitality.

From far and near came the inhabitants of Newburytown to hear the parson preach. He was now in his prime and the plentitude of his intellectual powers, and his discourse was considered to be sound and able. At the close of the services, he gracefully introduced his parishioners from the new town- ship, eastward, and received warm congratulations from many old Puritan saints on his good fortune in being settled over so promising a parish. Early on Monday morning there was bustle and prattle about the houses where so many from Salisburytown and from Newbury-Narragansett had found lodging, and hastily the party made preparations for their departure. When all was in readiness, the whole assembly gathered around Parson Coffin with uncovered heads as he bowed upon the lawn before the mansion and offered a most earn- est and heartfelt prayer for those who were to journey and all who were to be left behind; then they mounted, and as the good-byes and farewells were uttered, old men and matrons, strong men and their wives, young men and maidens, wept and turned away their faces, never to meet again, many of them, "until the day dawn and the shadows flee away."

No event worthy of notice occurred on the return journey; all reached home and their waiting friends in excellent health and exuberant spirits, and for many weeks together the theme of conversation in scores of families, even when surrounded by neighbors who called in to hear from the "west- ward," was the horseback journey to Newburytown and Salisburytown.

Pattie Merrill married a sturdy yeoman and settled in Little Falls planta- tion, where she lived to old age and never wearied of relating to her children and grandchildren all the details of that ride to the Merrimack when she was only a "gal"; and her sons and daughters, when they, in turn, grew old used to tell, around the evening fireside, the tradition with all its lights and shades, enlivened with roaring laughter when they came to the description of the horse-race between the parson and young "Humph" Merrill; the trial of speed between the two mares, " Deborah " and " Bess."

The Pioneer Mother.

"Hail, woman! Hail, thou faithful wife and mother, The latest, choicest part of Heaven's great plan ! None fills thy peerless place at home ; no other Helpmeet is found for laboring, suffering man."

N ancient orator once paid a high compliment to womanhood, when, in an oration before the Roman senate, he exclaimed : "The

empire is at the fireside." As the wife and mother, woman is seen in her most sacred and dignified character, and as such, while moulding by her influence those whom Providence has entrusted to her care, she is affecting the destinies of state and nation. The noblest patriots, pro- found educators, and holy ministers were stimulated to excellence and useful- ness by the inspiration of a mother's example and teaching. The model woman named by Goethe was the mother who, when her husband died, could be a father to her children ; a thought materialized by Faed in his remarkable picture entitled " Faither and Mither Baith."

For invincible courage, unwearied patience, and heroic fortitude, the Spartan mother was not superior to the noble specimens of womanhood found in the homes of our pioneer settlers-mothers of the Saco valley. If a daugh- ter of the frontier, her education qualified her in a peculiar manner for the responsible position she was called to fill and the hardships she was to endure. Enured to exposure, acquainted with robust exercise, invested with a vigorous constitution, and fortified with unyielding self-reliance, she was calculated to meet the exigencies incident to the pioneer's home-life. Few there were who could not wield the axe with unerring accuracy, or aim the long rifle without a quivering nerve.

No fairer examples of female heroism can be found in all the realm of history than were exhibited during the struggles of our Revolution, while the husbands and fathers were absent from home bearing arms in defense of colonial rights. In this dark hour the mothers and daughters evinced the purest spirit of patriotism and devotion to the cause of the colonists. Just when the busy axe and subduing torch were needed to bring the unbroken soil into a state of fruitfulness for the support of the early settler's family, the call to arms left the women folk in poverty, exposed to all the trying experi- ences of the period. Undismayed, they exerted themselves to meet the emer- gency, and bravely wrought to provide for themselves and their dependent

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THE PIONEER MOTHIER.

children. They roamed about the clearing in quest of berries, dug ground- nuts, gathered mushrooms, caught fish from the streams, robbed the nests of wild fowl, and cultivated patches of land for food.

These were women of extraordinary natural endowments. They were allied to angels as ministers of mercy, and tender hearted as a child in the hour of sickness. It required no urgent plea to call forth these generous deeds; a knowledge that a neighbor was ill prompted them to uncomplaining sacrifice and unwearied exertion to alleviate distress and soothe the suffering.

While the midnight storm moaned without and the sudden gusts of wind caused the sashes to rattle; when the fire burned low and the brands fell down; with no wall-side clock to tell the passing hours, she would watch her sick child, listening to every labored respiration, and touching with delicate gentleness the fluctuating pulse. The dim halo of the shaded candle and the glowing firelight threw her weird shadow upon the wall as she bent over the cradled form of the fevered child. For a moment exhausted nature would gain the ascendency, and the weary eyelids would fall as she rested her throb- bing temple upon her thin, pale hand.

She was the nurse and physician of her household. Her medicinal for- mulas were a legacy received from her own mother. She gathered the herbs and roots from the woodlands and clearing, and prepared and administered such simple remedies as her trained judgment suggested. The first pale beams of the morning found her still at her post, faithful to her vigils.

With what solicitude and faithfulness these early mothers instructed their sons and daughters! Although burdened with a thousand cares in a busy, laborious life, they found time to impart such advice, and to impress such les- sons, as were indestructible. John Randolph said, what many a man could truthfully say: "All that saved me from infidelity was the memory of the words taught me by my pious mother and uttered in my childhood prayers."

While toiling at the wheel and loom, these mothers had trains of thought that were never clothed in language, but they found expression in deeds that were of far-reaching and infinite importance. Knowing that their influence could not die, while their children were around them they used that auspicious seed-time and sowed upon the receptive soil of these young minds, and hearts as well, that which ripened, in due time, into a harvest of noble lives, and which proved to be the legitimate fruit of maternal husbandry.

When a skeptical physician lay upon his dying bed, he said: "For many long years I openly made light of the gospel, but my mother's prayers have lived in my heart." There are innumerable unrecorded instances in which a wandering son or daughter, when oppressed by temptation or nearly over- whelmed with sorrow, has found strength to resist the evil, or to endure the trial, in the memory of a mother's advice and prayers. The noblest and purest impulses that have characterized the lives and deeds of the best men

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THE PIONEER MOTHER.

the world ever saw were born of a loving mother's early influence, that was imperceptibly but firmly interwoven with their expanding minds.

Memory of mother! How debased the affection, how seared the con- science, how inhumanized the nature, when these holy ministers to the help- lessness of childhood are forgotten !

In the early years of motherhood her cradle-rock was the accompaniment to her sweetly sung lullaby, and every two years the records show that another little stranger was placed in the welcoming arms.

While about her daily duties she communed with her own spirit, within the mysterious secrets of her own soul, as she saw her sons and daughters developing toward manhood and womanhood, and looking downward in their perspective pathway, she says: "This is my time of responsibility and I must turn the little feet in the right direction." She carries them all in her mother's heart. Daily she studied the peculiar temperament of each. Where restraint is needed, she gently applied the brakes, and when one is backward, she ad- ministered the stimulating discipline.

The years come and go, the once fair forehead is seamed by care, white strands are woven about her temples by the touch of time, the form becomes bent with toil, and the once plump hands thin and purple-veined. A far-away look is seen in her eyes, and the step, beforetime so elastic, becomes feeble and unsteady. Hear ye, while I write, ye sons and daughters, and may the words burn in your very hearts while you read, this is your God-given oppor- tunity to make some return for the love, toil, strength, life, and tears that mother has poured out for your well-being. When the stays of vigor are sink- ing, and the resources of vitality so long depleted become exhausted, then come, O come home, to see your mother ; come, O come, bringing some pleas- ing token of regard to cheer the waning spirits; come, O come, with strong arm and gentle touch to steady her trembling steps, and above all, come, O come, bringing your choicest gift, a character that shall prove, without a doubt, that her sowing has brought forth righteous fruits. When calling to see old friends, take mother with you; in your own home, say lovingly to your ac- quaintances : " I have the honor to introduce my dear mother." Lead her to God's house, and slowly, tenderly, to her seat. If the mild eyes have not been despoiled of vision by looking through tears, pass her the hymn-book.

What violated, filial law visited by penalty too severe ; what remorse too blighting of peace; what gnawing of conscience too painful, for that ungrateful brute in human form who slights, neglects, or treats with any disrespect that mother who gave him birth, in anguish, and made herself tributary to his ex- istence. Shame, O shame, upon thy head! Instances are of too frequent occurrence, where sons and daughters, whose aged mothers were living in their well-appointed homes, considered them unworthy of a seat at the table, or a chair in the presence of those visiting there; aye, sometimes these dear

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THE PIONEER MOTHER.

old people have been relegated to an out-of-the-way room, like a broken or unfashionable article of furniture, where they could not be seen when weeping over the ingratitude and desperate meanness of these unnatural children. May God Almighty show mercy to such heartless offsprings, as he has promised mercy to the unmerciful. Such men and women may have all the wealth of the world, dress like a prince or a queen, and be called respectable, but there beats under the lustre of their satin and broadcloth a thing, falsely called heart, that but for their obdurate nature would, through remorse, drive them to early suicide. Ye gray-bearded men of business, who tread the marts of commerce, or the marble halls of the banking house; ye women of wealth and fashion, who have all that heart could wish, and "entertain" with lavish gen- erosity, where are your venerable mothers? How long since a written word assured them that they were remembered? In the rush and turmoil of city life canst thou find no time to visit her, who gave thee a tenure of existence, and pines for a sight of thy face? It is sad, but true, that many, when not a hundred miles away, do not attend their mother's obsequies. Business, ever- lasting business, must be attended to regardless of every humane obligation. The god of wealth betimes crushes under the unsparing heel of its power every tender emotion, and obliterates from the souls of its devotees the holy image of mother. Let the curtains fall before this melancholy picture ; we are oppressed while writing of such hellish possibilities.

The pioneer mother has lived to see the wilderness swept away before the expanding farms. Her sons and daughters have gone forth, save one, into the great world of toil and strife. She remains at the homestead, where she should be, under the care of her first-born son. She sits at the same fire- side to which she came when a young wife, to be the faithful assistant of her husband. Her attire is tidy and comfortable. Her son approaches and places a parcel in her hands, brought by the last express. She excitedly adjusts her spectacles and reads the address: "For mother, care of Mr. James Benfield." The writing is delicate and beautifully clear. How her hands tremble as she unties the string ! How carefully she unfolds the wrappers ! A beautiful box, tied with a bit of ribbon, appears. She slips the bow-knot, lifts the cover, and finds-what? A parcel tidily folded in white tissue and tied with a silk cord. She carefully opens this, and lo, a beautiful new cap of lace is exposed. Upon a slip pinned to the string were the words, "From Mary." The dear mother raises her tear-filled eyes and, with quivering lip, holds up her present as she exclaims: "God bless my Mary; she was always kind to me." Now she stands before the mirror while her daughter-in-law assists her in "trying on " the new cap; and her pale cheek is tinted once more as her son says : "Mother, how pretty you are !"

The delicate article is carefully laid away among other memorials of her children's regard, and she resumes her seat at the fireside. Her knitting-

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THIE PIONEER MOTHER.

work rests upon her aproned knee while she gazes upon the glowing embers. What visions are now rising before her mind? Her thoughts are of Mary. She thinks of the day of this daughter's advent, when her own life hung by a slender thread; when the whispering attendants said she could not survive her weakness; when reviving strength enabled her to see the face of her infant. She recalls the lullaby she sang as she hushed her babe to sleep on her bosom, and the long, lonely nights of willing vigils beside her couch when ill. Still she gazes into the bright embers, and anon a tear trickles down her wrinkled cheek and falls upon her snowy kerchief. But no language known to human tongue can express what that tear represented of maternal affection. Her thin, pale lips move unconsciously as she whispers: "My precious Mary; she was always good to me." The silvered head slowly falls forward as she breathes the prayer, "Heavenly Father, bless my child." Now she sleeps and dreams of the little ones that gathered about her knee, or looked into her face from the billowy cradle, while a smile plays about her beautiful features.

Who can estimate the value to mother of the little present, thoughtfully forwarded by her child! Though appropriate and beautiful in itself, its intrinsic worth was insignificant compared with the spirit of affection that prompted the gift, or with the thousand-fold happiness it afforded the mother at the old home.

How pleasant those old-fashioned days when, on each returning Thanks- giving anniversary, the scattered sons and daughters came back to the old country farm-house and together spent a few hours with the aged parents! Mother, neatly clad, is full of pride and admiration. She receives the salu- tations of her children with modest appreciation, and graciously thanks each one for words of kindness. Gladness rules the hour. She, the mother, the queen of the occasion, holds the little ones upon her knee, looks into their cheerful faces, sees the image of her own children, and feels young again. Fluffy heads are pillowed once more on her bosom, and grandmother is as happy as an angel. These sons and daughters in their noble prime are the ripened sheaves of full grain brought from the field of mother's early seed- time. Blessed harvest !

"The tears of the sower and songs of the reaper here mingle together."

But hark! Tick-tick-tick, goes that little machine at the village telegraph office. In the distant city the operator drives his swift pen over the paper, as he writes: "At sundown mother died; come home." The messenger-boy hastens on his errand, and in a few hours the sons and daughters make the saddest journey of their lives. One by one, they are set down at the old gate- way, through which their little feet were guided first by mother's gentle hand.

At the great, iron door-handle hangs the mute but significant crape. They enter, and, with hand-pressure and whispered words, receive greetings from

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THE PIONEER MOTHER.

those who watched the expiring taper of life, as it burned out. Kind neigh- bors, moving noiselessly about, lay away the wraps. How loud the old clock in the corner ticks! each stroke of the verge sounds like a knell. Slowly and silently they are led to the casket-side where the remains of their best and dearest earthly friend lies sleeping the calm and restful sleep of death. They kiss the marble-like forehead, whisper the name "mother," and retire. On the morrow the long procession winds along the field-side, and the precious body is deposited by the side of that of her husband. A lingering look, a softly spoken "farewell, mother," and the children turn away. Returning to the house they find the vacant chair, and the unfinished "knitting-work," but the light of the old home had gone out.

Again let the curtain fall.

"She guarded my steps when existence was young, Her lips o'er my cradle the lullaby sung ; Her kindness was o'er me, her arms still caressed, When my head was pillowed on a mother's own breast ; And when every eyelid in slumber was closed, When the shade of creation o'er nature reposed, How oft has that bosom deep tenderness proved, And yearned full of hope o'er the child of her love, And breathed for his welfare to Heaven a prayer. When he knew no danger nor dreamt of her care."

An Old- Fashioned Cradle.

"Sweet baby, sleep! What ails my dear? What ails my darling thus to cry? . Be still, my child, and lend thine ear To hear me sing thy lullaby. My pretty lamb, forbear to weep; Be still, my dear; sweet baby, sleep! "

HIS article of furniture was a factor in the early households of prime importance, and shall have more than casual attention. It was as indispensable as the fireside, family table, or restful couch. Such were of various origins, forms, and sizes. Some grew, like Topsy, and were cut in the forest same as a walking-stick or fishing-rod; others were built by the mechanic as a house is builded. There were usually three grades of cradles used in the early homes. For the log-house, a log cradle; for the framed dwelling, a board cradle; and for the mansion, one of mahogany or cherry. The first substitute was sometimes selected from a pile of sap-trays; these were hastily extemporized when a "squaller" appeared upon the stage of visible action in advance of calendar predictions and called for quarters. A cradle of this kind was comfortable for a "wee thing," the convex surface being well adapted to the rotary motion peculiar to such receptacles. This was, however, soon succeeded by the regular "log cradle " in the pioneer home.

When the young settler anticipated the advent of a third person in his family, he shouldered his axe and steered straight for the forest in search of a good-sized hollow tree; not to hew an idol from, but to put an idol in. When one of the requisite size was found, it was felled and cut into sections; then a selection made for the prospective cradle. The wooden cylinder was carried home, divided into halves longitudinally, and the remainder of the autumn day spent, with such rude tools as could be found, in dressing the piece into more comely and symmetrical form. True, the concave capacity was sufficiently ample for the extension and expansion of the incoming occupant, but as this woodland tenement had beforetime been inhabited by such denizens of the forest as coons, porcupines, and honey-bees, dame Nature had not fitted the interior for pet lambs and human kids; it required some trimming before being a suitable cabinet for the pillow and blanket. A mother's hand or foot was the motor that kept this half-round cradle going, swinging, trundling, for ten, twenty, and sometimes thirty years; for with as much regularity as the

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AN OLD-FASHIONED CRADLE.

changing seasons, as often as every two years, from the hour when the first cry of infancy was heard in the settler's home, a little pilgrim came from the mysterious world of silence to issue his imperious mandate and determine how much peace or turmoil should sway the household; and within this en- closure slept, grew, and waxed stronger, until forced to abdicate in favor of one of the same despotic line. And thus the rotation continued until the family quiver was filled to the maximum.

There was a subtle, mysterious, attractive power about an old-fashioned cradle that no student of science could analyze. It was no wonder that little children clung to the cosy nest where a loving mother rocked them to sleep and guarded their slumber while singing soft and sweet :

"Hush, my dear! Lie still in slumber, Holy angels guard thy bed ! Heavenly blessings without number Sweetly falling on thy lead."

But as the candle draws the miller and flower beds draw honey-bees and hum- ming-birds, these cradles drew old women from all the region round-about when a new-born babe was installed within them. The homestead might be remote from neighbors, and the family of retiring habits, even strangers and new incumbents, the roads in a dangerous or nearly impassable condition by reason of rains or snow blockades, the weather boisterousand forbidding, and the duties at home of a pressing nature, but let the old cradle be occupied by a new babe and all the old dames would don shawls and hoods, and, guided by some star invisible to the eyes of the male sex, find their way to the bed- side of the weak mother and the lowly couch of the sleeping child. Why, the new arrival would scarcely find time to shake off the dust of travel or to arrange his toilet before his lodgings were invaded by relays of women who were more wanting in prudence and consideration, more inquisitive and impertinent, than any newspaper man of modern times who goes forth on his errand to interview a congressman. These intrusive visitors seemed to dis- regard the feelings of the young mother, who needed absolute quiet and rest, and those of the sensitive babe, who was bashful in the presence of strangers; they gabbled and rattled away until the sick woman's brain was strained almost to the bewildering point, and then advised her to "keep very quiet and not have much company." Gracious Heavens! Where, under such conditions, could one find the jewel of consistency? We have seen a group of these old inspectors assembled around the cradle with their heavy, iron-bowed spectacles hanging upon the ends of their noses, glowering at some little, bald-headed, pink bit of humanity, all the while gravely uttering prophetic statements con- cerning the prospective shape of its head and features and color of its hair and eyes.

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Saco Valley settlements and families. Historical, biographical, genealogical, traditional, and legendary, Part 41

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