Saco Valley settlements and families. Historical, biographical, genealogical, traditional, and legendary, Part 46

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 46
USA > New Hampshire > Saco Valley settlements and families. Historical, biographical, genealogical, traditional, and legendary > Part 46

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).

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home and turned in for sleep. There was no need of hurry for Marantha would not be ready for churning before the sun was two hours high. But Jack and Zeke were in their hiding-place under the pasture fence in season, depend upon it. They had not long to wait before they heard Marantha con- versing with herself as she came down the path, her lower eye out for reptiles and the other swinging about like a bubble on the water, for larger game. A tin pail was on either arm and a sheltering gingham sun-bonnet on her dear old head. There were no shadows cast before her to indicate "coming events," and she went to her doom as the " unthinking horse rushes to battle." Now is the time, keep your eye peeled, boys. A sudden crash of sticks, a cloud of dust, a tearing scream, a hollow, thumping sound as if from under the earth, mingled with the clatter of pails, and the form of Marantha had dis- appeared. A moment before she was; now she was not. It was enough to kill a fellow to hear her yell away down there ; why, she screamed murder, fire, and stop thief until she was hoarse, but there were none to help; the farmers had not yet gone a-field. By digging into the sides of the pit she would climb so far up that the top of her head, covered with yellow earth, could be seen, but the ground would crumble under her weight and she would fall backward to be buried in brushwood, hemlock, tin pails, and sand. Poor Marantha! it was a bad, a sorely trying predicament to be in, but there was no help and she must "make the best of it"; that is what old women would put in for conso- lation. But how she did yell! Zounds! how she made the earth quake and the sand fly! And didn't she keep up a lively conversation with Marantha Benson? Her position so far below the surface made many of her sentences unintelligible, but there were some scattering epithets heard, well seasoned with such venom as could only emanate from the tongue of an old maid-I mean an old maid of the old stamp-when saturated with ugliness. And while she scratched gravel and gave vent to her wrath in such invectives as she had in stock, the boys, with coat tails between their teeth to prevent loud laughter and consequent self-betrayal, were boiling over with frothy enjoyment.

Having wondered at her long absence from the house, and fearing that she had fallen into the spring in a fit, her venerable father came down the path and came near going into the same pit. He discovered his nearly insane daughter, and assisted her to recover her standing on this "airthly ball." As suddenly as swallows disappear in an autumn day, the two lads had found cover in the adjacent black growth. But their trouble must now come. The affair was reported and premises examined. An alibi could not be proven, although the boys had retired to their beds at seasonable hours and said beds had every appearance of having been occupied. The penalty was severe but not killing. The parents required their sons to throw back every particle of the earth found in the pasture, up hill, to fill up the pit. This was done without protest, and they retired to the bean-field without breakfast. No broken bones nor serious

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bruises were found about the anatomy of Marantha; only a thimbleful of yel- low earth in the cavity over her mouse-hunting eye, and something less than a pint in the tunnels of her capacious ears.

Hung on a Fence-Stake .- We said at the opening of the preceding sketch that we would present but one anecdote about Marantha, but have changed our mind. It was blueberry-time, and the bare-armed farmers were swinging their scythes in the fragrant meadows. A father and son paused mid-swath and began the whitchety-whet with their sharpening stones. Look- ing down the pasture lane they discovered the unfortunate Marantha hanging by her skirts upon some tall fence-stakes by the field-side. She was making desperate efforts to extricate herself, but the cloth was strong, badly entangled, and held her suspended with her feet far above the ground, while her funda- mental supports availed nothing in such a position. Well, the scene was ex- tremely ludicrous, and the farmer's boy indulged in robust laughter, while his more prudent father enjoined silence. At length the merciful husbandman went to the rescue, but as he approached the snarly old maid, she shook her fist at him and screamed : "Get out, go away, clear, you sha'n't." He was persevering and pushed bravely forward ; then she began to cry and say: "O dear, dear, what shall 1 do?" Rastus climbed upon the pole fence and raised her bodily, until her crinoline and skirts were disengaged; then lowered her gently to the ground. Seizing her blueberry pail, without an expression of gratitude for deliverance, Marantha went sputtering homeward. It was notice- able that her adventure taught her a practical lesson; she was never known to climb upon a fence by the side of tall stakes, wearing crinoline, when the wind blew, with an attempt to jump to the ground, afterward.

Woodchuck's Den .- One more adventure by Marantha and we may lay down the pen. A woodchuck with an eye to business had found a fresh and abundant feeding-ground in the midst of a clover field, not far from the spot where the rude boys had dug a pit, as before described. It was easy excavating, and chucky dug his hole close to the side of the path that led down the hill to the "biling spring." Years had passed, and as Marantha was tripping along to fill her pails for the churning-time, she put her foot into the mouth of the den and it continued to descend until the limb was buried beneath the clover. This accident was attended with serious consequences, for Marantha fell forward and fractured her leg. By almost superhuman effort she released herself, and with heroic courage slowly made her way to the house, pulling herself along by clutching the grass and crawling upon the uninjured knee. But the woodchuck ! what about him? Was he at home when his cool, underground domicile was thus invaded? At last report he was digging with bleeding claws toward China in his desperation to escape from a world where there was no permanent security or safety. As for Marantha, her injury inca- pacitated her from ever visiting the cool fountain of water that bubbled from

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under the pines afterward. We saw her only a few years ago, and as we sat by her side rehearsed the tribulations of the past. She was old, lame, and somewhat demented. A few months of pain and she was removed to a world where bad boys and woodchucks cannot trouble her.

Burnham's Hens .- Collins Burnham, who lived at North Saco, not only enjoyed a good joke but was an expert story-teller. Among others that would make his fat sides shake, he used to relate what follows: One of his neighbors had a field of corn near his house one summer and his (Burnham's) hens made havoc of it. The head of the family being absent from home for some time, his wife assumed the management of affairs and laid plans, inter alia, to destroy Burnham's intrusive hens. Having heard her husband say that "three fingers" was a good charge for a gun, she took the old queen's arm from the hooks over the mantel, where such weapons used to hang, and began to pour powder from the horn into the capacious barrel. This she ceased not to do until, by passing down the rod, she found she had in, as she measured, a standard charge. She then dropped a handful of shot upon the powder, drove home the wad, and started for the corn field. Burnham knew the hens were in his neighbor's corn, and was slyly watching to see what might happen from his back door. Presently he saw the woman, with bold, pro- nounced stride, crossing the road, gun in hand ; a sight, along with his antici- pation of what would follow, which convulsed him with laughter. But he held on the best he could and waited for developments. She crept along the fence- side upon a ridge, and discovering the hens picking the corn, silently boasted that she would "fix 'em in a minute." She ran the piece through the fence under the top board, ground her heels into the turf, braced hard, shut up both eyes-look out there !- and pulled the trigger. As Burnham used to say, there was such a confused mixture of woman, gun, fence boards, and smoke, that he couldn't see for some time what had become of her ; but in an instant heard a scream, mingled with pain and rage, then saw her running toward the house with both hands over her ears. At the first shock she lay head down upon the clay bank with hair singed off, eyes full of powder, and her face lacerated; the top board of the fence was found on the opposite side of the road; the barrel of the gun was half length in the road bank, and the lock, rod, and splintered stock were scattered in all directions. No hens killed, not even a feather lost, as a matter of course. What caused this terrible crash and destruction of property; this danger to human life? We shall see presently. When her husband returned he noticed her mutilated appearance and asked the cause. At first she declined to tell, but asked him the suggest- ive question : "How much do you commonly put into the gun for a duck charge?" He replied : " About three fingers." Casting her eyes downward she considered a moment and said: "Well, I put in three fingers and fired at Burnham's hens in the corn, and when she went off I found myself in the road

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on my back, with my eyes full of powder, my hair burnt off, my face bruised, and the queen's arm all stove in pieces." "How do you know how much you put into the gun?" inquired her husband. "Know! why I put down the rod and measured what stuck out same as you do, same as I measure a stocking- leg when I'm knitting, and found it just three finger lengths." The fact was she had charged the gun with ammunition about a foot deep; enough for a small cannon. "Zounds!" cried her husband, " I don't wonder that the old thing about killed you, and didn't harm the hens." Silence reigned. She never repeated her experiment, but the story leaked out and the neighbors had no end of fun out of it. If we were to point a moral we should say, when one measures explosives let them be careful how they hold their fingers, whether crosswise or lengthwise of the gun rod.

Political Rivalry .- Dan Smith, 3d, lived on the old homestead on the old road that connected with "Smith's bridge," so-called, about a mile below Moderation Falls. He was a great, brawny, loose-jointed, good-natured fel- low, possessed with a full share of that quaint, pawky humor for which his family were noted. Dan followed the traditions of his fathers and was a pronounced Democrat, who sometimes went to radical, if not unwarranted, extremes in his party zeal. On one town-meeting day, where there were some rather important issues pending, the political leaders were actively scouring the town to bring out every man who was able to go to the polls. The old grandfathers, nearly helpless through the infirmities of age, were there; sick men, worn and emaciated, shaking with the weakness of protracted con- sumption, came wrapped about with shawls and mufflers; the maimed, the halt, and the blind were there to vote. At an advanced stage of the meeting somebody whispered in Dan Smith's ear that the father-in-law of one of the selectmen, an aged man who lived in the family of his daughter, was not present. It was known that this man was a Democrat, but the son-in-law belonged to the Republican creed. No sooner said than Dan jumped into his carriage, shouted "go lang Darby," and was off after old Father Martin. When he returned with the hale but venerable townsman, who, as it was learned, had been left at home against his wishes, he led him through the crowd with many demonstrations and requests for the people to "stand back," and to the chagrin of his son-in-law, who held the ballot box, saw the old yeoman deposit his vote. When preparing to carry this old man to his own home for dinner he was remonstrated with by one of his friends, a selectman of his own party, and advised to take him (Martin) back where he had found him, to avoid all trouble; Dan raised his long arm and shouted: " John, don't you say another word, for at my house he'll be just as well off as if he's in heaven, far's bread and meat's concerned." And he took him home to dine.

Thornton's Dog .- Gill Thornton owned a large tract of pine timber in Hollis, about one mile back from the Saco river, then and since known as the

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"Thornton lot." Many years ago, say forty, a logging camp was built on the bank of Martin's brook on this tract, and during the winter a crew of choppers and teamsters were engaged in clearing off the timber. A jolly time they had of it in the long evenings as they made yokes, mended mittens, smoked the pipe of peace, and told side-splitting stories. This camp being near the homes of the outlying neighborhood, it became a favorite resort to which the farmers went and spent an evening with the lumbermen. Now, it came to pass that Gill Thornton had a savage, lion-like dog up there, who could smell a stranger afar off, and seemed to resent the presence of those who came visit- ing at the camp. On a very cold, crispy evening one of the farmers from out-by left his "ain fireside" to visit the camp. He had not proceeded far along the woods-road, before he heard the hoarse growl of Thornton's big dog, and the next instant he came down upon him with a terrible roar. Quicker than scat, that farmer -- he was a nimble man-was roosting in the branches of a sturdy hemlock -"treed." He asked the dog to withdraw, but he was otherwise disposed, and sat calmly down, sending up a savage growl to remind the tree-climber of his presence. I said it was a cold winter night; it was a cold man in the hemlock, too, and things assumed a serious character. The man shouted for help until his voice was as hoarse as the dog's growl. No help came. The blood grew thick, the man would soon freeze. Again he did lift up his voice with an exceeding great noise, and lo! a teamster on his way to the hovel to feed his team heard his cry, and men hastened down to learn the cause of so pitiful a lamentation. As they approached, they shouted : "Who's there?" and the cold man answerd: "It is I, and behold the dog." Old "Jowler " was driven back to camp and the "treed " farmer, with chatter- ing teeth, came down with as much haste as did Zaccheus of sacred story. His relish for visiting was gone, and he "stivered hame" as fast as ever he could. Afterward he spoke evil of Gill Thornton's dog.

Thomas Todd, the Reaper .- More than fifty years ago a little Scotch- man of this name appeared among the farmers in Hollis with a Tam o' Shanter bonnet on his head and a sickle hanging on his shoulder ; in his hand a small bundle containing all his effects. He was a professional reaper, and always came at time of grain harvest. A leathern girdle was worn about his loins to strengthen him withal when faint in the heat of the day. He was possessed of all the characteristics of the "canna Scotchman." With his practically interminable string of anecdotes about the "land o' cakes," about the Wallace and the Bruce, which he related when resting at noon and evening, demon- strating with fist and foot, he became a very interesting man to have about, and was much employed for many years. He was cleanly, unobtrusive, and honest. Like most of his countrymen, he was enthusiastic over the natural loveliness of his native land-and he had reason to be-as well as its history of chivalry and its majestic ruins. When asked why he ever left so beautiful

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a place he would say: "Aye! Aye! I cam awa to mak rich, but I'll sune gang awa and spend me old age in Bonnie Scotland." By the most rigid economy he had accumulated a few hundred dollars, and when his form had become bent with toil and his "haffits " thin and gray he felt that his tenure of exist- ence would be short. He bade his old acquaintances farewell, as he called here and there at the doors of the farmers who had befriended him, and was "awa for his hame." He had reached New York, and was about to go on shipboard when he entered a store to make small purchases. A cry was heard on the street and he, with others, rushed to the sidewalk to learn the cause. When he returned for his bundle, which contained nearly all of his money, it could not be found. From one to another with pitiful inquiry he went, but none knew (?) anything about his bundle. Going to the curbstone, the discon- solate old man sat down and wept aloud. All the meagre savings of years were gone. Some benevolent gentlemen gathered about him, heard his sad story, and contributed enough to secure for him a passage to Glasgow. Poor Tommy Todd! he must long ago have heard the angels singing in his "ain countrie." The author made diligent inquiry for him through the Scottish newspapers, but could learn nothing of him. Many remember the dear old reaper who spent days at their homes.

A Cold Bath .- One of the most prudent of the farmers-under ordinary circumstances-of a Saco valley town, had planted a patch of watermelons, year after year, and as often had them stolen. Worn-out and aggravated to the bones, he at last issued a proclamation embodying the declaration that he should certainly shoot the first person who trespassed upon his ground. His home was " in from the road "; that is, sat upon a hill some distance from the highway, and was approached by a cart-road which crossed a deep brook. On a cool autumn night, when honest people were sleeping, two fellows on mischief bent determined to risk their lives for the sake of some of old farmer Jones' "watermillions," as he called them. First they removed all the planking from the old stringer bridge that spanned the stream between the house and the main road, so that pursuit would be interrupted in case they lived to run. This covering was laid under the thick alders that overhung the stream, and the track was clear. Then, going cautiously to the house corner, they heard the farmer playing upon his snoring-harp, and took a long breath. For short, the best melons were all removed to a safe place under the trees. Returning they paused a moment and found the warlike farmer tearing away at the same old tune. Shaking the board fence that touched the house, they heard him jump to the floor. In another moment he was out of doors with his mus- ket. Down the cart-road ran they, through the thick mist that hung over the silent fields. "By Zounds! I'll give it to ye, you infernal thieves," shouted Jones, and away they went toward the bridge. Bridge! When near this point, the bad boys " scooted" under the bushes and "harked." Awful mo-

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ment of suspense! Down comes Jones upon the kangaroo jump and gosh ! the bottom dropped out. Splash! Ah-r-r-r! Splosh ! Ah-r-r-r! Snort, cough, sneeze, and finally, my brethren, such a string of "cuss words" as were never heard since, accompanied by a sucking, sticky, splattering sound of bare feet as Jones pulled himself up the brook bank. The mist lifted and the last seen of Jones he was slowly climbing the hill on the "home stretch," his only garment clinging very closely about his muddy, shivering form, while the water was running out of his useless gun.

This affair would have long remained a secret, but the fun-loving wife of Jones told some of the neighbors her side of the story, as far as she knew, and it spread like thistle-down, of course. But the names of the rude fellows who perpetrated the joke were not known "for sartin" until Jones had ceased his swearing and midnight baths; then these gray beards "let the cat out o' the bag," and finished the narrative. Fancy inquisitively asks: "What were the sensations experienced by Jones when he found himself going down, down, and when he realized by his unexpected bath that he had been the subject of a radical joke?"

A Desperate Character .- The mother of the first John Whales who appeared in the Saco valley towns was a full-blooded squaw, belonging to one of the western tribes, and his early years were spent among the Indians. In a moment of anger he killed one of the savages, and fled to escape the ven- geance of his relatives. Being hunted by their dogs, he eluded them by tak- ing to the water. While secreted on the bank of the Ohio river, he discovered several of his dusky pursuers approaching in a canoe, and being headed di- rectly toward his hiding-place, as soon as within range, he sent a bullet through three or four of them. He was aware that there would be no safety for him anywhere in the West, and finding his way into a settlement of planters who, with their families, had but recently removed from the Saco river towns, he procured a horse and came in company with Elder Witham to the town of Hollis. He built him a cabin on the shore of the pond then known as "Young's Meadow pond," and since called "Whales pond," where he lived as a "sqat- ter," burning lamp-black and stealing from the neighbors round-about to feed the outer man. He was laid under suspicion, was watched, and caught skin- ning one of the farmer's sheep. The neighbors went to his cabin and threat- ened to hang him to the nearest oak if he did not leave within forty-and-eight hours. Knowing the determined character of the men he had to deal with, he packed up and removed to Cornish.

He continued his lawless course and was discovered in Pendexter's store at night. The owner made an effort to secure him, but saw the gleam of his long knife in the moonlight and allowed him to escape. He became a "shingle weaver" after his settlement in Cornish, and shaved many thousands from the hearts of fallen timber found in the swamps. These wares were ex-

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changed for such goods as were kept at the small stores. He is said to have delivered a load to Mr. Pendexter, for which he received payment and returned home. That very night he stole the shingles, hauled them back the following day and sold them to his unsuspecting customer the second time. As the shingles had been piled in different places, it was several days before this trick was found out. Many of this man's descendants are now living in this state, respectable and respected, but some of them have exhibited marked physical indications of having a drop of Indian blood in their veins .*

Deerwander Bear-Hunt .- When the pork-barrel was empty, and there was no beef " critter " to kill, away to the deep forest the hunter went after bears and deer. Sometimes a great verdant son was taken along to sharpen up his courage and teach him bear tactics. At the time of which we write Deer- wander, in the plantation of Little Falls, was the resort of large game, and to this place the settlers on the Dalton Right, and those about the lower waters of the Saco, went a-hunting. Uncle Tom Ridlon was of all the famous woods- men and bear hunters the most daring and successful. The words fear and afraid were not to be found in his primitive dictionary; they were never in his mouth or breast.

On an early winter day, he took down his old, long, clamped musket, that had been carried by him through the Revolution, and calling his stout dog "Venture " started for Deerwander to hunt "bar." After being fairly within the great dark swamp, his dog left him and was lost to sight beyond a ridge. At length his barking was heard a long way off down the brook-side, and Uncle Tom hastened in that direction. As he climbed down through a rocky gorge he saw a monster bear sitting in the forks of a large oak. An ounce of lead found his heart, and he tumbled to the ground with a heavy thud. The hunter was now in a predicament, analogous to Robinson Crusoe with his inland boat. He was more than five miles from home in the middle of a deep forest and a bear at his feet that tipped the beam at more than four hundred pounds. He cut a long withe, twisted one end about the bear's jaws, took the other over his brawny shoulder, and began dragging the carcass toward the Saco, which was then frozen over. On descending ground he made fair head- way, but when a hill must be ascended, he was obliged to go backward and pull the bear up a few feet at a time. He reached the river bank at sundown, left the bear on the ice and returned home. On the day following, he and his sons went down with a great hand-sled and carried bruin's carcass to Dalton Right settlement. Pieces of bear-steak were sent about the neighborhood on the next day, and many came to view the enormous head, hide, and paws of the immense bear from Deerwander.

*I received the above faets from two men who were well acquainted with Whales, not only when he lived on the shore of the pond in Hollis that still bears his name, but after his removal . up river until his death.

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Saco Valley settlements and families. Historical, biographical, genealogical, traditional, and legendary, Part 46

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