USA > New Hampshire > Sullivan County > Croydon > Croydon, N.H., 1866. Proceedings at the centennial celebration, June 13, 1866. A brief account of the leading men of the first century Together with historical and statistical sketches of the town > Part 1
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Gc 974.202 C88W 1128798
ALLEN COUNTY PUBLIC LIBRARY 3 1833 01095 9655
M. Là
GENEALOGY COLLECTION.
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475:600
Digitized by the Internet Archive in 2015
https://archive.org/details/croydonnh1866pro00whee_0
J I Buffora's Lith
Edmund Wheelen
CROYDON, N. H., 1866.
PROCEEDINGS
AT THE
CENTENNIAL CELEBRATION,
ON WEDNESDAY, JUNE 13, 1866.
A BRIEF ACCOUNT OF THE LEADING MEN
OF THE FIRST CENTURY,
With Portraits.
TOGETHER WITH
istorical and tatistical
Sketches
OF THE TOWN.
BY EDMUND WHEELER.
Claremont, N. M .: PRINTED BY THE CLAREMONT MANUFACTURING COMPANY. 1867.
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PREFACE.
1128798
It has been the purpose of the editor to gather up in this volume, the .
proceedings at the Croydon Centennial Celebration and embody them in a permanent form, for the benefit of all those interested in the town-but more especially the very many who were unable to be present-and for after generations.
So far as was within his reach he has endeavored in the Sketches here presented to give a brief account of all the leading men of the town during the first century. He has aimed to do equal justice to all, and if in any instance he has done less it was because the requisite information could not be obtained. And for the same reason, doubtless, many others equally worthy of honorable mention have been entirely omitted. He can only say he has done the best he could.
For many of the facts contained in the Historical portion of the volume, especially the earlier ones, he is under obligations to John Cooper, Esq., who has very kindly granted him a free use of his " Historical Sketch."
In relation to the Illustrations, he has endeavored to induce one at least of the descendants of each of the old, prominent families to represent his race personally to the next centennial through the medium of a lithograph. And his invitation to the one judged to be the representative man of the family to make the contribution has in most instances been very promptly and generously responded to. He would have liked more of the early fathers, but unable to procure them he has given the sons. It is believed that the very considerable expense attending them will be more than repaid by the additional interest they will impart to the work.
The editor would here express his obligations to the natives and residents of Croydon, for the general sympathy and lively interest manifested in the undertaking during its progress. May the result of his labors be the means of awakening a thousand pleasant memories.
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CROYDON CENTENNIAL CELEBRATION,
June 13, 1866.
THE one hundredth anniversary of the settlement of Croydon was celebrated on Wednesday, June 13, 1866. It was a jubilee long to be remembered in the annals of the town. Invitations had been extended "to all the natives and former residents of the town to be present and mingle in the festivities of the day." At sunrise the boom- ing of the cannon, planted on the very spot where stood the first dwelling, echoing and re-echoing among the hills, and the merry pealing of the bells announced that the day had dawned, summoned all to be in readiness, and awakened anew in a thousand hearts a long train of sweet, sad mem- ories-joyous when they thought of home, the unbroken circle, the innocent sports of childhood, and a mother's love ; but sad when they remembered how the destroyer had been there and the hearts that once made them so welcome are now still in death, and the loved forms are sleeping in the valley.
Long before the hour when the exercises were announced to commence, an immense throng, numbering fully three thousand persons, had assembled. At 10 o'clock the proces- sion was formed under the direction of Capt. Nathan Hall, Chief Marshal of the day, and escorted by the Croydon Band, led by Baldwin Humphrey, marched to the stand.
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Col. OTIS COOPER, Chairman of the Committee of Arrangements, on calling the assembly to order greeted them with the following welcome speech.
Mr. Cooper said :
Ladies and Gentlemen : In behalf of the citizens of Croydon I have the pleasure of bidding you all a most hearty welcome to your dear old native town. . I most cordially welcome you all to these green fields, these beautiful valleys, these charming hills, and these grand old mountains. I welcome you to the churches where you once worshiped, the school-houses where you were taught, and those sacred inclosures where sleep the dear, honored dead. I welcome you to your dear old homes, and especially do I welcome you to this old family table, which has been so liberally provided for by the ladies.
What though the skies above us are overcast with clouds, all around us is sunshine, and warmth, and joy. Let us then enjoy the greeting, the hand-clasp, and the interchange of smiles. Again I welcome you all individually and col- lectively to all the innocent pleasures which this day is capable of affording.
Ladies and Gentlemen : I now have the pleasure of introducing to you the President of the day, the Hon. William P. Wheeler of Keene.
The President on taking the stand made the following remarks :
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by what is most noble and heroic in the past. The dead are refreshed, and stimulated to higher action in the future, to our children. And this day will not be lost if our minds u therein taught, remains to us and
us listen reverently to its teachings. The living century is century is before us. Its history can not be changed. Let
J. M. Bufford's Lith. Boston
remarks : -MA WA ATTANTCAIT OTIT
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ADDRESS OF HON. WILLIAM P. WHEELER OF KEENE.
Ladies and Gentlemen :
IT was a happy thought on the part of that portion of the household abiding here at home, to take note of the close of the first hundred years in our family history ; and to mark the transit from the old to the new century by a holiday at the old homestead. And it was especially kind and thoughtful of them to recall, on the occasion, those members of the Croydon family who from necessity or choice have been drawn to other fields of labor. That they have come with alacrity and in full force, is sufficiently evinced by what we here see. Some have come with increased households ; while others whom we would gladly have wel- comed, have recently passed beyond the reach of an earth- ly summons. Yet while we grieve for those who for the present seem to be lost to us, we may mingle our congratu- lations ; and unite in commemorating what the first centu- ry has wrought for us.
We are here to-day upon a stand-point where three gen- erations are to pass in review before us. Their work is finished, but the lesson therein taught, remains to us and to our children. And this day will not be lost if our minds are refreshed, and stimulated to higher action in the future, by what is most noble and heroic in the past. The dead century is before us. Its history can not be changed. Let us listen reverently to its teachings. The living century is
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already beginning to unfold. Who will say that a recital of what was suffered and achieved by the early fathers and mothers, may not animate us with a spirit which shall leave its impress on another generation ? Let us to-day rekindle the fires of patriotism on the altar of our forefathers.
The wanderers have gathered at their native home to- day, because it was not in their hearts to resist the kindly summons. They are here to renew ancient friendships, to listen again to voices once familiar to them, and to look once more upon the face of nature as she greeted them in childhood. Here truly are the streams and lakes, the hills and valleys of our early days, unchanged by the lapse of time. And the grand old mountain, with its dark forests, still looks down upon us as of yore. Our country boasts of mountain peaks which attract pilgrims from distant lands, but I have seen none which can for a moment compare with the familiar one under whose shadow we now stand. There may be little to attract to it the eye of the stranger ; but every true son of Croydon can testify that " the sacred mountains " are those upon which the eye was accustomed to rest in childhood.
The strong love which involuntarily attaches one to the home of his youth may not be easy of analysis ; but it is a fact everywhere existing and recognized. It is but slightly dependent upon outward circumstances. The humble cot- tage in the forest, or upon the bleak mountain side, has attractions not surpassed by the lordly mansions of wealth and luxury. The place of one's birth is not less dear be- cause it is humble : and the memory of it is not effaced by time or worldly cares. You may immerse one in business or pleasure until his time and all his waking thoughts are
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wholly absorbed in the present. Nature is still true to her- self. There will be moments in that life, if at no other time, in his slumbers, in the quiet hours of night, when the visions of childhood and of the early home will return. Again the brothers and sisters are with him. Again he mingles with his youthful playmates. He once more hears the voice of his sainted mother ; and he is again the gentle and confiding child, unspoiled by the follies and vices of after-life.
The query has sometimes arisen, what is it that entitles Croydon to the distinction which she has always claimed among her neighbors ? What has given her the position which is generally conceded to her ? Her territory is small, and her soil in the main unproductive. Her inhabitants are few in number ; and her mercantile and manufacturing interests are of small account. Her religious privileges have not been large, neither her schools numerous nor always of the highest order. Yet wherever you meet a Croydon boy, young or old, you meet one who is proud of his native town. I have met them in the crowded city, and far up among the sources of the great rivers of this continent ; yet in their new homes I found them the same indomitable, hard-working and well-balanced men as those who now cultivate these hills and valleys. What then is their true claim to distinction ? It is not that they are men of great genius or extraordinary acquirements. A few have over- come the difficulties in their way, and have obtained a liberal education ; while others with less school culture, have found positions of honor and usefulness abroad. But it is not to these alone, or mainly, that the town owes her position.
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All the sources of her strength may not readily be com- prehended or stated. But some of them are sufficiently obvious. In the first place all accounts agree that the first settlers here were men and women of great nerve and endurance ; and many of them of unusual size and physical strength. They found here a soil and climate which called forth their best energies. They breathed a pure and invig- orating air. The breezes-not always warm or mild- which swept the White or Green Mountains and came pouring over the rugged sides of our great mountain barrier, brought with them health and mental soundness.
Thus from a noble ancestry, early accustomed to struggle with Nature in her sterner moods, and to take an active part in public affairs in the stirring times in which they lived, a race of men has been trained and developed who still uphold the honor and dignity of their native town. As we have seen them in the present generation, they have appeared to be men, not perhaps in all cases over-devotional or religious, but self-reliant and ready for work ; men of integrity who could compete successfully with their neigh- bors or rivals in whatever business or profession they were engaged. Many of them still retain the stalwart forms of their ancestors. The original types of the Bartons, Coopers, Halls, Humphreys, Powers, Putnams, Whipples, and their compeers of a century ago, have not wholly disappeared. And it is to be hoped that those who assemble here at the close of another century may find among them the physical and mental peculiarities of those who began their work here in 1766.
As a township Croydon has, from the beginning, been out- stripped by her more prosperous neighbors. To say nothing
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of other flourishing towns about us, Claremont and New- port, with their water-power and broad acres of interval, have grown in wealth and population until they may look upon this little community as a humble tributary to the stream of their prosperity. But Croydon points to her sons and daughters-not supposed to be numerous until to-day-as the tower of her strength; and claims equality of rank.
We hope on this occasion to hear something of the history of the founders of this town ; and of the later generations who have borne an honorable part in all our great struggles. In the war of the revolution Croydon sent her full share of men of strong arms and resolute wills, to battle for independence. The sacrifices which were made to achieve what we have so recently been called upon to defend-our national unity and independence-never seemed greater to me than when, as a boy, I listened to the recitals of my venerable grand- father, Nathaniel Wheeler, senior, of the toils and privations endured by him and his companions in arms, and their families, during the dark days of the revolution. Truly, there was no lack of patriotism on the part of the man who could, at the call of his country, march to the field of battle, while he left behind him in the wilderness his wife and infant children, dependent upon the good will of the neigh- bors to scare the wild beasts from the cabin door, and to cultivate the patch of cleared ground which was to furnish the scanty supply of bread for hungry mouths. Yet we have the concurrent testimony of many, that such instances were not rare in the early history of this town.
In the second war with Great Britain Croydon sustained her part nobly ; and I count it a thing to be proud of, that
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when a call was made upon the town for soldiers, the pro- ceedings commenced for a draft were at once set aside by the voluntary enlistment of its citizens ; and that the first man to offer himself as a private soldier for the service, was Nathaniel Wheeler, jr., then holding a high commission in the State militia. And in the terrible ordeal through which our beloved country has just passed, and from which she is rising, purified, we trust, as by fire, it was not inappropriate that a later descendant of the same family should surrender up his life, far from kindred and home, at the call of his country. But the history of one family is the history of many ; and I would not give an undue prominence to the services of one, while so many family records have been illuminated by the noble deeds of more than one generation. Let us, at the risk of being egotistic, tell what we know of our fathers that is worthy of record ; what we are doing or striving for ourselves, and what we hope of our children. Then will this be a day long to be remembered by the sons and daughters of Croydon.
A very able and appropriate prayer was then offered by Rev. Luther J. Fletcher of Maine.
The following Greeting Hymn, written for the occasion by Lizzie P. Harding of Croydon, was sung by the Glee Club, led by Capt. E. Darwin Comings :
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GREETING HYMN.
We welcome thee ! we welcome thee Who long from us have strayed, With joy we grasp the hand where oft In childhood thou hast played.
Our granite hills unchanged shall stand, Though distant ye may roam ; Like them our hearts remain as true, And kindly greet thee home.
But there are voices, hushed in death, Whose tones in other years Rang out with friendship's sweetest notes Upon our ravished ears.
Behold them ! bending from the skies To watch thy coming feet, List'ning to catch our song of joy, With memory's incense sweet.
Great God ! guide thou our wandering steps, To reach that blissful shore, Where loved ones wait, with star-gemmed crowns, To greet us evermore.
Then welcome, welcome dearest friends, Who from us long have strayed, With joy we clasp thy hand where oft In childhood thou hast played.
THE PRESIDENT .- I am not unmindful of the one great attraction which has brought you here to-day. You have come to listen to one who is everywhere heard with pleasure and nowhere with more pride and satisfaction than here in his native town ; whose presence always calls forth love and admiration, and whose eloquent words and blameless life have exerted an influence which has been felt in a circle wider than has been reached by any other son of Croydon. The Rev. BARON STow, of Boston, who will now address you, needs no introduction to this audience.
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ORATION
BY BARON STOW, D. D., OF BOSTON .*
Hugh Miller of Scotland, says, "The mind of every man has its picture-gallery-scenes of beauty, or magnificence, or quiet comfort stamped upon his memory." And he might have added, that often a very small thing, or a very trivial incident, will serve as a key to open that gallery, and let in the light of day upon long darkened reminiscences.
Seven years ago about this time, I was in the heart of Europe, in Munich, the capital of the kingdom of Bavaria. One bright, cloudless afternoon, wearied with sight-seeing, I walked into the country, partly for physical refreshment, and partly that I might turn away from the works of human art, splendid and beautiful as they were, and con- template the richer beauties and glories of Nature. The air was balmy and charged with perfume from fields and gardens in full bloom. When far enough away, I ascended a knoll and turned to view the landscape. It was one of the loveliest. Away at my right, on the slope of a ridge, was the famous national monument, the colossal statue of Bavaria, towering with its pedestal one hundred feet from the ground. Towards my left was the city, the gem of continental Europe. In front along the south loomed up the serrated range of the Tyrolese Alps, snow-clad, and glittering in the sunlight like burnished silver. The whole scene was one of blended beauty and grandeur. There was
* Owing to the rain that greatly incommoded the larger part of the audience, considerable portions of the Address, as now published, were necessarily omitted in the delivery.
i H. BrMods Lith, Bostr
BaronStow.
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much to remind me of God, and awaken feelings of adora- tion.
But soon a very small object changed, suddenly and com- pletely, the current of thought, and set it running in a new direction. Seated on the turf, I noticed at my feet a flower which I had familiarly known, in my early childhood, as " yellow weed" or "butter cup." I remembered when the fields of my native town, in the month of June, were golden with its bloom, and how the farmers. classed it with the " hard-hack" and the " Canada thistle," as a nuisance not easily abated. I had learned to regard it as a pest, but there, in the outskirts of Munich, I did not dislike it ; I hailed it as an old acquaintance ; my heart sprang towards it; I read "Croydon" on its every petal ; it was suggestive of a hundred fold more than I can now tell. In space, I was instantly transported nearly five thousand miles west- ward to my New Hampshire home, five degrees more south- ward than Munich, yet colder in climate and more rugged in scenery. In time, I was taken back nearly sixty years, and looking at things as they were when Thomas Jefferson was President of the United States, and our Government was quarreling, diplomatically, with England about Orders in Council, embargoes, and non-intercourse laws ; and when Napoleon I. at the zenith of his power, had the sympathy of all in our country who wished to see the British Lion humbled ; and when party spirit in New Hampshire, Croy- don not excepted, was at fever heat. How vivid, how minute, were my recollections all revived by the suggestive- ness of that little, unpretentious flower ! I stood, once more a boy of seven years, in that semicircle of high hills, sweeping round from north-east to south-west, with slopes
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partly wooded and partly dotted with small rocky farms, and within which lay, not indeed a prairie, but an undulat- ing plain, having in its center a dark forest, the haunt of night-prowling animals, the terror of the cornfield, the hen- roost and the sheepfold. Around that forest were cultivated farms, not very productive, but yielding to industry and economy support for a hardy yeomanry, not then disturbed by visions of better acres in the opening West. Had I actually been at the old homestead of Peter Stow, near the western border of that black forest, hardly could I have seen more distinctly the outline and the filling up of that semi- circle, with its encompassing hills, than I then beheld them in the "picture-gallery" of the mind. What then to me were the magnificent Alps with their lofty peaks and deep gorges, and their thundering avalanches ? I had before me " Croydon Mountain," identified in the memories of child- hood with my first ideas of elevation and greatness, and of isolation from all that was beyond, a barrier separating me, not from classic Italy, but from far off Cornish and Grantham.
It was midsummer in the memory, and the warm blue sky was flecked with detached clouds that dappled with shade the sunny landscape. The shadows of those clouds, moved by the lightest, softest winds, as they passed down the mountain side and crossed the plain ; and the grass and grain waving in gentle undulations ; and the smoke curling aslant from the chimneys of farm-houses-all these had given me, notwithstanding Dr. Darwin's theory, my original impressions of natural beauty. Herds and flocks were graz- ing quietly in rocky pastures. The atmosphere was loaded with fragrance from clover blossoms, white and red, sweeter
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than any perfume from Araby the Blest. No sounds fell upon the ear but the music of birds, or the hum of insects, or, at the hour of twelve, the housewife's horn calling the hungry " men folks" from the field of toil to her prepared table ; or, at night-fall, the hoarse cry of the night hawk and the inimitable hoot of the " boding owl," both relieved by the plaintive notes of the hidden whip-poor-will. And that house of my nativity, as innocent of paint as a Croydon maiden's face, very small, quite rustic, with few con- veniences, yet the palace of an independent lord and his wife and four children-how particular were my recollections of its exact structure, gable-end to the street ; of its every apartment, every article of furniture, every fireplace, door, window, stairway ; of the floor and ceiling ; of the cupboard and dresser ; of
" The family Bible that lay on the stand ;"
yes, and especially of all the inmates, the permanent and the occasional !
"Fond Memory, to her duty true, Brings back their faded forms to view ; How lifelike, through the mist of years, Each well-remembered face appears !"
There was on the one side the wood shed, in one part of which was the platform for spinning, quilling, warping, weaving, with all the implements of domestic manufactur- ing. On the other, through " the stoop," was the well, with " crotch," and " sweep," and " pole," and "curb," and "old oaken bucket," and crystal water of arctic coolness. There was the garden, inclosed by a stone wall, with its fringe of currant bushes, and a thrifty nursery, and patches of vegetables, and in the center the large granite boulder smothered with roses. In the roadway was a still larger
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boulder, the " pulpit rock" of the future preacher. A little further down was a brook where cousins of two families met and childishly sported. In front of the house was a row of Lombardy poplars, tall and luxuriant, never cropped for fagots as I have seen them on their native plains in Northern Italy. In the rear was the apple orchard, laden with unripened, and therefore, forbidden, fruit. At a suitable distance were the barns for the storage of farm products, and for the housing of "stock." At the foot of a small declivity near by was a swamp in which frogs, at certain seasons, gave free concerts-batrachian types of certain classes of my own species whom I have everywhere met-peepers and croakers. The dwellings to be seen from that memorable stand-point were few, some of them hung on the sides of the ragged hills, far apart, and, but for domestic affections, isolated and lonely. I remembered not only the homes, but the faces and the employments and the habits and the tempera- ments and the reputed characters of all the neighbors within the circle of a mile radius. I remembered the low, flat-roofed school-house of the district, hidden in a small forest nook, fringed with birches and briars ; and the names and faces of my teachers-God bless their precious mem- ories-and the name and face of every fellow-pupil. I remembered nearly all the roads and farms in the town, and most of the residences of the nine hundred inhabitants, and such family names as Metcalf, Wakefield, Stow, Ward, Fletcher, Town, Smart, Carpenter, Rawson, Straight, Powers, Goldthwait, Marsh, Frye, Darling, Thresher, Walker, Ames, Winter, Barton, Carroll, Putnam, Stock- well, Emery, Reed, Cutting, Loverin, Eggleston, Blan- chard, Jacobs, Hagar, Wheeler, Crosby, Eastman, Dwinnell,
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