USA > New Hampshire > Grafton County > Orford > Centennial celebration of the town of Orford, N.H. : containing the oration, poems and speeches delivered on Thursday, September 7, 1865 : with some additional matters relating to the history of the place > Part 4
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The following article was written by Rev. Cyrus Mann after careful investigation of the subject, and was printed in the Boston Recorder in 1858 :
" Who was the original inventor of the steamboat? The credit of the original invention of the steamboat is commonly awarded to Robert Fulton ; but it is believed that it belongs primarily and chiefly to a far more obscure individual. So far as is known, the first steamboat ever seen on the waters of America, was invented by Capt. Samuel Morey, of Orford, N. H. The astonishing sight of this man ascending Connect- icut river between that place and Fairlee, in a little boat just large enough to contain himself and the rude machinery con- nected with the steam- boiler, and a handful of wood for a fire, was witnessed by the writer in his boyhood, and by others who yet survive. This was as early as 1793, or earlier, and
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before Fulton's name had been mentioned in connection with steam navigation.
Morey had his mind set upon the steamboat and had actu- ally brought it into operation, although in a rude and imper- fect state at that period. He had corresponded with Professor Silliman, of New Haven, and been encouraged by that distin- guished patron of the arts and sciences. Many of the writings of this correspondence are still extant. Soon after a few successful trips in his boat on the river, Morey went with the model of it to New York, where he had frequent inter- views with Messrs. Fulton and Livingstone, to whom he exhibited and explained his invention. They advised to have the engine in the side or centre of the boat, instead of the bow or forepart to which it had been assigned by Morey. That they were highly pleased with what he had exhibited is manifest from the offer made of one hundred thousand dollars, if he would return home and make the alteration suggested, so as to operate favorably. They treated him with great respect and attention. Taking a friendly leave he returned to his distant residence to make the alteration.
Having completed the work at considerable expense of time and study, and with the help of his brother Maj. Israel Morey, who aided in making the machinery, he repaired to New York, expecting the same cordiality which he had before experienced. But to his surprise he was treated with great coldness and neglect, and no further intercourse with him was desired. The secret of his invention had been fully acquired, and from subsequent developments it appeared that Fulton in the inter- val of Morey's absence, had planned and formed a boat accord- ing to the model shown him, and he now desired no further communication with the originator. He even went to Orford during the period in which the alteration was being made, to examine its progress and the prospect of success.
In 1798, several years after Morey's boat had ascended the Connecticut river, the legislature of New York " passed an act investing Mr. Livingstone with the exclusive right and privi- lege of navigating all kinds of boats which might be propelled
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by the force of fire or steam, on all the waters within the ter- ritory or jurisdiction of the state of New York."
Subsequently, Mr. Livingstone " entered into a contract with Fulton, by which, among other things, it was agreed that a patent should be taken in the United States in Fulton's name." In 1802 or 3, Fulton came forward with an " experi- mental boat " for which he obtained a patent with the usual exclusive privileges. Thus it appears that there was ample time after his interviews with Morey for him to complete his schemes previous to their consummation. He now claimed to be the inventor of the steamboat. The patent could not be obtained "without Mr. Fulton's taking an oath that the improvement was wholly his."
Does not this look like great unfairness towards Mr. Morey ? Does it not almost irresistibly convey the idea that the paten- tee surreptitiously seized upon the invention and turned it to his own account, taking advantage of the quiet disposition and retired position of the real inventor ? In this light Morey ever after, to the day of his death, viewed the whole transaction. Living witnesses testify that he repeatedly "complained of Fulton for superseding him in obtaining a patent and stealing the honor and emolument of the invention." A gentleman of unimpeachable veracity, who was with Morey some of the last years and days of his life, asserts that he most bitterly crimi- nated Fulton for his ill treatment in secretly depriving him of his sacred rights and privileges. Why should the dying man have done this and persisted in it amidst the solemnities of his situation and the approaching realities of eternity, unless he knew that the truth was on his side ? He was a man of ver- acity, in whom his friends and acquaintances had entire confi- dence."
Music by the Band. Prayer by Rev. Charles B. Dana.
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ORIGINAL HYMN.
BY MISS MARY P. HOWARD.
We are assembled here to-day Upon our native sod, Where long ago, o'er wild-wood paths, Our Father's footsteps trod.
A hundred years are gone since they- 'Mid dangers, care and toil- Their humble household alters raised Upon the Red Man's soil.
Where stood for ages grand old woods, Waving in lordly pride, While 'neath their branches broad and green, Fair flowers bloomed and died.
E'en while the woodman's axe is heard, With pleasure, day by day, Voices were sighing 'mong the pines -- Ever a mournful lay.
Here, in this pleasant, lovely vale, Sprang up a hardy race, With enterprise and energy, Well suited for their place.
Though weary oft with saddened hearts, 'Mid rugged paths they trod, Yet hopeful and with loving faith, Trusting their Fathers' God.
E'er long, their labor brought reward- Kind heaven on them smiled- Soon fair and fruitful was the land, Which once had been so wild.
Although our Fathers toiled for wealth, Yet nobler aims they sought, Which were to their prophetic eyes, With richer blessings fraught.
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They had a high regard for Truth, And Intellectual Worth, While Mortal Beauty ever beamed Beside each happy hearth.
Churches were built, with lofty spires, Pointing the way to heaven- The basis they for knowlege laid, Which time has never riven.
We bless the mem'ry of our sires- Their resting-place is near- They've left a rich inheritance, For those who linger here.
Dear to our hearts will ever be Our fair New England home ; Fondly our hearts to it will turn, Where'er our steps may roam.
A kindly welcome to the friends, Whose homes are far away-
Whose voices mingle with our own, In honor of this day. .
With gratitude our hearts we'll raise To Him who rules above,
For all the mercies we enjoy- For all His tender love.
Benediction.
After the conclusion of the exercises the procession reformed and proceeded to a large and splendid Camp Pavillion, erected on the common, where tables were arranged for about fifteen hundred persons, which were soon filled.
The assembly having been called to order by the Presi- dent and the guests seated, Rev. B. M. Tillotson, of Man- chester, was called upon and invoked a blessing.
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All having partaken of the sumptuous dinner, the feast of reason was commenced.
The President announced the following sentiment and called upon James B. Richardson, Esq., of Boston, to respond :
" Our Centennial Day."
Mr. Richardson responded by reciting the following poem :
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Nor yet of arms shall our verses swell, Nor of the battles where your brave sons fell ; And yet the tender Muse, passing so near, Would pause to drop a sympathetic tear, With those who moisten yet the hallowed grave, Of those in peace most gentle, in war most brave, Who for their Country in life's morning bled, And with patriot's glory lie in a soldier's bed. They rest in peace, their last long march is done ; The conflict is ended and the victory's won ;
· The nation's wealth and their country's fame, The State shall live to glorify their name.
Not to the dead alone is tribute due,
The State shall honor well the living too ; With pine and laurel from her granite plain, Will strew their pathway as they come home again. But how feeble are our lips to say The half the varied thoughts that fill our minds to-day ; What various feelings crowd the throbbing heart; How often diverse tears unbidden start, Of joy, and sorrow, mingling as they fall, At the paternal but now deserted hall ; Coming afar, what new emotion thrills, As once again we see our native hills ; Scenes of our youth unbidden crowd in view, To which long ago we bid a last adieu. Haunts of delight relit by memory's gleams, Unseen since years ago except in dreams.
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There stands the Church where first we knelt in praise, To learn to reverence Heaven's mysterious ways. And here the School-house where the little group, Came in at nine to practice " how to shoot ; " Whence came the College pedagogue, prim and sedate, And feasted winter long on the district's pies and cakes. Who thought to punish for sundry roguish prank, By seating us with pretty Ellen, Kate or Frank ! There the village store, where were nightly told The deeds of prowess, acts of valor bold, Of the Revolution, in which they bore a part, And fought again their battles on the hearth. There flows the placid Connecticut, least changed of all ; The scenes we left, which memory recalls. Fit emblem of the laws of God, fair river, Amidst all mutability, thou art unchanged forever.
But dwelling on these scenes of memory's glory, The time runs on, the Muse delays her story.
'T'is Autumn twilight, September's golden sun Declining westward, his daily course has run ; The parched fields with gathering dewdrops shine, And slender grass therewith their tops incline. A dweller now, in a distant clime, had come To see again the scenes of his childhood home ; And roaming, musing on the days long flown, By chance confronted an old church yard stone. It had stood, notched, moss-grown and sear, In memory of - for the hundreth year. " A hundred years," the traveller said, In a playful mood, "thou hast been with the dead ; Now tell me, Centennarian resting below, For thou knowest far more than the living, I know, Of the years and days of a century ago."
He tapped on the stone, but receiving no sound Save a hollow echo, was turning around, When the clock struck twelve from the belfry near. That o'clock filled the cycle of the hundreth year. When a voice hailing him in as merry a tone As you could expect - from an old gray stone -
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" Tarry," it said, " I pray you stay, With you I fain would go; For to-morrow's my Centennial day, And its one hundred years ago Since these fields or hills I've seen, And I should lose my way, For the spotted trees not one I see, They are gone this many a day. The very mountains themselves I ween, Are changed, as you must know, And hills are leveled and roads are cut, Since one hundred years ago.
I knew them well, in yonder yard, Who came to clear this soil ; As stalwart and as honest men, As ever lived by toil. They found a wild but fruitful soil, With forests overlaid ; And air and sky as clear as ever To any eye displayed. They went to work in earnest, For substance not for show, And planted here all you now see, One hundred years ago.
'Twas Mann, he was my neighbor, Who first did settle here ; Soon came Pratt and Story, They also settled near. And I remember how they came, Their wealth, a wife and child, They cut and fought their lonely way, Through the forests deep and wild. They cut and ploughed and planted, And then the germ did sow, Of all they've reaped here, since One hundred years ago.
There were Dame and Popes and Dayton, Who dwelt by the pine clad hill; The memory of whose works shall live,
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While water turns the mill. Marston and Sawyer and Rogers ; Then Howards not a few, Who were highest in their cap-ital art, When their old hats were new ! There were men whose names were Mann, A manly race you know, These since, not less than those I knew, One hundred years ago.
One Morey, captain he was called, Came early to these hills ; A sturdy and a generous man, ' Of rare inventive skill ; Whose whims I trow, by the youngsters now, Are the stock of many a joke ; But let their lives be as useful as his, And they may laugh at his mill of smoke. The pliant resistless power that moves The car, the vessel, the loom, the plow, Is the same that in his tea-kettle sung, Nearly one hundred years ago.
Yonder stood the ancient church, With its Heavenward pointing spire, Where Noble, Sawyer and Dana preached, And lived the faith they sought to inspire. There were Wheeler, Simpson and Tillotson, And Kimball of medical skill, Who gave cheer to many a hearth, By the power of his powder and pill. Sargent and Freeman and Dame, At the sound of the enemy's gun, Exchanged, for the sword, their plows, As their sons again have done.
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Oh, they were a glorious race, Those men of former days ; Their lives, behold them in their works ! And emulate while you praise. They left for you those treasures,
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Better than gold or their lands ; The examples of their lives and faith, Outlasting the work of hands.
Welcome ! ever may you welcome give, To those who love the right ; Ever may unity, peace and love, Your hearts and hands unite. The flowing years will glide away, A Century come and go, You to them as I to you, One hundred years from now."
The voice ceased, the gray Of dawn, proclaimed the coming day .. The rising sun sent up his crimson rays, Tinging the mountain tops with golden hue, Fringing the forest leaves with diamonds of the dew. Aroused by sounds of other travelers near, Returning hither on their Centennial year, He seeks the road, meets the gathering throng Of friends and kindred once again at home.
On every side fond greetings meet his ears, In joy too great for anything but tears ; Father and son again stand face to face ; Mother and daughter clasped in close embrace ; Brother and sister by nature's insight know The kindred form, unseen since years ago ; Unchanged and loving as they loved at first, Bound still together for the best or worst. How joyfully, swiftly, the time glides away, But the sands of the glass run golden to-day. On our absent friends may good fortune attend, And the blessings of Him on whom all blessings depend.
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Orford, our mother, we come at thy bidding, Our treasures, our hearts all to thee bringing ; From the sea or the land wherever we roam, Turn we fondly to thee, our infancy's home.
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The next sentiment announced was : " Our School-mates of the past."
Responded to by Timothy M. Dewey, Esq., of Westfield, Mass., as follows :
MR. PRESIDENT-" SCHOOL-MATES OF THE PAST"-FRIENDS OF THE PRESENT : Grateful to those of you who have duti- fully remained at home and laid this magic scene, and equally grateful for the invitation to be present ; happy too to be with you here to-day-here above all other places in the world,-by the side of the beautiful river whose silver thread, shimmering and sparkling away into the dreamy south, caught the earliest visions of my child- hood; here under the battlements of yonder mountain which standing out so boldly into the interval, was the constant wonder of my youth, and whose serrated outline trending away into illimitable space, formed the extreme southern boundary of my child-world ; here where the joyful shout and ringing laugh echoed back and forth from hill to hill among the school-mates of the past ; here, too, within view of the old familiar burying ground where rest the remains of so many, dear to us all; happy, too, in meeting so many, though changed, still familiar faces; it will be exceedingly gratifying to me if I may be able to speak a few words which shall contribute to the general enjoyment of the occasion. After partaking of a repast so more than regal, so well arranged, so rich and beautiful in every way, that I don't believe it can be equalled again here or elsewhere, I ought to be able to make a speech in some degree commensurate therewith.
The sentiment just read, starts into active life a thous- and fancies, and recalls so many pleasant memories of the past, that it seems almost impossible to select from such profuse flowering, any single topic to present for your con- sideration ; and I am in very much the same predicament of the young man who went to New York and returned
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with the report, that " there were so many 'housen' he couldn't see the city at all !"
The mountain, river and hill are still the same ; all else how changed !
" The old school house is changed, dear Tom, The benches are replaced
By new ones just like those, dear Tom, Our pen-knives had defaced.
The same old tricks are in the wall, The bell swings too and fro,
The music's just the same, dear Tom, 'Twas thirty years ago.
The river's running just the same, The willows on its side
Are larger than they were, dear Tom, The stream appears less wide,
The grape-vine swing is ruined now, Where once we played the beau,
And swung our sweet-hearts, pretty girls, Near forty years ago."
Of the school-mates of the decade of 1820-1830, who were more especially my own, but few, I suppose, are present. Those of later years are probably more fully represented. In every familiar face around me I read the record of some incident of the past, which constitutes a link in the golden chain of memories which God has caused to be wrought by nature, to bind together the fel- lowship of his children.
I look upon one face and immediately there stands forth from the dim obscurity of gathering years, the form of Master John Batchelder.
" A man severe he was, and stern to view, I knew him well, and every truant knew, Well had the boding tremblers learned to trace The day's disasters in his morning face."
I think Goldsmith must have had him in view when he wrote that beautiful poem.
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I look on other faces and am reminded of Masters Jared Palmer, Dr. James Haselton, Alvan Grimes, Col. Rogers, Joseph L. Richardson, Daniel Dayton, Sparhawk, Durhee, and others, and we must not forget to embrace Mistress Stebbins in our list, in whose school-room we were required to stand guard during all the thunder storms of the season.
I recall a host of other minor incidents connected with our school exercises, but being of a local character I must let them rest. I can hardly forbear introducing to my com- rades in the old north district, Miss Mehitable Simpson, whom we called " Hitty," and who said that " if her father hadn't married his present wife he'd been worth sixteen dollars; and that he never would have married her if his first wife hadn't died."
I see still others who remind me of our evening spelling schools, and the exciting operations of " choosing sides," and the sly notes of admiration that passed, on slate and paper, under the benches ; of our theatricals, where our rude efforts must have disturbed the ashes of Garrick and Shakspeare in their long repose.
I am thus reminded of the great and constantly increas- ing progress in all of the educational interests of this country,-our Normal, Naval and Agricultural schools, and various other institutions of learning which now exist and have been mainly introduced since our school days, but to the consideration of which, time and occasion are both opposed.
I turn again, and meet the friendly look of the success- ful business man, our most studious schoolmate, who has probably bought and sold more lumber than has grown in this town since the sound of the axe first echoed through its forests, and by whom I am reminded of the time when, by the authority of the certificate of Rev. James D. Farns- worth and others, the baton of the teacher first passed into
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my hand; and also of our grand old Mt. Cube, and the winds that roar upon its summit and whistle around its base ; of Capt. Aaron Mann and his wonderful wind stories. I will venture one of them as 'twas told to me. Having occasion to board a new barn, and the boards being rather green, he tacked them on, as was customary, for shrinking, before the final fastening, and retired to his bed, always sweet to the laboring man. During the night there arose, or rather descended one of those mountain winds, and on viewing his barn in the morning, he found the nails all driven " spang in to the head." I turn yet again and see one of our number who struck " fat" instead of " ile," and fancy myself taking a lesson in the " fife and drum business," and then comes the old " May training "-the old Floodwood company and its Capt. Newell, who, for- getting the word of command, asked his company " why in - they couldn't haw as they did in the morning !" And then of Capt. Stevens and the famous Court-martial of our old friend Nat. Palmer. It was generally conceded and even by Palmer himself, that he was very plain look- ing, and the Captain not having the pleasure of his acquain- tance, ordered him under arrest, and he was tried on the charge of " making up faces at the captain." Upon the trial he was requested to " make up as bad a face as he could," which he did, and was at once discharged on the ground that " he looked better than he did before."
I can hardly allow the occasion to pass without a word in memory of Nathaniel Palmer, one of Orford's brightest sons. He spent his obscure boyhood beneath the shades of Dorchester Mountain, but acquiring more than an ordi- nary education, he soon became the successful teacher, the fluent speaker, the profound law student, the humor- ous, witty, faithful and true friend and companion. He was attacked by the insidious disease of consumption, and ere his prime of usefulness was reached-passed away.
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Of the century, the closing boundary of which we meet this day to define and commemorate, but few of us have seen more than the latter half, none of us probably, the whole, the oldest person present, Capt. Gage, being ninety- one years old. But still we have already declined " in the down-hill of life" so as to be able to speak of and wonder at the changes wrought even in our day, in almost every department of enterprise and society.
Since we have lived, Daniel Webster has passed through his prime, astonishing the world with his. intel- lectual powers. Henry Clay, the large-hearted advocate of the American Republic, and the eloquent champion of Grecian Independence, has spoken, and half the world stood still to listen. Edward Everett, the consummate flower of classic eloquence, the great American scholar of modern times, has come and gone. Rufus Choate, too, has risen like the flashing meteor upon the world, and, culminating in dazzling brightness to the utmost reach of oratorical splendor, has gone " up higher." Since John Mann and Jonathan Sawyer first wielded their axes in this town, the war of the Revolution has been fought, and the right of our people to govern themselves fully maintained. Warren, Prescott, and scores of others, noble souls, have fought and bled and died. The war of 1812 has con- firmed that right. The Shay's and the Dorr rebellions are only remembered for their insignificance. The war with Mexico, too, with all its wrongs, has become a part of our history during this period, and last and greatest of all, the most unwarrantable rebellion of 1861, and where is the pen to do justice its history.
" A hundred years, and who have lived and died In all thy borders in that round of years ? The rude forefathers : men all true and tried, From earth have passed. 'Mid doubts and fears, The learned and honored, gray as holy seers, Have gone their way,-their venerable forms,
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Amid a thousand fancies live as yet, And must forever live."
But, Mr. President, I must hasten to a close.
" Our memorial song is ended, our memorial day soon done, Soon amid the falling shadows we and it must journey on, On the troubled sea before us, all our hopes and all our fears, We again go down to venture for another hundred years.
Farewell mountain, hills and waters, like the vapors ye must fade,
We shall come again-one morning, when all history is made, We shall see the roll of honor, 'tis for crowns and kingdoms won,
When the Lord of all the Centuries tells His little ones 'well done.' "
The President then read the sentiment which follows :
" Orford, our dear old home ; while all things else change her hills and her mountains remain the same, and our eyes are this day delighted with the beauty and grandeur of her natural scenery as our fathers were one hundred years ago."
Rev. B. M. Tillotson, of Manchester, being called upon, after some playful remarks about entering into competi- tion with knives and forks and dishes, most eloquently responded as follows :
MR. PRESIDENT : I am happy to be present here to-day, and on this occasion. I am thrice happy to meet so many of the native born of this good old town. There is a sort of fellow feeling existing among those born in contiguous neighborhoods, and a strong tie of sympathy springing from identity of local origin, made stronger by all the forces of early associations. These ties and associations conspire to bind together this vast assembly to-day. The cords of mutual sympathy that make us one here to-day, run back to our childhood, and are stronger than " hooks of steel." We feel the bond of union. We acknowledge its potency over the soul.
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