History of Carroll County, New Hampshire, Part 15

Author: Merrill, Georgia Drew
Publication date: 1889
Publisher: Boston : W.A. Fergusson & Co.
Number of Pages: 1124

USA > New Hampshire > Carroll County > History of Carroll County, New Hampshire > Part 15

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The pre-glacial outlets of the lake-basin were two: one along the present course of the Winnipiseogee river, and one from Alton bay southeast toward Cocheco river. Both of them are partially filled with till, or modified drift ; yet it is certain that if these were fully removed, a large portion of the lake would remain, bordered by roek on all its sides.

The beauty of Winnipiseogee lake is owing to its multitude of irregularly grouped islands, to the three long bays or arms into which its north end is divided, and to the winding outlines of its shores. The watershed which bounds its basin reaches no point more than seven miles distant from the lake. It passes over Belknap, Copple Crown, and Ossipee mountains and Red hill, which rise from 1,500 to 1,900 feet above the lake; but its other highest points are hills of half this height, or less, which descend steeply to the west and south shores, but have more gentle slopes on the east and north. Somewhat farther distant, at the north, the view from Winnipiseogee embraces Chocorua, Paugus, Passaconaway, Whiteface, and Sandwich Dome, which form the southern front of the White Mountains; and from many parts Mt Wash- ington is also visible. To know this scenery fully, the lake must also be seen from the mountains and hills by which it is environed. The most magnificent of these views is that from Red hill, which overlooks both Winnipiseogee and Squam lakes.

The scenery on the shores of this lake has been celebrated in song and afforded rich material for the artist. The lake itself more than realizes Walter Scott's enthusiastic description of Loch Katrine. Its broad expanse of blue and limpid waters, dotted with fertile islands, is environed with a belt of luxuriant soil; its far-stretching arms diversify with mimic promontory, creek, and bay, the country upon its borders ; on the right are the Ossipee mountains with their wood-crowned summits; to the left rise the twin domes of the Belknap peaks, and in front looms high the imposing Sandwich range ; these all combine to give splendor and grandeur to the view. When the green fields around this lake were the homes of savage tribes, when the Indian's canoe sprung unmolested over its bosom, and the smoke of his camping-fires curled above its beautful islands, his untutored imagination might readily have looked upon this scene as the chosen residence of the " Great Spirit of Peace."

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When one for the first time sails on Winnipiseogee's beautiful waters, these words of Buchanan Read's poem come involuntarily to mind : -

My soul to-day Is far away, Sailing the Vesuvian Bay ; My winged boat, A bird afloat, Swims round the purple peaks remote; -

Round purple peaks

It sails, and seeks Blue inlets and their erystal creeks,

Where high rocks throw,

Through deeps below,

A duplicated golden glow.

I heed not, if My rippling skiff Floats swift or slow from cliff' to elifl'; - With dreamful eyes My spirit lies Under the walls of Paradise.

But there is no need to describe, or rather, attempt to describe, the fairy- like scenery of this most popular resort. The pens of the most gifted of European and American visitants have written of it in most mellifluous poesy and vivid and speaking prose, while artists have used their pencils and brushes and brightest colorings to portray its kaleidoscopic loveliness. But all in vain ! No word of printed page or written scroll, no sketch-book or square of canvas, ever held its witching. soft, immeasurable beauty. Far beyond the Bay of Naples, the lakes of Switzerland and Scotland, or the wondrous witcheries of far Cathay, does its almost supernatural beauty touch the heart of its beholder. A new existence belongs to that favored being. As panorama after panorama of ever-changing, ever-shifting combinations of mountain, water, and sunlight glide by, the gates of the "spirit-land" seem to have rolled one side, and allowed its loveliness to escape - more rich, more rare, more celestial with each new combination. What wonder that even the wild, barbaric hearts of the savages were awestruck at its entrancing tenderness, which called up all the better elements in their nature, and in whispered accents called it " the smile of the Great Spirit "?

Squam Lake. - " The most beautiful lake in New England." Its name in the Algonquin language was Wonne-as-squam-auke, " the beautiful-surrounded by water-place," according to some authorities ; according to Judge C. E. Pot- ter, Kees-ee-hunk-nip-ee, "the goose-lake of the highlands," contracted into Kusumpy by the English. Captain John Lovewell, in his journal under date February 10, 1724, says, "We travelled 16 miles & camped at the north side of

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Cusumpe pond." Captain Samuel Willard says, "1725, Saturday, September 25. ... Followed ye Indians, and a little before we come to Cusumpy pond we found where they broke one Canoe & coming to ye pond could follow them noe further." Jeffrey's map, 1755, says " Kusumpe ; " Blanchard's map, 1761, and Holland's map, 1784, " Cusumpy Pond ; " the latter adds, however, " Squam Lake." Belknap's map, 1791, and Carrigain's map, 1816, call it "Squam." Farmer and Moore's " N. H. Gazetteer," 1823, calls it "Sullivan or Squam lake." Among the many poetic inspirations caused by this lovely sheet none breathe its restful quiet in a higher degree than this gem written by Judge D. H. Ilill.

SQUAM LAKE.

A PEACEFUL lake, by frowning woods o'erhung, Sleeps like bright waters among Alpine hills : No voice is heard, nor lisp of human tongue, Nor sound, save gentle moan of purling rills ; "Tis far away, beyond the purple mountains, Beyond the sunset clouds of golden hue; Far in the west among the crystal fountains That gush from earth to smile 'neath skies of blue.

When sinks the sun o'er wooded hills to rest, While golden radiance of the burning west Fades o'er the billows with the fading day ; When midnight lamps o'er moon-bright waters play, And crimson clouds, tinted with fiery hue, Look from the waveless depths to depths of blue; When myriad stars burn in the silent lake, While flashing waters round dark islands break ; When gleaming wavelets at the set of sun Bask in his glories when his course is run ; - As breaks the sweet, wild vision on the eye, We dream we roam in elassie Italy.

Squaw Core, on Squam lake, derives its name from a block of granite on one of its ledges that had the appearance of the figure of a woman. This block was removed some years since. The Indians invariably had a legend for everything that differed from ordinary nature, and of this block of granite they had this tradition.

Many years ago, when the red man was lord of this soil, Wannega, an old chieftain, lived on the shore of this eove. The squaw of his early youth had long ago gone to the beautiful land beyond ; as time passed, he became lonely, and longed to have his wigwam once more made cheery by the pleasant voiee of woman, and that woman he had seen and loved. The Princess Suneta, it was: she was young, beautiful, and graceful as the deer which ran over the hills, and, withal, possessed a skill in housewifery surpassing the maidens in all

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the region. Her home was across the lake, and her father the proud sachem of an allied tribe. Suneta and Anonis, a young warrior, loved each other, but her father's will was law ; he favored his friend and ally, Waunega.

So the marriage feast was made ready, and after the dusky women and brave warriors had danced and feasted, Waunega and his bride, the beautiful but sad-hearted Suneta, rowed over the lake to her future home. But Anonis was not at the banquet ; the youth's heart was heavy with grief because Sun- eta was taken from him. That night there was a fearful storm. Waunega slept the sleep of old age, while the sorrowful Suneta lay sleepless, moaning over her fate and the loss of her lover ; suddenly a hand touched her face; a low, well-known voice whispered, "Come, the night is dark and stormy ; my canoe is on the lake. My beloved, I cannot live without you ; you are mine. Death awaits me to-night if I bear not my Suneta away in my arms." " Anonis, my heart is yours, and for you only can I sweep the hearth, and welcome thy homecoming with the trophies of the hunt, and sing my sweetest songs. Without thee, I cannot live. But listen to the storm! The Great Spirit is angry even now, and will punish me." "Thou art mine, and I love you," answered Anonis. "Come to the strong arms, Suneta, which will ever protect you from all wrath."

In the darkness the lovers fled to the shore, but the old chieftain, awakened by the noise of the storm, missed his bride, and seizing his strong bow and quiver, hastened out in search of Suneta. The storm grew wilder, the thunder rolled, the lightning flashes became more vivid, and Waunega perceived the two lovers entering the canoe, and immediately discharged an arrow, when, with a loud ery, Anonis sank in the raging waves. Suneta reached a ledge, and looked up as if imploring the Great Spirit. But Waunega cried, " May the lightning blast her ! Let the Manitou make of her an example to coming time !" His words were answered. Even as he spoke, there came a flash and a peal of thunder that made the mountains totter and the rocks tremble. Astounded at the effect of his words, Waunega plunged into the seething waters, and the proud old chieftain was seen no more at the council fires of his tribe.

The morning sun never shone on a fairer day than the morrow, but what a change ! On the rock where Suneta had clung had appeared the huge block of granite which gave the name to the cove.

Sandwich Notch. -

"'Through Sandwich Notch the west wind sang Good-morrow to the cotter."

This pass is 1,417 feet above the sea; there is a high, rugged road running through it from Sandwich to the Mad River valley, a distance of about ten miles. The best time for a drive through this notch is in the late autumn,

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when between the trees, bare of foliage, can be seen the rough rocks and wild chasms that seem to be fit hiding-places for fierce wolves, bears, and catamounts, and one momentarily expects to see one of these savage creatures leaping from his lair in pursuit of food for his insatiate appetite. But in this wild defile there is also a luxuriance of beauty rarely seen. In the rockiest part of this rugged pass, huge bowlders stand like impregnable fortresses to guard the way, with their tops covered with exquisite rock-ferns to such a depth and in such profusion and abundance that one is almost tempted to stop and spend the night on such a beautiful couch, with only the canopy of heaven above, were it not that the yawning rocks on either side are but too suggestive of what may be concealed in their deep gaps.

CHOCORUA is well calculated for legendary attachments. One says that the chief whose name this lonely mountain bears, for some unknown crime, was banished to this region, and limited to a narrow strip of land extending from the Bear Camp across the mountain on to the Saco, death being the penalty of his leaving it without permission. Another tells us that he was an Indian chieftain of the Ossipees, who loved too well his native wilds to retreat with the most of his tribe to Canada after the famous Lovewell fight, and with a few followers sought the fastnesses of the almost impenetrable wilderness around this mountain, which he held as a place of observation. Here rangers, desirous of gaining the blood-money offered by Massachusetts for Indian scalps, attacked them, killing all but the chief, who retreated to the top of the mountain, where he vainly pleaded his personal friendliness to the whites, and offered himself a prisoner. His pursuer was unmoved, the bounty was too tempting. Chocorua then, raising himself to his full height, called on the Great Manitou to curse the land in its occupancy by the whites, and leaped from the dizzy height to the plain below.

The cattle of the settlers who came to the north side of the mountain for years died strangely and mysteriously, and Chocorua's curse was kept in mind as the cause thereof, until modern science found an excess of muriate of lime in the water of the valley, and saved further deaths by giving the afflicted animals soapsuds as a drink.

Another story says that he was killed by a brother of two rangers who fell in Lovewell's defeat, as an act of personal vengeance. Still another, that of Lydia Maria Child, places his existence at a later period, and that he met his fate at the hands of an early settler, Cornelius Campbell, whose family he had murdered as the supposed assassins of his son. Another one still says that Chocorua went to Canada with most of the Ossipee and Pequawket Indians after the Lovewell fight, and returned in 1761 to seek revenge, and was shot on the mountain.

The following poetic version, from the talented pen of a lifelong resident of Carroll, is of such a high standard of merit as to show that constant familiarity

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with the glorious scenery of the mountains does not stultify the imagination, nor render their beauties and grandeur commonplace.

CHOCORUA.

BY JUDGE DAVID H. HILL.

From the northerly confines of Carroll county, stretching toward Bethlehem from the lake region of New Hampshire into the dark bosom of the untraveled wilderness, is the mysterious mountain-land, shut in by everlasting barriers. There many hundred mountain summits rise into the cold, solemn spaces of heaven, in a solitude as ancient as the memory of man. Seldom has the human voice been heard there, and only

"Pale echo sits upon the voiceless mountains."

The southerly chain of this system is the Sandwich range, commencing westerly with the Sandwich Dome, and extending to Chocorua as the great easterly terminal. Of all the mountains of the range, this is the most famous. It stands far eastward from the other high peaks, weird and ghostly and grim in its solemn loneliness, as if defiant in its isolation ; as if, in some long-forgotten age, it had been cast out from the brotherhood of mountains. Some time the lightnings that have played round its brow have blasted its forest trees, or fires kindled by human hands have gnawed like "eternal hunger " on its sides, and many hundred feet of the high mountain walls have been laid bare; only a vast tower of bald, gray granite rises into the grim solitude of the north. Here, according to tradition, was the Indian prophet's home, here was his "holy of holies," and here was the scene of his tragic death.

The following poem was written for the "Poets of the Granite State," at the request of Bela Chapin : -

Sing me a song, a pleasing song, of the wild granite hills ; Some weird old legend of the north, whose mystic romance thrills Both heart and brain, at thought of deeds that long ago had birth Among those ancient hills that stand like giant kings of earth.

Sing of the buried treasures in the eastern desert caves ; "The wild bird's mournful burden, as he screams o'er Indian waves ; The notes of desolation chant, heard in the desert land, Where in a gloomy silence still the moldering temples stand.

'Tis thine to trace the shadowy realms where holiest truths are wrought, And summon wild imaginings from the free world of thought; "I' is thine to trace the welcome light, bursting through desert gloom, And hear the singing angels chant, 'mid silence of the tomb ; -

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By outspread tranquil waters, 'neath the summer skies that sleep, In the lone glens and solemn groves, where whispering breezes creep, Deep in the ancient forest dark, 'mid awful forms and wild, Where Nature in a thousand shapes speaks to her chosen child ; -

Where far o'er mighty ocean's waste the traveler can descry Dark ineense from the burning hills curl upward to the sky ; Where war hounds and the vulture trace the conquering army's tread, And ghostly catacombs appear, homes of the ancient dead.

Where'er the dews of genius fall, go to that pleasant clime, And mark the footprints - listen to the voices of old Time, And sing of the imperial hills; thy romance summon forth, And sing some mystie song of old, some legend of the north.

Along the margins of the lakes, Among the northern hills that sleep, The wild bird's music scarcely breaks The silence that the waters keep, And twilight shadows gently creep Along the wild indented shore ; And over all the watery floor A mirrored surface softly shines : In its calm depth, the silent pines And the grim mountains seem to stand Like giant watchers o'er the land.

Scarcely two centuries are gone, Sinee o'er that pleasant mountain-land, Where wild Chocorua's tower of stone Seems like an ancient king to stand ; The warriors of another race Like shadows roamed o'er lake and hill ; And now, as ancient legend says, Their conscious spirits roam there still, Guarding the lonely burial-place Where sleep the warriors of their race.

"Tis said that ancient legends show In the old ages long ago, During Charles Stuart's reign of blood, From seaside town oft wandered forth ('Mong the dark forests of the north, Far in New Hampshire's deepest wood, Where rocky hills their vigils keep, And lakes round frowning mountains sleep) Proud spirits of bold Cromwell's band, Who left their homes and native land To seek some wilder, lonelier home Where Stuart's power might never come.

By Burton's lake, whose waters lie In tranquil sleep, where cloud and sky And mount, and fiery sunset-gleam,

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In depth of waveless waters, seem Like visions wild in fleeting dream, Lived in that old historie day The prophet chief, Chocorua.

Declining day's last sunlight fell O'er that wild region of the north; Westward, deep gorge and mighty dell,

Whence mountain rivers issue forth, In the increasing darkness slept. The panther started from his lair ; The wolf from out his cavern crept; 'Mong tangled hemlocks lay the bear, Gorging himself in darkness there.

On such an eve Chocorua stood On that lone height, "The Prophet's Home; " Beneath him lay the unbounded wood,

Deep gorge, where tumbling torrents foam. Towering aloft great Minden 1 rose, The dark-browed monarch of the west, Stately and grand, in stern repose Lifting to heaven his wooded crest.

On this wild scene the prophet gazed While daylight deepened into night ; When, on the Indian's vision, blazed, Beside the eastern lake, a light ; A single camp-fire shone afar Through the dark pines like evening's star,

Lighting the sacred burial-place Where slept the heroes of his race.

He knew it was no meteor lamp, As ofttimes flashes on the eye Amid the exhalations damp Where the low, misty moorlands lie ; Strangers e'en now from eastern waves Were feasting by his fathers' graves, Who came from regions far away, To roam o'er sacred lands at will, By mountain, forest, lake, and hill, Nor recked where sleeping warriors lay.

'T was after that historic day (When tidings o'er the sea were blown That Cromwell's power was passed away, And Stuart sat on England's throne) That thronging o'er the Atlantic tide Came fugitive and regicide From Albion's fairy isle, in quest Of safety in the distant west.

But messengers of kingly wrath, In sunless forests far away,

1 Passaconaway.

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Traeed through dark woods the wanderer's path, Where streams down lonesome valleys play ; Ilunted through gloomy waste and wild, Driven through noisome fens to roam With Nature and her savage child, The hunted outcast found his home; In lonely vales his camp-fires burned, Then to remoter wilds he turned, To granite mountains, white and cold,

Where ancient Indian legends told Once dwelt the Prophet-Kings of old.

Leader of that Cromwellian band, Cornelius Campbell led them forth Over the vast, untrodden land, O'er mountain, vale, and barren sand, Back to the cold, enchanted north, Where Burton's ancient mountains rise, Where her pure, azure lakelet lies, And weird Chocorua meets the skies.

O'er river, plain, and forest wide,

With that bold leader came his bride ;

She came, capricious Nature's child, A priestess, to that desert wild ; As watch-fires on some lonely height Light the dark woods like sunset's smile, As star on " Ethiop's brow of night " Gilds the dark waters of the Nile, So that young fairy of the woods Gladdened those savage solitudes.

"I' was on November's waning day, The sun in southern skies hung low, Pale light on dying woodlands lay, That northward stretched for leagues away, To glittering hills in wastes of snow.

By Burton's lake " the prophet stood," While evening shadows gently fell O'er fading lake and darkening wood ; When from a gloomy mountain dell Came the fierce panther's savage yell ; That strange, wild, piercing, awful cry Rose upward to the vaulted sky, Fearful as nearing thunder's jar, Then died in mountain glens afar.

Nearer, again, that awful ery Froze the quick blood with eurdling chills; An hundred echoes made reply, Pealing along the northern hills.

From out the dusk a stranger came ; The monster met him in his path With quivering limb and eyes of flame, Writhing in wild, terriflie wrath.

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With upraised arın the stranger spoke In flash of fire and wreath of smoke; He spoke as the Great Spirit speaks In clouds beyond the mountain peaks, When jagged, arrowy lightnings fly Through dark pavilions of the sky, And shuddering mountains make reply.

Soon ebbed the monster's life away, And dead at Campbell's feet he lay. Amazed the prophet stood, and saw The thrilling scene with solemn awe. And oft, in mountain solitudes, Wandering beneath the midnight sky, Met these stern tenants of the woods As uneventful years rolled by.

But sorrow, anger, wrath, and gloom Were " greeding in the days to come ; " When from his kindred, friends, and home The prophet turned, alone to roam O'er howling wastes, and wandered forth Deep in the desolate, wild north, To visit tribes, remoter far, In realms beneath the northern star.

His son, the child of many a prayer, His twilight star, his people's pride, (Trusted to ( 'ampbell's guardian care) Like a frail floweret drooped and died.

With ancient kings his grave was made, And in the sombre hemlock shade, To dreamless sleep the boy was laid. From mound where ancient sagamore Sleeps on the lonely, peaceful shore, A midnight wail rose to the sky ; Only bleak nature made reply ; Its burden all the forest stirred ; Such bitter, grieving, anguished cry As once from mourning Rama heard.

As one whose farewell glance is cast To graves where sleep the kindred dead, Turning from tender memories past And saered joys, forever fled, Invokes the God of heaven and earth To give some new creation birth, Some consecration, that may rise From the crushed heart that bleeding lies,

So, from that lowly, sacred tomb, The prophet turned back to the gloom And cold, strange mystery of night. The heavens, in starry silence bright, " Over the empty spaces " hung ;

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Nor breath of heaven. nor human tongue, Nor aught the solemn silence stirred, Save midnight wail of forest bird, Or lordly river, gliding słow Through ancient woods with peaceful flow.

No passion darker or more fell, Within the human breast e'er burned ; Nor lit with blacker fires of hell, Than in that breast for vengeance yearned, As, in his wild, bewildered brain, Gradual the awful thought had birth,

" By Campbell's hand his boy was slain : Ilis raee was strieken from the earth." "l' was midnight's hour of holy rest ; He saw the stars sink down the sky Beyond the mountains of the west, And cold, bright meteors gliding by, And ghostly mountains towering high.

The glorious pageant of the hour Gave his mad brain intenser power.

Where Burton's ghostly mountain throws His gloomy shade at day's calm elose, A streamlet plays, with gentle moan,

Down from Chocorua's heart of stone; And weird shapes, with avenging frown,

From dizzy mountain heights look down ;

And where that gentle streamlet plays,

Among those rocky solitudes, 'Mid sylvan scenes, in other days, Cornelius Campbell's cottage stood.

His bride, the beautiful and young, (Like some rich gem of purest ray,

Idly by jeweled fingers flung To gloomy ocean depths away), Was the bright star, the constant light,

That beamed on that wild desert land ; None walked the earth in purer white ; None wielded power with gentler hand.

O'er his rude empire of the north Cornelius Campbell wandered forth. At eye of that eventful day, His wife and child all ghastly lay In the long, dread, appalling, deep Silence of the eternal sleep! He knew the fierce avenger's brand ; He knew what dread destroyer's hand Hlad placed Death's seal on Beauty's brow; Only grim vengeance nerved him now.

Saw ye Chocorua's cold, gray height Radiant in gold at set of sun?

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History of Carroll County, New Hampshire, Part 15

Author: Merrill, Georgia Drew Publication date: 1889 Publisher: Boston : W.A. Fergusson & Co. Number of Pages: 1124

Author: Merrill, Georgia Drew
Publication date: 1889
Publisher: Boston : W.A. Fergusson & Co.
Number of Pages: 1124