USA > New Hampshire > Hillsborough County > Manchester > Manchester on the Merrimack, the story of a city > Part 2
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Or again, one may stand on the new Amos- keag Bridge at the falls, and closing his senses to the proofs of modern progress literally be- neath his very feet, reconstruct a picture of
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that long-ago past when the proud Pennacooks held sway, and all along the river banks were their clearings and their cultivated fields. For the pursuits of this tribe included more than fishing and warfare. It embraced a rude form of agriculture, especially corn production. An Indian village of that day, occupying three or four acres, was a picturesque bit of scenery. The wigwams pitched closely together and ar- ranged around a center left open for the per- formance of village games and ceremonies, were constructed of saplings set firmly in the ground, bent together, fastened at the top, and covered with bark or mats. It would seem that they could have afforded only a very inadequate degree of protection against the bitter New England winters, but they were snug and dry. Furthermore, constantly-blazing fires were alight in the center of each hut, which was provided with a hole in the roof to permit the passage of smoke. These wigwams were fur- nished with low, raised bunks, covered with skins or boughs, and around the walls were the woven baskets used to hold corn, the stone household utensils and the bark pails, all standard equipment for the dark-skinned housewife who doubtless moved among them with a pride similar to that of her twentieth- century sister in her all-electric kitchen.
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War-Whoops and Wigwams
The typical Indian brave did not condescend to any share in domestic duties. Warfare was his proud profession, and except when engaged in fighting or in the subsidiary business of hunt- ing or fishing, he spent most of his time in in- dolent ease, gorging himself with food if it chanced to be plentiful, and amusing himself in field sports or in gambling games, for which he used rushes or brightly-painted pebbles. All the drudgery, except that involved in the culti- vation of tobacco, was left to the women, who tilled and cured and cooked and wove, grow- ing old before their time with the hardships of their living. One may picture them, deprived of all feminine grace beyond their brief girl- hood, squat, clumsy and unlovely, toiling at their crude farming or bent like Shakespeare's witches over the steaming caldrons of their famous stews, concoctions of every available kind of flesh, fish and vegetable, boiled together and thickened with powdered nuts. The imagined flavor and consistency fails of appeal to the modern palate of a paleface, but two other favorite Indian dishes were adopted by white settlers and appear in modified versions on our tables today: corn mush or samp, and succotash.
The respect of the Indian for nature was in- stinctive, wondering and unlimited. He had
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no wish to meddle with its varied manifesta- tions but chose rather to adapt himself to con- ditions as he found them. This attitude would seem to be the very foundation of his religious belief. Everything had its spirit, the deep woods, the waterfall, fire, cold, the tempest. And this spirit must be treated with due con- sideration. Then, too, the gods of the average Indian were not moral preceptors, but rather dispensers of good or evil fortune, and he was at pains to regard and appease those that could inflict ill upon him. Believing thus, the red man was not a ready convert to Christianity, and only with difficulty could he comprehend the essential elements of the white man's faith. Due to the zeal of white missionaries, however, there came to be a goodly number of "praying Indians"; and even before their conversion they did, in a vague fashion, pay tribute to one Supreme Being, "Kichtou Manitou", offering thanks to him for plenty, for victory in battle, and for various benefits. John Eliot was the outstanding and highly successful missionary to the Indians in New England. Tradition has it that he came by invitation of Passaconaway, the great chief, and preached a sermon at Amos- keag Falls, but unfortunately the story cannot be verified.
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War-Whoops and Wigwams
Passaconaway, whose name signified "Child of the Bear", was the sachem and the hero of the Pennacook Indians. For many years, in peace and in war, he led the tribe, and well did he deserve the prominence and the authority accorded to him. For he possessed a rare com- bination of qualities: valor and ability as a warrior and vision and wisdom as a statesman. It appears also that he was not averse to work- ing on the credulity of his people by perform- ing supernatural wonders. It was reported that he could restore fresh green color to a dry leaf, that he could handle the deadly rattlesnake without harm, that he could cause water to burn and then transform it to ice. The day of the circus juggler was on the far-off wave of the future, but it may be that Passaconaway was a herald.
It is not as a panderer to superstition that he is remembered, however, but as the wise leader who preferred peace to war and who sought to preserve friendly relations with the white men who, he seemed to recognize, would in- evitably conquer and perhaps replace his peo- ple. During the warm summer seasons, Passa- conaway occupied Sewall's Island, just above the present city of Concord, but his year-round residence was on the bluff to the east of the Amoskeag Falls, on the site of the home of the
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late ex-governor Smyth, familiarly known as "The Willows". It is a location well suited for royal residence, commanding as it does a view up and down the Merrimack and off toward the Uncanoonucs in the west. At some period in his life, Passaconaway accepted the Christian religion, and one may wonder if, following the beautifully-expressed words of the psalmist, he also drew comfort and inspiration by lifting up his eyes to these very hills that still stand for us today as symbols of things imperishable.
There is a story concerning the final days and the passing of this grand old chief of the Pennacooks, a story that may be legendary in detail, but nevertheless is well worthy of preser- vation both for its beauty and its spiritual over- tones. We are told that when he was very old and worn with the heavy cares of his position, he determined to give over his high place to his son, Wonalancet, and that with this thought in mind he called together the warriors and chiefs of the confederacy and delivered to them a parting speech. The meeting place was some- where in the vicinity of the falls, and we may be sure there was drama in that farewell, spoken with the roar of the falling waters in the back- ground.
After reviewing the achievements of his long years of leadership, he went on without bitter-
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ness or rancor to speak of the coming of the pale-faces. "Like the budding leaves of spring," he said, "they come in great numbers." And they would continue to come, he warned, as he closed his speech with a plea for peace. "Tell your people peace, peace is the only hope of your race," he repeated with all the fervor of his conviction and the sureness of his vision. He lived on, though inactive, a short while after this. Then, the story tells us, he went one day to Massabesic Lake, pushed quietly away from its western shore in his canoe, and glided silently along toward Loon Island, a place of poignant memories for him, since it had witnessed many an important pact in the days of his glory and power. Suddenly the placid sky was overcast with an enveloping black cloud, and in the cloud the old sachem knew was the presence of the Great Spirit, that invisible presence whose voice he had heard so often and whose leadings he had followed through long years. He rose in his canoe and lifted his arms toward the vision. Darkness spread over the landscape, darkness like that of night, and the usually quiet waters of Massabesic rose and fell in great waves. The air seemed filled with mystery and strangeness -but only briefly. In a few moments the cloud and the storm had passed, and with them had
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gone the old chieftain of the tribe of the Penna- cooks.
Look out toward Loon Island in Massabesic Lake some day, and you may catch a glimpse of an encircling rainbow, like the one that fol- lowed Passaconaway's journey to the Happy Hunting Grounds. And perhaps too, sounding above the clamor of today, you may hear an echo of his final message to a people, bewildered as we are bewildered, with confused doubts concerning an unknown future: "Peace- peace is the only hope of your race."
ARCHIBALD STARK'S FORT (NUTT'S POND)
Surveys and Settlements
Following the course of events in the period bracketed for convenience by the dates 1689 and 1725, we observe a gradual blurring of the colorful pageantry of Indian occupancy in the Merrimack Valley .* Twilight tints make vague the pictures of bark canoes gliding up and down the river, of smouldering watch-fires on its banks, of swarthy warriors padding through its adjacent woodlands. The stage is being set for the white man to become chief actor in the drama of history. Civilization is catching up
1689-Date of the Cocheco incident. 1725-Date of "Lovewell's War".
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with the Merrimack. And what about the Indian, during this transition period? How did he fare in this shifting about of territory and of privilege in which he in his childlike ig- norance played the part of a "minority group"?
Dr. Cyrus A. Wallace had something to say about this question, and he said it with force and eloquence in the course of a historical ad- dress delivered in 1851. He hammered home the fact that there had been pathos in the pass- ing of the red men, pathos and more than a suggestion of injustice in the ruthless methods of their successors. He said, "It is sad to see a mighty people pass away, even though a na- tion more mighty may take their place. And a deeper sadness comes over us from the convic- tion that this was a much injured race, and though themselves guilty of cruelty, yet ex- periencing cruelty perhaps still greater from those who became possessors of the soil."
No one would presume to dispute the funda- mental truth and justice of those words of "Father Wallace", spoken nearly a hundred years ago concerning events even then long past. They have the ring of a warning and a challenge, calling us to furnish proof that beyond a doubt our civilization is worthy of permanence and preservation. We are the "nation more mighty" that came and without a by-your-
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Surveys and Settlements
leave dispossessed "the savage". And yet, in the face of today's threatening and menacing disorder, and in the weird light still cast by two great wars within a generation-where is our boast?
The beginnings of paleface domination here- abouts were accompanied by confusion, and the foundations of our city were laid among difficulties. The early days were full of the futile controversies, the human errors and stupidities that always seem to put brakes on man's pro- gress. History underscores the fact that man never slides forward: he has to climb, he has to dig his way. Perhaps it is because of this recurrent call for sturdiness of mind, body and soul that mankind may hope to emerge one day as a truly superior race. The record of these years is a bewildering story of grants and coun- ter-grants, geographical misconceptions and faulty surveys, combines and separations. And when finally we read of the granting of the town charter of Derryfield in 1751, we feel like a spent traveler glimpsing daylight after a night pilgrimage through a tangled forest. It is dif- ficult to obtain a thoroughly clear and authen- tic picture of those years. We can, however, get a bird's-eye view, and rest assured that it is highlighted by truth, even though there may be conflicting theories about the details.
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Manchester on the Merrimack
It is well to bear in mind that nearly all the permanent settlements in New Hampshire were preceded by quasi-settlements, and that the Merrimack valley of the transition period was peopled by nomadic wanderers roaming about in search of a place to fish, to hunt, to set their traps. A few, perhaps, were genuinely eager for home-sites, but it is probable that the majority were motivated by the spirit of ad- venture or of greed. One writer even uses the term desperadoes in referring to them. The wilderness was traversed by four well-defined trails leading from coastal points to the St. Law- rence country, and these main routes were con- nected by cross-country paths, one of which at least led to Amoskeag falls. Lines of traps ran between depots of supplies, and rough log cabins sprang up here and there to provide storage for furs. It was a hazardous existence they lived, these early white men of this tur- bulent time, and even though we may deplore the greed and the lack of ethics that character- ized some of their transactions both with the Indians and among themselves, yet we may well salute them for the fortitude with which they met and conquered almost incredible obstacles.
And who were these frontiersmen who blazed the trail and paved the way for the fu- ture city around Amoskeag? And whence did
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Surveys and Settlements
they come? They were recruited from various sources. Some may have been sent out by the French companies in Canada. Others pushed their way up from Massachusetts, or across country from points east-Dover and Ports- mouth. Seen through the haze of distance they furnish a picturesque page of history, beating their way through the wilderness, weighed down with their equipment-musket, hunt- ing knife, powder horn and axe, with possibly a frying pan and a blanket for luxury. They had neither guide nor compass, they lived with danger and privation for daily companions and camped with only the most primitive shelter wherever night overtook them. These were the men who kept open the old Indian trails, who made note of mountains and lakes as landmarks, sometimes sketching rude maps on birch bark. They were the forerunners.
But in a day when settlements were springing up all over New England, it was not to be ex- pected that the Merrimack valley in the vicinity of Amoskeag falls, long famed for its fishing, would remain a backwoods and a happy hunting ground only for the roaming explorer. With the progress of the era of grants and pat- ents and colonizing companies, it was inevi- table that men should seek permanent homes in such a favorable locale. But their purposes
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Manchester on the Merrimack
were not accomplished without setbacks and difficulties.
In the first place, there was the geographical misconception by which the Merrimack river was believed to flow from west to east, as it does along the last few miles of its course. The Massachusetts Bay Colony charter of 1629 rested on this false idea, and indeed the inac- curacy led to serious misunderstandings and was a source of dispute for two or three hundred years. Hunters and rangers had known for a long time that the river made a sharp turn at Dracut, and eventually the authorities among the Massachusetts Bay people began to wake up to the fact and to send out scouting expeditions to get at the facts. In 1638 they dispatched a "committee to find out the most northerly part of the Merrimack River". It was this expedi- tion, or the one following the next year, that led, with very little doubt, to the first map of our river, drawn by one John Gardner, a youth from Salem. This map was found compara- tively recently among the old papers of Essex county, a carefully-drawn, quaintly-spelled document, plotting the course of the river from "Winipisocke Pond" down to its mouth. It is almost certain that the map was the work of young John Gardner, and that he was a mem- ber of the 1638 or 1639 party which fixed the
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northern boundary line at a big pine tree standing three miles north of the junction of the Winnipesaukee and the Pemigewasset rivers.
The expedition of which young Gardner was a member started out in the fall of the year, and it is interesting to picture the courageous little band of explorers blazing their northward trail at the season when New England air begins to sharpen and frosts are prophesying of bitter cold to come. Up through what is now Hook- sett, Pennacook, Concord, Franklin, they forged ahead through the unknown, toward the unknown, traversing a region beset with dan- gers, that knowledge might be served. Richly do they deserve the tribute of our admiration. Later, in 1652, another survey of the Merri- mack was undertaken by Captain Willard and Captain Johnson, and the historian Potter tells us that " a rock in the bed of the river at the outlet of the lake was established as the head of the Merrimack". Upon this rock was cut the inscription which, deciphered, reads: "Ed- ward Johnson, Simon Willard, Worshipful John Endicott, Governor." Thus we under- stand the origin of the famous Endicott Rock, preserved today and aptly marked by the figure of an Indian.
But misconceptions concerning the course of the Merrimack were not the only sources of
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Manchester on the Merrimack
confusion in the early days. Surveys were inac- curate, and grants to and by competing parties in some cases covered identical territory. Thus certain land around the highly desirable Amos- keag falls came to bear the name of "debatable ground". There were settlers from London- derry who based their claims on the ancient Wheelwright purchase of land from the Indians. There were ambitious men from Massachusetts. There were survivors of the famous Tyng expedition who had received grants as a re- ward for their hazardous sortie against the Indians, an incident of Queen Anne's War. Then too we must not forget the remnants of roving hunters, trappers and fishermen, some of whom probably in common with all these other claimants had hopes of establishing permanent homes around Amoskeag falls.
We may imagine the sense of impermanence, of insecurity, that accompanied these early set- tlements. It seems to have been a period of watchful waiting, with every man cocking a suspicious eye at his neighbor and looking for a chance to drive his own claims more firmly and his roots more deeply. A fact-finding visitor from Mars might have been dubious concerning the probability of any stable com- munity ever emerging from the prevailing con- fusion. In the general uncertainty about bound-
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Surveys and Settlements
ary lines, fences were far from being the uni- versal custom, and the distinctions between mine and thine must have been difficult to establish in many cases. One writer tells us that cattle and hogs careened about according to their own sweet will and it was not unusual for an owner to turn his cows out to pasture in Haverhill and discover them a few days later in Hooksett.
These "early settlement" days saw various names identifying the community that later was to become Manchester: Tyngstown, Old Har- rytown, Harrytown and Derryfield. It was in 1719 that Londonderry was settled by a group of Scotch-Irish people who for a time called their community Nutfield, because of the pro- fusion of chestnut trees in the vicinity. These Londonderry pioneers supposed that Amoskeag falls was included in their grant, but their sur- veys were inaccurate, and a strip of land be- tween Chester and the Merrimack, eight miles in length, from Hooksett to Litchfield, was ruled out. This tract bore the name of Harry- town. There was also another strip of land, lying between the river and the present-day Elm Street business district, that was called Old Harry's Town, so named because it was said that the soil was so poor Old Harry him- self wouldn't settle on it. It seems that in this
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Manchester on the Merrimack
case the term Old Harry did not refer to "the evil one", but was applied to a famous member of a group of "bad Indians" who were chased up the Merrimack Valley in an expedition that terminated where the city now stands. Whether or not Old Harry did shrug a slight- ing shoulder at the sandy soil his name per- sisted in connection with it.
Tradition has it that the first genuine home- builders in the future Manchester were John Goffe and his brothers-in-law, Edward Ling- field and Benjamin Kidder, who set up their respective establishments on Cohas Brook at Goffe's Falls. This was in 1722. Around the same period, John McNeil and John Riddell boldly settled on land near the falls, although they found that some Massachusetts people had already preceded them and taken possession of this ungranted land. Archibald Stark, father of the Revolutionary hero, was also one of the Londonderry residents to move his household to the vicinity. Whether or not this move had been for some time in his mind we do not know. But in 1736 his Londonderry home was destroyed by fire, and since he must move somewhere, why not to Amoskeag? He built the house now owned by the Molly Stark chapter of the Daughters of the American Revolution, and under this roof the youth
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Surveys and Settlements
John spent a part of his boyhood. In the Mammoth Road section, later to be known as the Center, there were William Gamble, John Hall and Michael McClintock. Gamble, Goffe, Hall, Kidder, Lingfield, McClintock, McNeil, Riddell, Stark, the brief list is a roll of honor. Quite aside from any later glory earned by their bearers, these names glow with a certain im- perishable luster. They belonged to the first permanent settlers in the community one day to be known as Manchester.
Now at the very same period when these hopeful Londonderryites were putting down roots around Amoskeag, other groups were laying elaborate plans for a settlement. All this was an aftermath of Captain Tyng's famous snowshoe expedition which had set out from Groton, Massachusetts, during the winter of 1703 for the purpose of dealing a blow to the Indians up north who were harassing the whites in that section. It is said that six Indians were killed, as a result of this punitive raid, and that several of their winter villages were cleared of the hostile tribes. The accomplishment would seem to have been of only mediocre value, but it was a custom of the times to grant territory as a reward for such services. So the survivors and the heirs of others who had lost their lives in the undertaking petitioned Governor
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Manchester on the Merrimack
Belcher for a grant of land situated on the Mer- rimack between Litchfield on the south and Suncook on the north.
Those in power granted the petition and the grantees held their first meeting in May, 1735, at the home of Jonas Clark, in Chelmsford, Massachusetts. Here they discussed the disposi- tion of the territory, comprising twenty-three thousand acres of land east of the Merrimack, extending back three miles. Here were the be- ginnings of Tyngstown. The first meeting within the limits of the township was in June, 1741, but even prior to this, detailed plans were outlined for what was hoped would be a thriving community. They were men of action, these Tyngstown founders, and they did not intend to allow grass to grow under their feet. At a Groton meeting they had voted to build a meeting house, and to raise one hundred and fifty dollars for the preach- ing of the gospel. They had also granted to Jonathan Perham a mill site and sixty acres of land at "Namoskeag Falls". There was the magic name and the enchanted ground on which Massachusetts had its eye. The mill site was presumably on the river bank just north of what is now Dean Street. But in the mean- time, in 1735 or 1736, Major Hildreth had built a sawmill a bit to the eastward of what
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1243837 Surveys and Settlements
was later known as the old Harvey Mill. This was the first mill of any description built within the limits of Manchester.
Reading of what the Tyngstown grantees were planning and doing, one may readily understand the apprehensions of the settlers already established around Amoskeag, and the appropriateness of the term "debatable ground" in describing the territory. "Debatable ground and disputing people" would presumably best describe the character of those years. But the beginning of the end of Tyngstown was set in motion when in 1740 twenty-six townships were cut off from Massachusetts, and this little settlement was among them. Possibly the sig- nificance of this severance may not have been apparent immediately, but in time the heirs of Captain Tyng's associates, feeling that their grant might be slipping through their fingers, took action in the Massachusetts courts. After a long and tedious fight, they were awarded another grant, this time in Maine, and here they hopefully founded another Tyngstown, pred- ecessor of the present town of Wilton, Maine. Thus did Tyngstown-on-the-Merrimack com- plete its brief cycle, and the memory of Captain Tyng's snowshoe expedition became part of the heritage of Maine as well as of New Hampshire and Massachusetts.
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