USA > New Hampshire > Coos County > Stark > Some recollections of the upper Ammonoosuc Valley > Part 3
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Already the writer is certaain that some readers he may have are struck with the frequency of names such as Cole, Potter, Pike, Emery and so forth, and particularly of Cole and Potter. Four Coles were among the original incorporators of the town. Mr. Rowell could remember when the town contained 80 men, women and children named Potter. The writer can remember
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seeing the election check-list at Girard's store with 16 male voters on it all named Cole.
Of all the families in the town of Stark, the Emerys are among the largest, if not the very largest, and the writer has left them until the last. This is because of a long and close association with many members of the clan and also because of the position of importance held in the lives of several gen- erations of campers by Jerry W. Emery, who became the fourth Superintendent of the Percy Summer Club in 1922. Between Alvah Cole and Jerry, a man named Francis L. Dins- more served for a brief interval. Jerry first came to camp as a choreboy of 15 and worked at Waterside. Later he was Assistant Superintendent under Mr. Cole. So for decades he has played an important part in the lives of all the campers as well as in the affairs of the town. Jerry's uncle, William Nathaniel Emery, was the first man hired by Steve Crawford to work for the newly established Club, whose buildings at that time consisted of one small hatching house in Helen Bay. Will has worked at every one of the seven lodges and was always in demand He served at Grey Rock Lodge every summer from 1897 until failing health caused him to leave a few years ago. At the time of his retirement to his little farm he had carried in his arms every young child and. baby who came to camp as a member of one of the regular camp- ing families. Almost the earliest recollection of the writer is jumping off the second or third rung of a ladder which led to the loft in old Waterside and into Will's arms. Will has taken care of the writer's father on his short vacations when the latter was a young man, not only guiding but cooking for him. He has carried in his arms the writer's children and has held all but one of his grandchildren. He has done ap- proximately the same with the other families, so one can imagine how he rates in our estimation.
To go back: The first member of this family came up into Stark from Manchester about 100 years ago. He was Nathan- iel Emery, or "Uncle Nat" as he was known to most. He was rather short and chunky in stature but was a man of note- worthy physical strength and stamina. For example, on his death bed and in delirium, it was all that four grown sons could do to keep him in bed. Earlier in these recollections he is mentioned as having taken part in the long-ago moose
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hunt. He was chopping wood when the hunters passed and was not dressed for traveling as were the others, but simply put on his jacket and joined the party. They had no blankets and the younger men were up nearly all night trying to keep warm. However Alvah Cole says that Uncle Nat seemed to rest with reasonable comfort on a handful of fir boughs in a hollow in the snow which he had scooped out with his snow- shoes. Uncle Nat married four times but had children by only the first two wives. By his first marriage he had Will, Albert (Jerry's father), John and Louisa, later Mrs. Mont- gomery-Sessions. There were others, but these we know the best. By his second marriage he had Bert, Louis and one or more daughters. Bert, Will's half-brother, has worked at Camp as Assistant Superintendent and choreman and has al- ways been a remarkably able man. All of Nat's children seemed to have inherited his stamina. The writer remembers Nat, so that he has known five generations of that family, as they have known five generations of his. Bert was one of the most expert and indefatigable hunters in Stark in his younger days and nearly always got deer; often a bear, and occasionally bob-cats. The two sons and the daughter of Mrs. Sessions are all good friends of the Club and have been much at camp. There are J. Edward, of Percy, Harold, of Grove- ton and Mary McMahon, of Groveton.
Albert never worked at the Club but was always a good friend and excellent neighbor. He was merry, industrious, intelligent and independent. His physical powers were amaz- ing for a small man. When he was past eighty he used to hunt with his sons and a grandson in deer season and could just about "walk the legs off them." He died a few years ago to the regret of us all. His elder son, Amos, who has also worked at camp, lives with his mother. Alice, his daugh- ter, now Mrs. McFarland, lives in Groveton and has several nice children, two of whom have worked at camp. Another brother, James, lives in Groveton with his estimable family. Three of Bert's sons and two of his daughters, as well as a son-in-law and a grandson, have all worked at Camp in var- ious capacities, so it is apparent that the Percy Summer Club and the Emery family go with each other like "ham and eggs."
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We all think a great deal of them and they seem to like us, and it has all been a very happy association through more than sixty years.
In these recollections the writer thinks that it may not be out of place to touch upon the courtship of Will Emery, old- est acquaintance of all the campers, whatever their age. This story, an example of constancy in the face of adversity, is known to some of the older of them, but it carries an appeal which seems to make it worth noting. New Englanders are not communicative about affairs of the heart and it took a number of years and piece-meal information for the writer to get the story sufficiently straight to put it down here. It may be that there are some errors in it, but according to the best of his information it is this:
In his youth, Will fell in love with Effie Cole, daughter of Nelson Cole, a near neighbor. How much court he paid her no one now knows except Will himself, but the lady failed to recognize the true worth of this suitor and married a dash- ing lumberjack named Spreadbury. Most people, including Will, knew he was unworthy and so he shortly demonstrated. He just walked off and left her and their small daughter. This was in the 1880's. Will bided his time and remained unmarried, although most personable and agreeable himself. He wisely did not try to hurry Effie into a second marriage, but occupied all his spare time with the construction of a house, the one in which he lives at this writing and which he built practically unaided. It took him several years, espe- cially as he equipped it with a good many special conveniences, the ideas for which he must have gotten from the camp lodges. When the psychological time came, armed with an affection- ate and faithful heart and with the completed house as an asset, he finally persuaded Effie to marry him, and they were an exceptionally happy couple until her death a few years ago. According to the best recollection of the writer, Will did not persuade Effie to marry him for seven or eight years after the disappearance of her first husband. Effie is mentioned else- where in these reminiscences. Nell Spreadbury became to him as his own daughter and he and Effie later had a daughter of their own.
Two people more equable and cheerful and philosophical in mind and more happy in disposition would be hard to find
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and their congeniality, once the matter was settled in Will's favor, was noteworthy all during their married life. The writer will testify that he never knew any woman who was jollier or better company than Effie Emery.
Will's early life was unusual in that he ran away from home at the age of five or six and never returned. He did not run far, only a "piece" up the road to the house of a neigh- bor who had been kind to him. Something about the domes- tic setup in his father's house did not entirely suit him so, at this tender age, he pulled up stakes and left. He walked to the neighbor's house, and announced that he had come to live with them. The neighbor thought it was just a boyish whim and took him in, probably laughing to himself. He stayed on, made himself useful, and there he lived until he became a man. After a due interval Willie's father came to the neighbor's house and told the boy it was time to come home. "Hain't comin' home. It suits me here and I'm a-goin' to stay right here," he told his father and that concluded the matter. Of course, later he did not stay there much for he was a lum- ber jack and a carpenter and could turn his hand to anything, but his neighbor's house was the place he called "Home," until the old man died.
Before leaving the Emery family, the writer wishes to say a few words about the truly remarkable wife of J. W. Emery, Mrs. Katherine Farwell Emery. Not that what he has to say will be news to most of his readers, but because he is so im- pressed with the character and attainments of this woman whom he has known well for a quarter of a century. There is apparently nothing that she does not know how to do, or at least, how it should be done. She is a storehouse of do- mestic knowledge handed down from her parents and grand- parents and all focused in her. Her knowledge of botany and zoology and the habits of the wild things of the north woods is noteworthy. She is one of the most observant human beings the writer has ever known and her knowledge of local families and local happenings is complete. As all campers know, even the most casual and brief chat with Mrs. Emery invariably produces some piece of information of value or interest to her visitor. She has taught school; is well read; is highly regarded in all town circles, especially educational, and as a helpmate to her husband during the years of his superintendency she
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has been exemplary. All of the Emerys whom the writer has known have married well, but Jerry, the writer thinks, won first prize. The writer believes that, were the calendar turned back suddenly one hundred years, Kate Emery could make about the best "go" of life in the north country of anyone he has ever known. She was born over in the town of Dummer on a hill from which she could see a little bit of Christine Lake. She remembers as a little girl asking her grandmother what that distant speck of blue was and her grandmother in- forming her. She never saw the lake until she was grown up and now its shores have been her successful home for a quarter of a century.
From her grandmother,Kate, as a small girls inherited a store of valuable information about medicinal herbs and other plants which were found beneficial by that ancestor and by her neighbors back in the early days when the nearest doctor was miles away and the roads often impassable. The grandmother had learned about them from old Indian or half-breed men and women whom she knew in her youth.
Northern New England is justly famed for its pithy ex- pressions. Stark people generally have clung to the older ways of speech more than most and some of the very oldest ones now living occasionally use such a word as "gormin," meaning awkward. or unwieldy. The Emery family seems to have a gift for this sort of expression, Jerry calls an adze a "moun- tain plane." One of his remarks was, "I guess in this case I let my courage outrun my judgment." His slang is not like that of anyone else; he seems to invent it himself. The earlier generations of the Emery and other families habitually used "be" instead of "am" or "are." But they never misused it for "is," as so many dialect writers do. Albert Emery with his two sturdy horses hauled the old millstone from Crystal right through the woods to Waterside. It was enormously heavy and was lashed between big logs. When complimented on his achievement he remarked, "That wa'n't nuthin'; pack me up a lunch and a bait for these hosses and I'll set it down for you in Washington, D. C."
Before stopping these rambling recollections, the writer will pick up a few loose threads. Indian names are prevalent hereabouts and camp visitors sometimes have had the impres- sion that the noble redman swarmed hereabout. As a matter
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of fact there were very few and, like the whites, they had their villages on the "Coos," the natural meadows. Undoubtedly they passed through the Ammonoosuc valley and camped along the river, but they did not linger. They were Abnaki and allied to the Indians of Maine and Vermont. Once a visitor asked us if we found many arrowheads. We replied that we had never seen one. Within five minutes she had picked up one, small and beautifully made, from the old pas- ture of the Larrabee farm adjacent to our tennis courts. No one else has ever found one and, as far as we actually know, the owner of that projectile was the only Indian ever to set eyes on Christine Lake. Probably hunters in pursuit of deer passed by it, but it was no place to camp. The Indians stuck to the valleys for their travels, first, because they were level and second, because they yielded an abundance of all sorts of fish and fowl. No need to climb a steep hill to catch a trout.
Earlier in these pages the writer has given the names of some of the worthy local ladies who have cooked so success- fully at Waterside. Hereunder is a list, more or less chrono- logical, of most of the hired men who did so much to make our early stays there agreeable:
· W. N. Emery Hubbard Pike
Orvis Oleson
Lawrence O'Connor
Henry Gonya
Bert M. Emery
Adonno Potter
Bert M. Emery, Jr.
George Veazie
Francis Gilbert
J. W. Emery Amos Emery
Roy Cole Merle Cole
The thick forests which still cover a great part of Stark and adjacent towns are one of the chief charms of that region. With their numerous trails, many of which are well-known to the readers of these recollections, they seem very friendly and indeed, if one uses proper precautions, they are friendly and delightful except, of course, where lumbering has obliter- ated paths and changed the appearance of the landscape. However, in due time, it all goes back to what it was.
To one who fails to exercise proper precaution, or "lets his courage outrun his judgment," or loses his head in an' emergency, these same woods can be very terrible and every once in a while there may come a tragedy or near-tragedy.
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The writer remembers that back about 1898 there were two brothers named Banfield working in Percy for the lumber company. The elder was one of the largest and handsomest men the writer has ever seen. He looked like a Greek God in blue denim and could use an ordinary size axe as an aver- age man would handle a hatchet. His younger brother, a youth of about 17, went partridge hunting with a friend in the autumn after the campers had left. They had poor luck; darkness was coming on, and the friend decided he had had enough and would return to Percy. Banfield would not agree and declared he would hunt for about an hour longer. Dark- ness descended and he failed to re-appear that night or the next morning. When they parted company they were some- where around the base of the South Percy Peak. By mid- afternoon a crowd of men, including the elder brother, was searching for the boy and twenty-four hours after that the mill and surrounding lumber camps were emptied of per- sonnel and the writer has heard that as many as four hundred men were hunting for the lost hunter. Panic-stricken, he kept moving instead of sitting down, building a good fire and wait- ing to be rescued. After a few days most of the men had to go back to work, but relatives and close friends still persisted in their search. A week later a man who owned a back farm somewhere in the vicinity saw a tattered figure emerge from the woods into his pasture. Realizing that it was the missing boy, he ran toward him shouting and waving his arms. The boy, undoubtedly out of his mind, turned and ran back into the woods and that was the last seen of him until spring, when his skeleton was found seated beneath a tree, to the limb of which was lashed his shotgun. Undoubtedly in a semi-lucid interval and in desperate physical and mental shape, he had committed suicide, for a charge of shot had gone through his skull. All this happened within a comparatively short distance of the village of Stark and not more than two or three miles at most from a road. The writer knows from experience how near to one's shoulder panic can be under such circumstances.
Only a few summers ago two men from Groveton went to the headwaters of Phillips Brook on a fishing trip. One was a large, heavy man who almost immediately slipped on a wet stone and broke a bone in his leg. His companion im-
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provised a splint; left him some drinking water and food, and started out via a short way that leads into Bungay up in Colebrook. There he got a lift; went to Groveton, and se- cured a rescue crew who dashed back and walked into the brook's headwaters. It took eight or ten strong men working in shifts, hours to carry out on a stretcher the heavy, injured man over a trail which had to be enlarged as they went along. They themselves were exhausted, for they started instantly and with little preparation. Had the weather been bad the suffering of all concerned would have been severe. Many times it is essential that two men take a trip alone, or even for one man to go alone, but if two go they should keep to- gether or in touch, and a threesome is still safer. In case of severe accident one can stay with the injured party and the second can go for help.
The wild life in our woods is interesting and generally harmless. The year of 1947 saw more deer shot in New Hampshire than ever before. Bears are much more common than are generally supposed but they are seldom seen. Alvah Cole never saw a live bear in all his life although he knew he had been within fifteen feet of one. The writer has seen bear but once-a mother and several cubs taking a mud bath on the shores of Witham's Logan, about fifteen years ago. As recently as August, 1947, a Percy man shot a 250-pound black bear on land adjacent to Club property on the slope of Dickey Hill. A good many men known to the writer have seen bears at night while motoring, or have even encountered them on foot, but in every case the bear has shown little dis- position to stay around and the writer knows of no resident of Stark who was ever injured by a bear. An occasional lynx has been known to be in the town and bob-cats are reasonably numerous, though seldom seen.
Forest fires are always a menace in dry weather and it is fortunate that New Hampshire largely escaped the fate of portions of Maine in the autumn of 1947. Forty years ago, in 1907, a big forest fire got within a few miles of Groveton and some twelve hundred men were out fighting the blaze. Fortunately for the Ammonoosuc Valley the fire split at some point below Groveton and was finally extinguished, but it might have raged on up through our valley and burned every- thing in sight, just as has happened in many places to the
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north of us. The system of fire stations and forest guards inaugurated since 1907 has done much to lessen this menace, but where there are thick woods there will always be danger.
It is as difficult to keep Steve Crawford out of these writings as it was for Mr. Dick in David Copperfield to keep King Charles' head out of his essays. It is natural, because of the prominent part Steve played in Camp Percy's early and forma- tive years and because of his strong individuality. It has been said that he who sups with the Devil needs a long spoon and whoever boarded or took a meal at Crawford Lodge in the early days had to be prepared for almost anything. Steve largely did his own cooking. Sometimes the meal was a complete dinner and sometimes it consisted of little or noth- ing, depending on his appetite. One of the South American cousins of the writer declared that Steve once asked him, "Will you have potatoes or coffee for breakfast?" Steve ate in the kitchen and whoever was with him. pulled up a chair and fell to. No meal ever passed without the intrusion of dogs and cats, of which Steve was very fond and with which he had a great knack. His poultry also wandered freely in and out of the room and one was likely to be surprised by having a well-grown pullet jump onto the oilcloth. With a backhanded flip of his fist Steve would knock the bird to the floor and go on eating as if nothing had happened. Steve's table manners left a good deal to be desired when he was in his own home. When he craved a certain well-known condi- ment he would ejaculate: "I'll have some butter and dum quick!"
· Steve's fascination for the animals with which he was al- ways closely associated was almost uncanny. One expects a shepherd dog to obey orders and his did, understanding him perfectly. He owned a large and powerful tom-cat which was known to kill and bring into the lodge a full-grown rabbit. The cat followed Steve even in his boat and once was left behind in another boat. From a distance of thirty feet Steve rested on his oars, snapped his fingers and called the cat in a peculiar falsetto which he used with all animals. After a little natural hesitation, the cat leaped overboard and swam to Steve's boat!
Steve ate rapidly and usually showed signs thereof shortly after a meal. His belch or burp was as unique as his per-
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sonality. The heavy, basso profundo part was almost entirely self-contained, but following that he gave vent to an inde- scribable, high-pitched ejaculation of "dipe!" Steve's charac- terizations of his neighbors were pithy, as evidenced by his opinion of George Smith, recorded hereinbefore. Asked as to what sort of a man and farmer Si Lunn was, he replied after due deliberation, "He's jest the sort that will give his wife green wood to burn in harvest time."
When Mr. and Mrs. Cole came to Crawford Lodge there was a "new deal." They enlarged it and made it into a real and cozy home. Their meals were well-cooked and nicely served and it was a pleasure to board with them for a week or two as the writer has done in his youth. Mr and Mrs. Emery have carried on the improvements still further. Their table is most excellent; their house neat as a pin, and they have added a bath room, a wood furnace, electric lights, ice box, washing machine, etc.
In the early days of Camp it was the duty of the Superin- tendent to row down the lake and walk to Percy and bring up the mail at least twice a day. The arrival of guests sometimes increased these trips to three, or even four. Also during the more clement months Steve had to row across the lake to milk twice every day. The writer when a boy, figured out roughly how many thousand miles that old man must have rowed in his 20-year stay at Camp. He never rowed fast or seemed to hurry, but he was most adept and few could outlast him. As a boatman for fly fishing he was supreme. Many a neophite has come in with a good catch of trout flattering himself that he had fished pretty successfully for a beginner. He did not realize that it was Steve's uncanny management of the oars that had a great deal to do with it. With a quick flick of them he could take up the slack in a tyro's line and practically hook the fish for him.
Pat O'Connor, the old Station agent, married a daughter of Uncle Ben Green. On the Green side of the family was a female of noble proportions and vast strength who traveled with circuses and carnivals under the ring name of Flossie LaBlanche. The relations were immensely proud of her billing as "The Strongest Woman in the World" and indeed she must have been one of the most powerful. There exists a snapshot of Flossie seen by the writer in 1947, showing her on all-
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fours and supporting a platform on which stood 12 full- grown men. Another shows her in heavy black tights, very daring for the 1880's and indeed in these fleshings she was a figure long to be remembered. In later years Flossie got muscle-bound and also suffered from arthritis. She visited Percy often in the summer and as she strolled slowly and pain- fully along the road she reminded one of a tank in low speed.
Crippled Pat O'Connor had a brother who teamed up with an Irishman named Enright and at one time they held the double-sculls championship of the world. The writer, who later was to have three sons rowing on Princeton crews, can remember the thrill of being shown a tiny model of the shell in which these two Irishmen won enduring fame. One of the O'Connor boys, Lawrence, inherited his uncle's skill with oars and could handle a Rangeley boat in a most beautiful smooth and powerful style. With him it was a case of strong back and weak mind, for he eventually went crazy and to- ward the end of his incumbency as village postmaster he used to hand out books of stamps to people he liked, just as Girard used to give away his sinkers.
The little country burying-grounds in and around the town of Stark remind one of the locale of Gray's "Elegy," for here indeed one stumbles on ancient stones "where the rude fore- fathers of the village sleep." Right by the side of the stone marking the final resting place of some life-long friend re- cently dead, one will find a marker in honor of "Joshua Rob- erts, Such-and-Such Regiment, Field Artillery, New Hamp- shire Volunteers, 1861-1865," or the tablet marking the final resting place of Nathaniel Emery and giving his Civil War Regiment. This little rustic town sent a surprising number of men to the Civil War. Although shrunken in population by the time of World Wars I and II it more than did its duty in those conflicts.
In the early days of New England there were a good many second marriages, especially of second wives. As Don Potter once remarked to the writer's father, "Up in this country a man can't afford to hire both inside and out," meaning that when a farmer lost his wife, economic conditions almost com- pelled him to take a second and sometimes a third wife. As the writer has remarked elsewhere, Nat Emery had four. A study of the tombstones of some of the women and men lying
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in the burying ground at Stark Village shows a large prepon- derance of Biblical names. There are also a good many "fancy" names of the sort an expectant mother might en- counter in a novel or might think of herself. Below is a list of unusual names copied from stones in the Stark Village cemetery :
Gemantha Pike
Ruah Pike
Eldora Pike
Laurona Cross
Electa Pike
Adella Cole
Avilda Thompson
Arvilla Cole
Dulcena Perkins
Elwin Thompson
Lovina Potter
Sereno Farwell
Fidelia Cole
Angie Stevens
Rosina Lunn
At this point it begins to dawn on the writer that he has strung these recollections out about long enough. Being an ardent fisherman himself and knowing that some anglers will read these pages, he will close with a reference to, in his opinion, America's Greatest Fisherman. He is familiar with the accomplishments and the writings of Thad Norris, William C. Prime, Henry Van Dyke, Eugene V. Connett, George I.a Branche, Ray Bergman and other experts too numerous to mention whose achievements are nationally known. But, in his opinion, a nine-year old French boy residing in Percy about the turn of the century should be awarded the palm. His name was Johnny Aubin (pronounced locally "Obah"). Naturally he was a bait fisherman who followed up small brooks. He attended the village school a furlong east of Percy. About the time school let out for the summer he discovered in a big hole in Pike's Brook, nearly a mile east of Percy, a trout monstrous for such a small stream. He hooked him and he lost him and a few days later he did it again, and a few days later still again. By this time other juvenile anglers got after the fish, but he was not to be tempted and they soon gave up.
Johnny, however, was never discouraged and on every single weeekday of the summer he hoofed it through the dust or the mud to that particular pool and tried to catch that par- ticular fish. He used every bait known to him and he tried experimental baits; nothing doing. Occasionally he would see the trout and know that he was there, for a fish of that size is
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likely to remain in a good hole until autumn. The village elders used to jeer at Johnny. Hardly a day passed when some- one failed to say, "You ketched that traout yit, Johnny?" Johnny would rub his big toe in the dust and half hang his head and reply, "Not yit, but I'll git him!" The last day of vacation came. It was toward sunset and a group of adults were gathered in front of the Post Office. Up the road came a cloud of dust in the middle of which was the figure of Johnny running at top speed. Clutched in his hand was the great fish. The villagers advanced toward him to inquire and to congratu- late, but he plowed through them without a glance or a word. Still at a gallop he ran into Girard's Store; slapped the slimy trout on the counter and in gasping tones ejaculated, "There, by Jesus, Randolph, weigh that one." It may be added that the fish weighed in the neighborhood of a pound, which was indeed a trout of vast proportions from such a tiny stream- let. For patience, perseverance and optimism, not to mention a high degree of skill, the writer gives you Johnny Aubin.
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HECKMAN BINDERY INC.
MAR 97
Bound -To-Pleas& N. MANCHESTER, INDIANA 46962
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