The history of Hancock, New Hampshire, 1764-1889, Part 4

Author: Hayward, William Willis, 1834-
Publication date: 1889
Publisher: Lowell, Mass., Vox Populi Press, S. W. Huse & Co.
Number of Pages: 1257

USA > New Hampshire > Hillsborough County > Hancock > The history of Hancock, New Hampshire, 1764-1889 > Part 4

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James Hosley, Levi Priest,

Jonas Sawyer,

Seth Hadley,

James Smith, Jr.,

Joseph Hills,

Edmund Davis,

Collins Whittemore,

Elijah Davis,

Timothy Moor,

John Brooks,

Bezaleel Spaulding,

William Brooks,

Robert Clark,

Moses Morrison,

John Foster,

Stephen Dodge,

Moses Dennis,

Phineas Ames,

Daniel Kimball,

Lemuel Lakin,

Elijah Washburn,

Thomas Jones,

James Davis,

Eleazar Ames,

Jas. Due,

Joseph Washburn,

Joseph Symonds.

Ezekiel Shattuck,

Salmon Wood,

William Boutelle,

In the gallery we find : -

Simeon Lakin,

Moses Merrill,

John Bowers,

Stephen Wood,

Jason Ware,

Samuel Cross,

James Hills,

Aaron Barker,

Thomas Jones,

Peter Cummings,

Phineas Ames,

Thomas Mathews,

John Foster,

Jonas Lakin,

Peter Putnam,

David Hosley.

James Hosley,

Daniel Simes,

Samuel Turrell,

Some of these names, as you will notice, occur twice.

They listen with devout attention to the services of the morning, and then during the noontime hour they improve the time as best they can. If their conversation is not entirely concerning sacred things we can not blame them, for to them it is the best opportunity that they have during the week, and we must remember that they have few newspapers, and fewer books, no ly- ceums, no post-office, and in fact hardly any thing that we have. It takes months to get news from Europe, and weeks to get news from New York or Philadelphia.

They meet again in the afternoon, and then wend their ways, - most of them on foot, a few on horseback -to their homes. And what homes they are ! Rude and bare of all attempt at ornament. This beautiful plain was then covered with white birches. Their lives were lives of almost unre- mitted toil, and yet, though their lot was so circumscribed, they were silently working out a grand destiny and making the present possible.

In 1819 the church of the fathers that had been erected at so great a cost ; where for a generation they were accustomed to meet to worship God; where they met to pay the last tribute of their respect to the memory of those who went out from these earthly homes to fairer homes beyond ; where they had brought their little ones to receive the sacred rite of baptism; around which so many associations clustered; was burned to the ground.

They were not discouraged. In 1820 a new church was built, larger and more commodious than the first, and judging from the records, with compara- tively little effort; and I would remark that in one day the pews were sold for seven thousand dollars - almost as much as the entire valuation of the town thirty-two years previous.

In 1851 the church was removed to its present position, and repaired and modernized, having an attractive audience-room in the upper story, and a

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HANCOCK CENTENNIAL.

commodious town-hall below. There it stands to-day, an ornament to the town. It can be said of this church, what can be said of but very few churches in our land : From the beginning it has been a free church in the best sense of the word. No sect or party has ever had control of it. It has always been for the use of those who have put their money into it, and never has there been a disposition manifested to make it otherwise.

The Congregational church of Hancock was organized in August, 1788. It consisted of ten male and seven female members. Previous to that time there was occasional preaching. In the first town-meeting money was appro- priated for that purpose, but it was a small sum; only enough to sustain about four Sundays' preaching.

Rev. Reed Paige, the first pastor, was ordained Sept. 21, 1791. He died July 22, 1816.

Rev. Archibald Burgess was ordained Dec. 25, 1822. He died Feb. 7, 1850. Rev. Asahel Bigelow was installed May 15, 1850. He died Aug. 16, 1877.

The labors of these three men, extending over more than three-quarters of a century, have had a great influence in shaping the destinies of the town, and I think it is due to their memories that I briefly refer to them. You will pardon me if I speek freely. It may be that my impressions are not the correct ones, nevertheless I will venture to give them to you.

All that I know of Mr. Paige I have learned from others. I have the im- pression that he was an earnest, active man, of small stature, very much be- loved by his people, interested in every thing that pertained to the welfare of the community, and frequently representing the town in the state legisla- ture, of which he was a member at the time of his death. We have reason to thank God that he came here to do his life work.

With the character and labors of Mr. Burgess I am better acquainted, as I remember him well. He was a strong man, and I have the impression that he honestly believed that the best interests of the community would be sub- served if no other church beside his own were planted here. He was of a phlegmatic temperament, but when he was aroused few men were his supe- riors or more active than he. He was, when he chose to be, the life of a social party. I well remember an afternoon and evening spent in his com- pany, when he kept us all in one continual roar of laughter, but I would not have any one suppose that his characteristics were all in this direction. No one could sympathize more deeply with the sorrowing and the afflicted than he. I revere his memory to-day, for I believe him to have been an honest, upright man.

As I remember Mr. Bigelow, I feel that between the two men there was a contrast. Reared in the severe school of adversity, and coming to our town in the mature years of his manhood, he displayed those characteristics that endeared him to all who became acquainted with him. No less honest than his predecessor, his work was of a more quiet nature. I do not believe he made an enemy in town. I think that much of the good feeling that we see manifested on this occasion is due to his quiet work here. And so I feel that these three men, each in his own way, have had an influence that has been eminently helpful.

HISTORY OF HANCOCK, NEW HAMPSHIRE.

As early as 1792 John Cummings asked to be relieved from his minister's tax, presenting as a reason therefor a certificate from a Baptist minister in Hollis.

In 1798 there was in the town warrant, the following article : "To see if the town will exempt those who profess to belong to a Baptist society in this town from paying towards Mr. Paige's salary this present year, or a longer term if they shall think best." John Foster, Amos Tenney, John Brooks, Solomon Hobart, Nehemiah Pierce, Daniel Tenney, Capt. John Brad- ford, Seth Davis, and Nathan Brooks were exempted.

After the Academy, under the directors of the Baptist church, was formed in this town, there began to be Baptist preaching, which was continued with some interruptions till May 6, 1840, when a Baptist church was duly organ- ized. After this the church engaged preaching for most of the time till 1852, when the school having been given up, the church also ceased to be active.

In 1822 Rev. Lemuel Willis, then a young man, but afterwards an influen- tial minister of the Universalist denomination, spent a few Sundays in town and was instrumental in forming a Universalist society, that sustained preaching at intervals for nearly forty years, but no organization exists to- day. About the same date Rev. Zenas Adams from Marlow organized a Methodist church, which has also ceased to exist. I have no doubt, how- ever, that these three organizations have been instrumental of good, and have helped the older church in shaping the characters of our people.

The early colonists of Massachusetts inaugurated a system of free schools that have been carried into every corner of our broad land, where their de- scendants have made their homes. Hancock was true to the example of the fathers.

" Rough, bleak, and hard, our little state

Is scant of soil, of limits strait; Her yellow sands are sands alone, Her only mines are ice and stone!

From Autumn frost to April rain,

Too long her winter woods complain; From budding flower to falling leaf, Her summer time is all too brief.

Yet on her rocks and on her sands, And wintry hills, the school-house stands; And what her rugged soil denies, The harvest of the mind supplies.

Nor heeds the sceptic's puny hands While near her school the church-spire stands; Nor fears the blinded bigot's rule While near her church-spire stands the school."

In the early town records I find these items, among others, that show the interest they had in the free school. In 1787, " Voted to raise ten pounds for schooling." In 1792, " Voted to build a school-house." In 1798, " Voted to raise four hundred pounds to build school-houses." In 1800, " Voted that each district build such houses as they please." In 1801, " Voted to raise fifty dollars for singing, to be expended in the four quarters of the

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HANCOCK CENTENNIAL.

town," and I find that for a number of years money was raised to support singing-schools.

Compared with the schools within the memory of those present, the schools of the early times were poor, but they were as good as the settlers were able to provide themselves with; their influence in helping shape the destiny of the town can not be overestimated. Private schools from time to time supplemented the work of the free school.

About the year 1836 two academies were established here, and for several years they were both in a flourishing condition; the common schools of the town were consequently much improved, and the standard of education was raised. Some of the most eminent men of our state to-day received here a part of their education. A free high school was established in 1874; it is one of the best omens of the time that you have been able thus far to sup- port it.

I can not leave this part of my subject without briefly alluding to your public library. that was established May 19, 1860. It is a supplement to the educational facilities of the town that you may well be proud of. I am also happy to make mention of the fact that a former citizen of the town, Mr. Ebenezer Hubbard, left the library a legacy of $1000. I am also informed by the librarian that Mr. Abijah Hadley, recently deceased, has provided in his will for the same sum, to be paid in good time. Vo wiser bequest could be made.

There is an honest difference of opinion in regard to the need of organized military forces in a free state. I believe the time may come

" When the war-drums beat no longer, And the battle-flags are furled In the Parliament of men - The federation of the world."

But the youngest child here will not live long enough to see that time. From the earliest settlement of our state, the military power was deemed to be of the first importance. On several tombstones in yonder burying-ground may be found this inscription : "A SOLDIER OF THE REVOLUTION."

I do not know when the first military company was organized here; but as far back as memory goes, every man, between the ages of eighteen and forty-five, was expected to do military duty. Hancock Artillery was organ- ized early in the nineteenth century. Its first captain, afterwards General Miller, was then a young lawyer in Greenfield. At the battle of Lundy's Lane, when asked to storm a battery, his calm reply was, "I will try, sir." Then turning to his regiment, he said, "Twenty-first, attention! Form into column. You will advance up the hill to the storm of the battery !" They advanced, the artillerymen were swept like chaff from their guns, and after a fierce struggle the victory was ours. Of General Miller, Hawthorne said, " He was New England's most distinguished soldier." I do not wonder that the company was so long kept together, and that on their knapsacks the words, "I'll try, sir," were printed. Hancock had soldiers in the war of 1812, and in the Mexican war also. In 1849 the militia was disbanded, but

HISTORY OF HANCOCK, NEW HAMPSHIRE.

the martial spirit was not dead. When the war of the Rebellion broke out, the sons of old Hancock proved themselves to be worthy of their sires; and on many a battle-field they showed their devotion to their country, and at the sacrifice of their lives they helped to make it possible for us to come to- gether under such favorable auspices to-day. The old Hancock Artillery, with a new name, is with us on this occasion. May it never again be dis- banded.

I would speak briefly of the characteristics of our town. Much of its surface is rough and rugged, but it has a goodly proportion of fertile soil. No pleasanter homes can be found anywhere than here; no truer hearts, no better men and women. The unrest of our people, trying to subdue a con- tinent in a generation, has sent many of her sons and daughters from her borders; and there is sadness within my heart, when I remember that there are many deserted hearthstones within her limits. Our people are not given to change. I have spoken of the three ministers who remained so many years at their post of duty.

I would at this time mention another honored name. The first postmaster, John Whitcomb, Esq., was appointed about the year 1812, and held his office to the satisfaction of all parties more than fifty years, and then it passed into the hands of his grandson, who holds it to-day.

It may be said our town has never sent out those whose fame is world- wide. Be that as it may ; the men and women who have been reared here have ever taken an honorable position in life, wherever they have wandered. They have been true to the early influences that surrounded them; they make good citizens, good members of society. You need not be ashamed to meet them anywhere. I remember that a president of the United States received a part of his education here. A grandson of Hancock has filled with modesty, yet with satisfaction to his constituents, the highest offices within the gift of the old Bay State. Other names might be enumerated, but time will not permit. I have tried to give you some pictures of the past, to bring to your remembrance those who have passed away. I trust I have not been entirely unsuccessful.

The fathers sleep quietly in yonder burying-ground. They did their work well; they had their faults, as well as virtues. Let us remember the latter, and forget the former.

" Clasp, angel of the backward look, And folded wings of ashen gray, And voice of echoes far away, The brazen covers of thy book; The weird palimpsest, old and vast, Wherein thou hid'st the spectral past,

Where, closely mingling, pale and glow The characters of joy and woe; The monographs of outlived years, Or smile-illumed, or dim with tears, Green hills of life that slope to death, And haunts of home, where vistaed trees Shade off to mournful cypresses, With the white amaranths underneath.

JOHN WHITCOMB.

HANCOCK CENTENNIAL.

Even while I look, I can but heed

The restless sands' incessant fall;

Importunate hours that hours succeed,

Each clamorous with its own sharp need, And duty keeping pace with all, Shut down and clasp the heavy lids; I hear again the voice that bids The dreamer leave his dream midway For larger hopes and graver fears;

Life greatens in these later years, The centuries' aloe flowers to-day !"

The living present demands our atttention. The fathers laid the founda- tions ; it is for us to build. Young men, do not for a moment suppose that there is nothing for you to do. These institutions are to be preserved for future generations. Yea, more : they are to be improved !

Let me say to those before me who are going the down-hill road of life : Do not fear that those who are now young will fail to do their lifework when it comes upon them. Nor is it well for any of us to cease to have an interest in the well-being of society, because we may feel that we have seen the best of life. We know not what may be in store for us. I remember often to have heard that in the earlier days an old man, then past threescore years, brought an entire orchard on his back from Groton, and lived to eat many an apple and drink many a mug of cider that grew on those trees. So it may be in any enterprise that is desirable.

The opportunities enjoyed by the rising generation are better than they ever were before. You have the church, the common school, the high school, the public library, and, I am glad to add, you are to have a hall suitable for the literary gatherings of the young. Make the most of them.

One word in regard to the high school. If you desire a high standard of education, do not let it cease to exist. It is a well-established fact, that the common school draws its vitality from the high school and the college, and not the reverse, as has often been supposed.

In a few hours we shall separate, nevermore to meet again on earth. May this friendly greeting be beneficial to us all. May it tend to bind us nearer together in life's great end and aims.

A hundred years ! As we look back over it and remember that those of us who are in middle life have been conversant with those who knew the fathers well, it seems but short; but when we reflect on the mighty events of the century that is past, we are lost in amazement. What the next century has in store, we do not know. When it shall have rolled round, many of us will be forgotten, but the lives that we live will have an influence. God grant that we may all so live that it may be said of us, with truth, the world is a little better because we have been here.

After the delivery of the address, which was listened to with interest, there was excellent singing by the Barker family. Then followed the reading, by Walter Gates, M. D., of the following poem.

HISTORY OF HANCOCK, NEW HAMPSHIRE.

CENTENNIAL POEM.

BY LOVE M. WHITCOMB WILLIS,

From my home of adoption, well-loved in its beauty,

From the broad, fertile plains which the stranger must till,

From the bright-gleaming shore, which the wavelets are kissing, And high, rocky Palisades, silent and still,

I turn with a gaze that has never grown dimmer, With thoughts that are fresh as in mem'ry's first spring,

Far back to the days that will ever seem haleyon,

And the friendships and loves to which fondly I cling.

Oh, home of my childhood! thy mountains are watching In grandeur protective the valleys below;

The scent of thy pine-woods comes back to me often, And strength from thy hills when the north wind doth blow. It was there that I wandered in freedom contented, By murmuring streamlets and woodlands so fair, And saw the sun's glow on the grand Temple Mountains, Or sought from Monadnock a hope, or a prayer.

For like to Jerusalem thou art encompassed By mountains that guard thee by day and by night; That speak to thy people in pæans majestic Of care that is tender, of love that is might. The hue of thy valley as autumn mists gather, When western light mingles its golden and red, Can bring in its mem'ry a soft, glowing picture, A dream of the valley, 'round Paradise spread.

Thy lake, with the gleam of the emerald or sapphire, Is set like a gem on the breast of a queen; It seemed as we reached for the snowy white lilies No hand but an angel's could picture the scene. Oh, beautiful home! to my outward observance, Thy scenes are all changed, e'en thy valleys and hills Hold a glory less radiant, - a beauty less tender; A mantle of sadness is draped o'er thy hills.

For where are the hands once so strong and so faithful That turned to the sunlight thy unfertile sod, And taught the rough hill-side and deep-tangled forest To bloom like a garden and smile back to God? Those hands that to touch were oft harsh and unyielding, But in their stern fiber were true as the steel; The Christian law then was to watch and to labor, And trust the good God a sure harvest to yield.

Why name all those toilers? Their mem'ry is cherished In many a home in its most sacred place; We call them the faithful, and thus we enshrine them, As God's chosen people in wisdom and grace. The pastures and meadows, the fair-blooming orchards, Will tell of their toil when their names are forgot. They made with stern nature a compact so holy, 'Tis written in harvest, in fruitage 'tis wrought.

The words we still love that mem'ry has cherished, Are words that the loved and the sainted have known; We hear them repeated in glad, laughing sunshine,

HANCOCK CENTENNIAL.

Forgetting the long years that o'er us have flown. Again I'm a child, and I walk with step solemn Along the still street to the toll of the bell; The sun pours its heat with an ardor as fervent As the words of the preacher - we knew them full well.

For 'twas not by love or gentle persuasion, We heard of the gospel on those solemn days; But by long dissertations that reached to the twelfthly, And oft repetitions of warning and praise. I watch the red tassels encircling the pulpit, And feel the faint jar from the strong, faithful hand That fell with a blow so majestic and earnest, The gospel to teach and the law's stern command.

I list to the choir, with its true, ardent leader, To the sound of the viol, the tenor, and bass, And wait for the voice that never had faltered, But sung through the long years its anthems of grace. Yet songs of more glory his life had been chanting, For truth was his key-note, and justice his scale. Sing on, faithful servant, thy life may yet guide us Where peace shall await us, and love never fail!

And now it is winter - the white snow lies gleaming In stretches that cover the mossy stone-wall, And make of the landscape a reflex of heaven, A dream of the city where no shadows fall. And far o'er the hill-tops and through the white valleys, I hear the glad sound of the merry sleigh-bells; Who comes forth to worship there's no need surmising, The sound of the jingle so faithfully tells.

To sit in discomfort was a part of religion; Long stretches of pipe gave no warmth to the air; No dream of a future could there so appal us As " Dante's Inferno," with chill, icy glare. To pile up the coals in the foot-stoves and brighten The ample fur muffs by the fire in the hall, Was a part of the change in the short intermission, The respite that came in the long gospel call.

I can count those that sat there, and many are walking The aisles of that temple whose gates are of gold, And soft through the arches I hear the sweet echo, " We love thee - we love thee -our love grows not old." And yet I could find in those aisles now a glory That over no church or cathedral is thrown, For the forms that I see are the dear and the loving, And the voices I hear have a glorified tone.

Oh, church of the village! thy spire is still pointing Like a hand that is true to the bright sky above; Thy aisles are all changed, thy square pews remodeled, But the old and the cheerless is the one that I love. For what are the words that are sweetest yet spoken, For mortals to hear and for angels to write,

But the words that are breathed in a fond mother's blessing, And the prayers that with love and with wisdom unite?

HISTORY OF HANCOCK, NEW HAMPSHIRE.

Again I am ent'ring the little red school-house : It boasted no columns, or turret, or frieze; The solemn committees that guarded the youthful Had no eye for beauty and no thought of ease. The halls of the student, dismantled and lonely, Now tell of neglect but a sad, cheerless tale; But in many a true heart their mem'ry is cherished With brightness and beauty that never will fail.

Yet, why should we linger o'er scenes so familiar? The hills and the valleys still claim our fond love; In joy or in sorrow we turn to their beauty,

And dwell 'mid their scene's where'er we may rove. For here in their homes full of love and of sunshine Lived those that are gone unto mansions more fair. E'en now we can see them in youth and in manhood; Their words still resound on the soft summer air.

For all that was holy seemed part of their being, All that was noble shone forth on each face; They walked by the smile of content in their pathway, They filled their fair homes with sweet goodness and grace. For thus it is given for each to remember In love what was dearest, and sacredly keep ·The good in its wisdom, and ever to bury The harsh and unlovely in death's silent sleep.

The light of the morning rests on the still grave-yard; The moonlight oft kisses each moss-covered stone; Secluded and peaceful no strife or contention Can touch the calm beauty it claims as its own. Each stone that is glinting 'mid mosses and flowers Now speaks to the heart of some dearly loved one, Who laid down the burden of life and is sleeping Beneath the watch-light of the stars and the sun.

One by one they are going - those friends of my childhood, One by one they are crossing that river sublime; We scarcely can number the graves in that city To whose gates we are borne on the swift wing of time. The south wind seems blowing across the fair meadows, It sighs o'er the graves of the happy and blest, On the breath of its fragrance we hear the still whisper That is slowly repeating-" It is all for the best."

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The history of Hancock, New Hampshire, 1764-1889, Part 4

Author: Hayward, William Willis, 1834- Publication date: 1889 Publisher: Lowell, Mass., Vox Populi Press, S. W. Huse & Co. Number of Pages: 1257

Author: Hayward, William Willis, 1834-
Publication date: 1889
Publisher: Lowell, Mass., Vox Populi Press, S. W. Huse & Co.
Number of Pages: 1257