USA > New Hampshire > Hillsborough County > Lyndeborough > The history of the town of Lyndeborough, New Hampshire,1735-1905 > Part 53
Note: The text from this book was generated using artificial intelligence so there may be some errors. The full pages can be found on Archive.org (link on the Part 1 page).
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12 | Part 13 | Part 14 | Part 15 | Part 16 | Part 17 | Part 18 | Part 19 | Part 20 | Part 21 | Part 22 | Part 23 | Part 24 | Part 25 | Part 26 | Part 27 | Part 28 | Part 29 | Part 30 | Part 31 | Part 32 | Part 33 | Part 34 | Part 35 | Part 36 | Part 37 | Part 38 | Part 39 | Part 40 | Part 41 | Part 42 | Part 43 | Part 44 | Part 45 | Part 46 | Part 47 | Part 48 | Part 49 | Part 50 | Part 51 | Part 52 | Part 53 | Part 54 | Part 55 | Part 56 | Part 57 | Part 58 | Part 59 | Part 60 | Part 61 | Part 62 | Part 63 | Part 64 | Part 65 | Part 66 | Part 67 | Part 68 | Part 69 | Part 70 | Part 71 | Part 72 | Part 73 | Part 74 | Part 75 | Part 76 | Part 77 | Part 78 | Part 79 | Part 80 | Part 81 | Part 82 | Part 83 | Part 84 | Part 85 | Part 86
A word more in relation to the military service of the town and I am done. We sometimes hear soldiers say that they won the war, but they did not. The men that stayed at home and raised provisions and made munitions of war and made money helped to win the war as much as the soldiers, and without their support, we that stood the brunt of battle could not have carried on the contest a single month. But, with all the men working to carry on the war successfully, I do not believe they could have done it without something else. No, veteran soldiers, we could not have waged successful war without the sympathies, the tears and the prayers of the women. We sometimes talk of the sufferings of the soldier, but what were they compared with those of the women, whose anxiety never ceased ?
561
ANNIVERSARY CELEBRATION
There sat on this platform this morning a grand and noble mother, who, at one time, had three sons in the army of the Potomac. What was her suffering, as she watched with fear and trembling every minute for the sound of footfalls that brought news, with an anxiety that never could pos- sibly cease until the living ones returned. The women of this town and of this country, the women of the war, were as grand and noble as the Spartan mother of old, and gave to the country their sons, with God's blessing. Yes, veteran soldiers, the greatest heroism of war is that of the women, after all, for they are the greatest sufferers.
The military record of Lyndeborough surely is one of which we have a right to be proud, and we can only hope for the future that it will be as grand, that her sons will be as brave and patriotic as those have been who have gone before.
The choir then sang " The Star Spangled Banner."
Mr. Woodward. In all the joys and sorrows of our town the minister has filled a very large place. And I therefore propose this sentiment to the clergy : -
We know how well the fathers taught, What work the later schools have wrought.
We reverence old time faith and men,
But faith is slow. Is it too little or too much we know?
I have the pleasure of calling upon Rev. Mr. Childs, pastor of the church at the centre of the town, to respond to that senti- ment.
Mr. Childs made a suitable response.
Mr. Woodward. The next sentiment is " Our Medical Men." The confidential friends of the family, their cheerful presence robs sickness of half its pain.
Beginning by helping us in To this world of trouble and doubt, He at last atones for that sin By genially helping us out.
A number of years ago we had a graduate from District No. 8 who has gone out from us and has acquired very considerable eminence in his profession. It gives me much pleasure to pre- sent to you one of the sons of Lyndeborough, Dr. H. E. Spald- ing of Hingham, Mass.
Dr. Spalding. Ladies and Gentlemen, Friends of my Boyhood : When I came here I little expected to do other than shake hands. I did not expect that my voice would be called for here to-day. Hence, if the thoughts that I have collected together among these varied scenes that are brought before my mind by this gathering are somewhat rambling, you must forgive me, and believe that it is something like the modern sermon. You have the text given you, and let the brother go on and say what he will, whether it applies or not.
562
HISTORY OF LYNDEBOROUGH
The first thought that comes to my mind is, why should they ask, in Lyndeborough, about the medical profession ? You have no doctors here, you need no doctors here. Why, then do you bring one of the medical profession before you? These years ago you outgrew doctors. Well, I suppose when you had got this canvas tent spread above you, you thought it was a sort of menagerie, and you wanted to see a curiosity ; you wanted to see how the creatures look nowadays, so your chairman said, " Let us bring up a doctor to look at." So I am brought here for a show more than for what I am to say. Lyndeborough has had doctors. I accidentally learned to-day that old Dr. Jones, about 125 years ago, took to himself a wife ; and then did not exactly take to the woods, but did take to the fastnesses of the mountains up here in Lyndeborough, having his household goods put on an ox-cart, he and his bride going in a one- horse "shay," the second that had ever been into these town limits ; and thus they drove to Lyndeborough. He put out his shingle, but what an ominous sign it was, that the driver of that ox-cart, in bringing his goods here, choked himself to death before he got here, showing that there must be some reason why doctors should not come to Lyndeborough.
Dr. Jones remained here many years. He lived here, built him a home here, and to-day you will see his portrait hanging on the outer wall of the home which he built. He and his son and his grandson, I think, or his great-grandson, the late Wm. A. Jones, supplied the place of physician to this town nearly all the time during these 125 years. And well they sup- plied it. The other man who was so familiar to us in our childhood, who was so familiar and so dear to our mothers and our fathers, was Dr. Her- rick. I need say nothing to you of him. You remember his genial face. You remember his kindly way. We all respected him. We all loved him. But the historian has told you that many have gone out from Lyndeborough and worked in other fields in the medical profession. I was surprised to know that there were so many who had been at work in my profession, from this town.
Foremost, though, above all, not only of the sons of this town, but I would almost say foremost among the foremost in the medical science of this country, one whose name stands among the uppermost on the Temple of Fame in the medical science, is the name of Willard Parker. Not only wherever the English language is known, but wherever scientific medicine and surgery are called upon to alleviate suffering humanity is known the name of Willard Parker. Many, to-day, are working and do- ing good works, and it may be said of them, "their works do follow them," if, by chance, they do not go before.
But I have said that other thoughts come into my mind to-day, and I really dislike to talk "shop." I do not know, perhaps, as much about the medical profession as those who suffer, or are alleviated by it, do. I could, perhaps, tell you more about the lawyers than the lawyers could tell about themselves. I could, perhaps, tell you more about the clergy than they could tell you about themselves ; and some of you could tell me, perhaps, more about the doctors than I could tell you about them myself. I said that I came here expecting to shake hands. So I did. I expected to meet the boys and girls. I have met the boys and girls, but not the boys and girls. I have clasped the hand of sturdy manhood and the
563
ANNIVERSARY CELEBRATION
hand of cordial womanhood. The sparsely covered crown, the silver locks are here ; and about the same bright eye I read the marks of Time's fingers. And I wonder, as I look at them, if it can be a reflection of something in myself. It can hardly be, for I feel like a boy to-day. Old memories flock around. On this very spot one of my earliest recollec- lections comes up. One of the earliest experiences in my life outside of my own home, was, I should presume, on this very spot.
One Fourth of July - somebody says some forty years ago-it cannot be as long ago, for I am but a boy myself, and I remember it ; but, how- ever, it was long enough ago so that our fathers and our mothers deter- mined to have a Fourth of July picnic. Our fathers, instead of getting a tent, went into the woods, gathered trees and stuck them in the ground and made an artificial grove, among which they set the tables. And I remember how we passed the hours here. But what impresses itself most clearly upon my mind is the fact that I got lost that day. And this common, what an immense country it was to me ! How astonished I was, and how frightened ! There was no crier sent out for me. I am sure I filled that capacity to the fullest extent of the demands of the occasion.
These scenes come up before my mind rapidly, one after another. It was my good fortune a few months ago to stand in Munich and there view one of those remarkable processions that are brought out to cele- brate the death of nobility. The sound of the trumpet, the flash of the pine torch,- for it was in the night,-the dirge, the bier, all said the king was dead. Yet, when the procession had about passed, there came, suddenly, a presence in the air of something : a sound,-no, not a sound, - a tremor filled the air. Above, below, around,-from the very depths of the ground it came. It entered the very soul and shook the very citadel of life with emotion. It told better than anything else could, the sorrow of the nation. Oh, the throb of pain and sorrow in those tremulous sounds ! I shall never forget it. Something akin to that comes to me to-day as I see these old faces, as I think of the grass- grown walks, the doors that used to open in cordial hospitality, that now hang half torn from their hinges, the sashless windows, the emberless hearths; the rooms vacant, except as the bat flies through from one to another, or the frightened squirrel escapes. In the garden that stood by, like half-awakened memories, the tulip and the daffodil, the hollyhock and the cinnamon rose still struggle into bloom.
And then I recall the schoolhouse with its deeply carved desks; I re- member that eventful examination day. Oh, how we crammed and primed for it! How we looked anxiously and watched to see when the old clergyman, Mr. Claggett, should come across the field and through the door. Then we all stood up, in reverence to the man we all loved so well, the man who could take each one of us by the hand, and was not satisfied with giving us our first name, but gave us our middle names and our last names. He knew us all. Then, as the neighbors gathered, one after another, how we struggled to acquit ourselves well. And how we went out on to the rostrum of the schoolhouse and stood there with trembling feet and said,
"You'd scarce expect one of my age,"
or with more zeal and animation, we declared for " Independence now, and Independence forever ! "
1
564
HISTORY OF LYNDEBOROUGH
Those things, I say, come before me in rapid array, and I sorrow as I think of the deserted homes, as I notice the spots, like pock marks on the surface, where once stood the houses that meant homes. Yet, as the crier goes out, and, in one and the same voice declares, "The king is dead. Long live the king," so I say that there is hope yet for old Lynde- borough. It is not all sorrow nor all mourning. There are homes here yet. There is spirit here yet among the old men and among the middle- aged men that can make Lyndeborough still bloom and blossom. Her people must, perhaps, change their methods of life, their methods of farming, and introduce possibly some other industries ; but Lyndebor- ough must live. But, above all, I know that these eternal hills are here, and that they shall stand. What makes Lyndeborough dear and beauti- ful to us all will remain, though we shall pass away. Oh, ye rocks and rills, ye hills and vales, ye mountains and ravines, though wander thy children, live ye still. Do they make their sojourn in the tropic south, where perpetual summer reigns, they refresh their hearts with memories of thee, with thy sleeping verdure wrapped in winter's snowy blanket. Though they dwell in the prairies of the West, the eye wearied with the broad expanse of the horizon's long, unbroken line, they long to behold once more thy varied landscape and to see thy mountain tops, as, blush- ing with the first influence of morning's radiant hues, they proclaim the coming of the king of day to the vales below. Do they tread the narrow path of want, or eat of hunger's bitter bread, they recall the old home in thy midst where an all sufficient abundance ever prevailed. Do they ride the steed of affluence or dwell in palaces of wealth, they remember the comforts, the careless comforts of their country home, and say, "There indeed, was a rich mine of real, peaceful comfort that I cannot now find." Yes, wherever they are, in whatever situation, in whatever vocation, doc- tor, lawyer or divine, workers with the brain or hand, thy children love thee still ; living, love thee ; and dying, pray that thy murmuring brooks and thy whispering pines may sing their requiem and may speak their praise.
Mr. Woodward : The next sentiment is a toast to " Good Old Lyndeborough." Success to her industry. Prosperity attend her years. Her doors are ever open to welcome home her wan- dering children.
I will call upon one of her wandering children to speak to this sentiment. I used to be very intimately acquainted with him years ago. He is a graduate of old District No. 8, over the mountains, and was one of the sons of Lyndeborough repre- sented in that historic march through Baltimore on the 19th of April, 1861. Ladies and gentlemen, Henry M. Woodward, of Medford, Mass.
Mr. H. M. Woodward. Citizens of Lyndeborough, Old Lyndeborough : Old it is, indeed, as we mark the years, as the storms beat upon yonder hills. Old indeed it is as we mark the forest which the streams have made in yonder valleys. Old indeed it is as we read upon the tomb- stones in yonder yard the ages of those that have been laid there during
565
ANNIVERSARY CELEBRATION
the years that are past. But every morning's sun, as it climbs up these hills, makes Lyndeborough as new as it was in the past, when our boy- hood feet trod these hills. Lyndeborough - her industries : I have been astonished at the industries of Lyndeborough. We have industry piled up, industry pressed down, industry shaken together. And the industry here is so elevating - already elevated, I should say. In the morning, you industriously climb up and spend an industrious day upon these hills, and when you have industriously filled the hours of the day, you industriously slide down the same hills to your homes and industriously fill up the remainder of the day with the chores about the farm and barn. This is industrious industry, piled up, heaped up. And what is the re- ward of this industry ? I got a clew of the reward of the industry from the remarks which the doctor made; and that is this, that they do not need any doctors in Lyndeborough.
It is very difficult for one unaccustomed to public speaking to know what to say next. I am reminded of an incident that occurred in my war experience, and with that I will close my remarks. I know the old sol- diers here will appreciate it. In the early part of the war, in our nine months' service, we had a motley collection in our company, and very many of them knew nothing of military duties or tactics. We had a man by the name of John Whalen. The first night after we arrived in Virginia, John Whalen was detailed as camp guard. The old soldiers will know what "grand rounds " means. And I, being officer of the guard, it was my duty to instruct the guard in the duties of the grand rounds. For the information of those who do not exactly know what it means, I will say that, in the night, the officer of the day goes around and inspects each guard about the camp, and they have a certain formula which is required of the guard during that performance. He goes about to see that every man is awake and at his post and doing his duty. I instructed John in the duties of grand rounds. I told him what he was to do. I drilled him in the formula. "Now, John," said I, " when the officer of the guard approaches, you must say "Halt!" and "Who goes there?" And of course, the officer will say "Grand rounds." You will say, " Advance, grand rounds, and give the countersign." I instructed him in all the minutiae of that, and I got John so thoroughly indoctrinated with grand rounds that he could go through with it beautifully. When the time ap- proached, the officer of the day came to me and we went the grand rounds. We found all the guards at their posts as usual. We came to John's post, and John was marching up and down his post, with his " shoulder arms," as brave as any man could be; and when he saw me coming, he came to a halt, and waited until I could have struck him with my fist, he allowed me to come so near him.
Now it is against the rules of the army for a guard to let anyone come within reach of his bayonet. John allowed me to come up very near. And after awhile he says, "Halt!" Of course, I had halted before. Then I waited a few minutes for the rest of it. And John sang out after a while, " Who goes there ?" I replied, "Grand rounds." Then there was another long silence, and I waited and waited. Finally, John said, "Phwat will I say next?" With this remark, "Phwat will I say next ? " I close the few remarks I have to make.
-
566
HISTORY OF LYNDEBOROUGH
Mr. Woodward. Ladies and Gentlemen : The next senti- ment is to the absent sons of Lyndeborough ; to the sons of Lyndeborough who have been pioneers and conservators of other civilizations ; those present we welcome to their native hills on this festal day ; to those absent we send our kindest benedic- tions. I have the pleasure of introducing to you William H. Grant, Esq., of St. Paul, Minnesota.
Mr. Grant, before proceeding, read certain letters which had been received from some of the sons of Lyndeborough who were not present, After reading a letter from Rev. Wm. T. Bout- well, of Stillwater, Minn., Mr. Grant spoke as follows : -
Now, fellow-townsmen, I remember, in my boyhood, to have read, as some of you have read, that, under certain circumstances, the last shall sometimes be first, and the first last. The last letter which I read to you was that from Mr. Boutwell. I will speak of him as one of the absent sons of Lyndeborough first, because he builded better than he knew. When your mothers and my mother were making bed blankets and bed quilts and sending them, with their benedictions into the far Northwest forty years ago, they did not know what they were doing. Mr. Boutwell said to me last Tuesday afternoon, when I went to see him for the very purpose of seeing him before I should meet you to-day, that the people of Lyndeborough and his New England friends, in 1831, told him that if he went into that Northwestern country, if he did not freeze to death, he would be scalped by the Indians. We all remember very well how solicitous we all were for his welfare. I need not tell you that his mission, like the other missions to the Indians in the past, has very largely been a failure. He admits it himself. But man proposes and God disposes. The result of Lyndeborough's sending that man into the Northwest was the bringing of the attention of the American people to that country. " Why," he says, "in 1832, when I landed upon the shore of Cass Lake, near the source of the Mississippi, I found as fine a field of corn as was ever raised in old Lyndeborough. I did not feel any afraid of freezing to death after that."
It is to missionaries, to men like Mr. Boutwell, that America owes the building up and redeeming from barbarism of that noble country, of that great belt, not of western land, nor western states which we used to talk about, but that great central belt composed of Wisconsin, of Michigan, of Minnesota, of Iowa, of Illinois, of Missouri, and so down to the Gulf of Mexico. Within the limits of which I speak, and the new States, to be,- the two Dakotas, when they are added, there will be, in that coun- try to which Mr. Boutwell went in 1831, twelve millions of free, inde- pendent, enlightened and happy people. It is owing to the services of such men as Mr. Boutwell that the Pillsburys are feeding you to-day. You have been eating flour ground at the Falls of St. Anthony, which seemed to be a Utopian country in the days when Mr. Boutwell first visited it.
Another suggestion, another distinction for a son of Lyndeborough : Mr. Boutwell gave the name of Itasca to the source of the Mississippi
567
ANNIVERSARY CELEBRATION
River ; so that, so long as that great river shall flow to the gulf, so long as the human mind can remember or can see or can know of what there is to-day in the land,-just so long will that name be preserved ; and it is to old Lyndeborough, to this hill here just below us, that we owe that name-a peculiar name. He told me the story of how it came about some years ago. It was this : He accompanied the Schoolcraft expedi- tion in 1832. They came to that lake. It was the source of the river, and the question was what they should call it. They talked of Indian names. Finally Mr. Schoolcraft turned to Mr. Boutwell and said, " Mr. Boutwell, I am not a classical scholar. Can't you remember some Greek or some Latin name, something that will be expressive of the idea that this is the head of the river?" Mr. Boutwell took a piece of birch bark, as they sat there on the bank of the lake, and wrote " veritas caput," and handed it to Mr. Schoolcraft. He says, "It is too long." Mr. Boutwell jocularly replied, " Well, we had better cut in two." So he took off the v e r of the first word and the last syllable of the second word and he had the word " Itasca," and they adopted it as the name of the lake. So it is to a son of Lyndeborough that the world is indebted for the name of the lake at the head of the great Mississippi .*
There is another name that I desire to call your attention to. While he was not a son of Lyndeborough, he was a son of one of Lyndebor- ough's sons. He was a grand-son, as I said before, of the man who led the men of Lyndeborough at Bunker Hill. I think we have the right to call him a son of Lyndeborough. I refer to the Hon. E. G. Spaulding of Buffalo. You have heard what the military did during the war of the rebellion ; and how proud we have been of our military rec- ord. But there is a peaceful record in the case of Mr. Spaulding, which, to my mind, vastly outweighs, in its importance, the achievements of the military. Without it, the military could never have succeeded. His- tory shows us that Mr. Spaulding, as chairman of the committee on finance in the congress of the United States, in the early days of the war, introduced what is known as the "Greenback Bill," for the issuing of treasury notes. And I understand that in Buffalo his neighbors fre- quently speak of him as "Greenback Spaulding." Another thing he did : He formulated, introduced and advocated the present National Bank bill, by which our national currency was established. And it was so per- fect when it came from his experienced hand that there have been but very few amendments of it since. Men live in their sons and in their daugh- ters, and I say again, it is to these old hills, it is to those struggling an- cestors of ours who subdued these mighty forests, that we are indebted for these great measures.
Other sons of Lyndeborough have gone forth into every department of life; into my own profession, perhaps, less than into any other of the
* The following is taken from a paper on the source of the Mississippi, by H. M. Kingery, in The Popular Science Monthly for August, 1904: " The present name is said to have been the joint production of Schoolcraft and the Rev. Dr. Boutwell, who were the first white men to seek the lake as the Mississippi's source. Desiring to hail it at first sight with an appropriate title, Schoolcraft asked his companion for the Greek or Latin words meaning the true source of a river. Though somewhat rusty in his classics, the reverend explorer finally recalled the two Latin words, veritas caput- truth head. These were written down, the first and last syllables crossed out, and presto ! the name Itaska."
568
HISTORY OF LYNDEBOROUGH
learned professions; but everywhere you find them. They have been bank presidents and bank directors. They have constructed railroads. They have been railroad directors and railroad presidents and managers. They have been mayors of cities. They have been the pioneers and founders of towns. Every industry, every advance of civilization has found some son of Lyndeborough lifting at the wheel.
But, ladies and gentlemen, the hours are passing rapidly. I simply de- sired to see you. I desired to be present and shake again your kindly hands. It is now more than thirty years, nearly thirty-five, since I lost my citizenship in Lyndeborough. I have always looked back on the home of my birth as a place I love to contemplate. I remember you all. I remember the old men and the young, and always with the kindest of feelings and recollections. These scenes about us, as I said before, are what have made the sons of Lyndeborough what they are. Man, like any other animal, is made largely by his environment; and it is because our ancestors had to struggle, it is because our fathers and mothers had to work with their hands and their heads, that we have given so many illustrations of distinguished ability in the various departments of human life .
I expect to leave you. I may never, or I may, return. These scenes, to me, are set in strong remembrance. As Burns said,
Need help finding more records? Try our genealogical records directory which has more than 1 million sources to help you more easily locate the available records.