USA > New Hampshire > Hillsborough County > Lyndeborough > The history of the town of Lyndeborough, New Hampshire, Vol. II > Part 10
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How can one who believes there is a just, righteous, all-wise and almighty Ruler of all things doubt the ultimate triumph of justice and righteousness ? This triumph will be secured, not by irresistible mani- festations of supernatural power, but by the working together of all principles, forces, and agencies, human and divine, which have for their end the production and spread of justice and righteousness in the world.
Among the agencies which have been mighty in the past, and are still mighty in every good work for the elevation and redemption of humanity are the principles and characters of the fathers and mothers who planted the rural towns of New England, and whose mortal remains sleep be- neath the soil which they loved. They were not perfect men and women. We do not honor them most by claiming for them that ideal perfection which they never thought of claiming for themselves. They were merely human. But, taken all in all, the world has not yet seen a nobler, and truer, and grander generation.
It is possible that the towns and states which they founded may pass under the control of men of a different race and of another faith, but their principles and deeds have not perished, and will not perish. The seeds of truth which they planted have sprung up and are bearing ripened fruits in fertile fields which their eyes never saw. The empire which had its beginning here among these rocky hills and in the shadows of these rough mountains has transferred the seat and center of its power to the broader plains and richer soil of the West. New England lives in Ohio, and Michigan, and Iowa, and other of the newer 'states. Her sons and
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daughters do not cease to remember the mother who nourished their in- fancy, though her features are rugged and her face is wrinkled with many a deep-plowed furrow. As we re-visit the scenes of childhood we do not hesitate to repeat the words of Scott-
" Breathes there a man with soul so dead, Who never to himself hath said,
This is my own, my native land ; Whose heart hath ne'er within him burned
As home his footsteps he hath turned, From wandering on a foreign strand ?"
We enter into the feeings of Bryant when he wrote-
" Thou who wouldst see the lovely and the wild Mingled in harmony on Nature's face,
Ascend our rocky mountains. Let thy foot Fail not with weariness, for on their tops The beauty and the majesty of earth
Spread wide beneath, shall make thee to forget
The steep and toilsome way. There as thou stand'st, The haunts of men below thee, and around The mountain's summits, thy expanding heart Shall feel a kindred with that loftier world To which thou art translated, and partake The enlargement of thy vision."
As I close, permit me to record once more the oath of allegiance and fidelity to the State and the town of my birth. The remains of four generations of my ancestors sleep beneath this soil, and render it " hallowed ground." These rough fields, these narrow valleys, these winding highways, these rocky hills, these rugged mountains have charms for my eye and my heart which no other lands possess. I love the rich and beautiful State of my adoption, with her broad and fertile fields, with her magnificent forests, with her exhaustless mines, with her grand lakes, and her intelligent and enterprising population : but "if I forget thee, Jerusalem of my birth and boyhood, let my right hand for- get her cunning ; if I do not remember thee, let my tongue cleave to the roof of my mouth ; if I prefer not the Jerusalem of New England above my chief joy."
The President. A fine display of fireworks, consisting of rockets, Roman candles, and mines, to close with a set piece pre- pared for the day, has been provided by the Boutwell family. This will be exhibited on the common by a professional from Boston as early in the evening as it is possible to do so. All are cordially invited to attend.
This concludes the speaking by those who have prepared ad- dresses for this occasion from manuscript. I now have the pleasure of introducing to you Jacob A. Woodward, who will take charge of the further proceedings in my place.
Mr. Woodward. Ladies and gentlemen : Before proceeding
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to the task which has been assigned to me, you will please par- don one brief thought. While we have met here together to renew old acquaintances and to form new acquaintances, and to revive the happy memories of young manhood and young womanhood, this thought comes to me : that we should this day give some meed of honor to the gray-haired men and women who have been true to old Lyndeborough and have remained here, and who make this celebration to-day possible. While we reverence and honor the names of those who founded this town, I still submit that it is those who live here to-day and are to remain here who make the town what it is and what it is to be. And I call upon all residents of the town, to-day, upon this one hundred and fiftieth anniversary of its settlement, to pledge ourselves anew, that whatever is tried that is new and that is practical, we will adopt it in our industry ; that whatever is new and best, we will have it in our schools and upon our roads ; that we will give a liberal support to all of our institutions ; and that Lyndeborough shall have the reputation, and deserve it, of being a live, go-ahead place, abreast of the times. Communism and anarchy do not flourish in the homes under the shadows of these hills.
In giving the first sentiment that is to be responded to, I would say, by way of introduction, that whenever you mention the military record of Lyndeborough, every true son of Lynde- borough stands up a little straighter and says, " You can scruti- nize that record as much as you please ! " The sentiment is, "Our Military Men."
From Bunker Hill to Appomattox, from '76 to '61, when duty called, the men of Lyndeborough responded where
... Bursting shell, the gateway wrenched asunder, The rattling musketry, the clashing blade.
And ever and anon, in tones of thunder,
The diapason of the cannonade."
Our military record, second to none.
About a year before the civil war opened, up here in District No. 2, a district which has the reputation of sending out lots of live, smart and mischievous men, a young man went out into the world to try his skill in its warfare. When duty called he responded, and has made for himself a name and fame. He needs no introduction from me to many of you. Ladies and gentlemen, I have the pleasure of introducing to you Surgeon- General Holt of Cambridge, Massachusetts.
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Gen. Holt. Mr. Chairman, Ladies and Gentlemen, Fellow-townsmen : Before commencing the few sentences that I am to utter, I wish to say a word of explanation or apology. I had supposed up to yesterday morn- ing that it would not be possible for me to be present at this celebration, although no amount of inconvenience or expense to myself would have kept me away. I supposed that I should be employed in a Government office which I am unfortunate enough to hold, that would, perhaps, call fifteen or twenty veteran soldiers from their homes all over Massachu- setts, and I felt that I had no right to put them to that inconvenience. But, happily, we were able to arrange the matter yesterday, and so I am here. But I have been able to give but very little thought to the sen- timent that your toastmaster has asked me to respond to.
One hundred and fifty years ago this fall, our sturdy ancestors came into the wilderness that clothed these grand old hills, and carved out for themselves and their children, homes. And among their first thoughts was that of caring for their own protection. Although the savage Indian had been driven from all the southern part of New England, still he was jealous of the approaching civilization, and sought every opportunity to get revenge ; and so the settlers of the extreme frontier were never with- out danger of attacks from them, and the settlers here, as tradition says, like those elsewhere, built for their protection a block house. It is not probable that they had any military organization at that early day, although it is more than probable that there was some leader to whom they looked up in times of danger. And if they did not have a man worthy of that high place, they certainly had a leader in the woman that the speaker mentioned this morning, who called the roll of her children when the Indian was crawling about her home. It is probable that they had more or less alarms, when they fled to this block house for protec- tion, but time has proved that such alarms were causeless; and in a few years the fast advancing settlement, of the surrounding country freed them from the danger of Indians. It is more than probable that some of the restive spirits joined in some of the contests against the Indians and French that took place between 1739 and 1775, but there was no organi- zation for such a purpose.
The great war for Independence, like all great wars, and particularly like all great civil wars, came unheralded, and, up to the 19th of April, 1775, there was little or no thought of a contest of arms, although the colonies had been outspoken in their opposition to the wrong and injus- tice that had been heaped upon them, and revolts and riots had occurred in two or three instances. It is said that one of the officers of Louis XVI. carried to his master the news of a riot in the streets of Paris just before the French Revolution, when the starving people were crying for bread. The monarch listened impatiently to the recital and said, " It is nothing but a riot ; the troops can dispel them." But the officer, more observing than his master, knowing better the temper of the people, an- swered, " No, sire, it is not a riot, but a revolution." So, when the mid- night courier fled like a phantom through the streets of Cambridge and on, calling to arms, on the morning of the 19th of April, 1775, it was not a riot or a revolt, but it was a revolution. The people in the colonies had borne until it had ceased to be a virtue, and they were obliged to re-
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sort to arms to obtain right and justice. We all know that the battle of Lexington and Concord was fought by a few companies that had been aroused by the ride of Paul Revere, in the immediate vicinity of Boston, for there was no time to collect troops from anywhere else. But the spirit of revolt was not confined within narrow limits. The spirit of lib- erty that aroused the men of Concord and Lexington to do deeds that will live in song and story so long as American history lives, had perme- ated and ramified to the remotest points of the settlements in the colo- nies; and nowhere in all the towns of the colonies was there a quicker response to that call; nowhere was there a town that answered sooner than this grand old town of Lyndeborough, when the call came. For, notwithstanding it was in the busiest season of the year, when work must be done if they were to reap a harvest in the coming fall, in less than eight weeks from the 19th of April, from the battle of Concord and Lex- ington, nineteen of the gallant sons of Lyndeborough stood on the battle line with Stark before Bunker Hill.
And all through the Revolutionary war this town furnished more than a hundred men for that contest. Some of them heard the brave and gal- lant words of Stark at Bennington. Some of them saw Burgoyne, shorn of his pomp and glory, lay down his arms in defeat before a ragged line of Americans at Saratoga. Some of them, barefooted, footsore, ragged and hungry, followed Washington through the icy waters of the Dela- ware. Some of them heard the roar of cannon at Monmouth, and some of them followed the fortunes of that gallant army through to the end, and saw the final triumph of American liberty at Yorktown.
Grand old revolutionary heroes! Some of us remember the tottering form of one as he came into the church Sunday after Sunday to occupy his usual seat. Grand and heroic their deeds were, and we remember with gratitude and pride the work they did, to-day ; and well we may, for in all the history of the world there is no grander page than that written out by the bayonets of the Revolutionary heroes in their struggle for lib- erty; and the town of Lyndeborough furnished more than its share of men for that service.
There seems to be no record of the men that served in the war of 1812 from this town. And it is not probable that a great many of them en- tered that service, as it was a short war compared with the others, and its contests were mostly far beyond the Hudson, except one or two naval battles. The town, I believe, did send a company to do garrison duty at Portsmouth.
The great civil war of 1861, like the revolution, came unexpectedly. Although political contests had been fierce and political animosities and angers were strong, yet there was no thought on the part of the North of settling the great questions brought about by African slavery by a contest of arms, until the firing upon Fort Sumter. Then all political animosi- ties ceased and were hushed. Then disappeared party lines. Then it was union or dis-union-the North against the South : loyalty against disloyalty. Then the men of Maine, the men of New Hampshire, the men of Massachusetts, at a moment's warning, with only a single hour's notice, seized their arms, rushed to the rescue and saved the nation's capital. And among the very first to respond to that call were the boys who first saw the light of day upon these hills.
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And the first of all New Hampshire's sons to lay down his life on the field of battle in that great contest was a boy who enlisted from this town, a handsome, black-eyed boy, full of life and happiness, who was born and raised on yonder farm, was killed almost at the first fire in the first battle of Bull Run. During that great contest this town furnished for actual service in the army over eighty of its citizens. I refer to those who saw actual, active service. This, of course, is exclusive of the ser- vice of the artillery company, of which I shall say a word later. And to-day, beneath the Southern skies, all along the line from the Potomac to the Mississippi, they are sleeping their final sleep. For the life of one went out amidst the whistling shot and screeching shell at Gettysburg ; another fell beneath the burning sun of Louisiana, in front of the breast- works of Port Hudson ; another passed away amidst disease and suffering and death in the hospital at New Orleans ; another at Gettysburg, and so on. They were in all the great battles of the war. I think you cannot find a single one, where, in the ranks of the Union army, there was not a Lyndeborough boy. And at the final surrender at Appomatox over a score of Lyndeborough's sons were still in the service, many of whom had won commissions.
I intended to say only a very few words here, but the response to the sentiment your toast-master presented me would be very incomplete without a word in relation to the artillery company and the militia. This town has furnished to the militia, in days past, two infantry companies that are long since extinct, and an artillery company, the glory and re- nown of this old town, so far as its military record is concerned, now over eighty of age, but not decrepit and broken ; having still the strength and vigor of its manhood. I suppose the two principal objects of keep- ing up a militia force are, first, to have a force that we can call upon at any time, in an emergency ; second, to keep alive in men the military spirit. That this old company has well fulfilled these two objects we all can testify, for it responded with alacrity and with full ranks to the call that took it to Portsmouth for garrison duty during the war. And, dur- ing all its life, there is scarcely a son of Lyndeborough that has not at some time been enrolled in its ranks. It has an honorable record, and we are glad to speak of it in terms of praise to-day. We can only hope that interest in it will be kept up, and that its drill and discipline will be continued, so that, fifty years from now, when the two hundredth anni- versary comes, it can show as grand and noble a record as it does to-day.
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 ?
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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.
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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 Wmn. 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
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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.
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