USA > Rhode Island > Washington County > North Kingstown > Facts and fancies concerning North Kingstown, Rhode Island > Part 6
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
Another man living in Warwick wishes to move to North Kingstown but is timid about asking for a "sertifiket" as he has but one ear and fears this may be construed to have been due to punishment; he explains that he got into a fight aboard ship and a sailor chewed it off. (From War- wick Records).
45
----
£
.
٠
In 1873, a dentist in Wickford, complains to the police that the previ- lence of rowdyism on the sidewalk and in the building on the Sabbath and on week-days is very annoying.
*
There were no almshouses until after 1800 so the paupers were struck off to the lowest bidder. In 1819, the keeper of the almshouse agreed for $554 a year to furnish all the victuals, beds and bedding except for those having smallpox and to provide for funerals. The Town to furnish clothes. If any of the poor were neglected a deduction was to be made.
* *
There are many items concerning the epidemics of smallpox; it was often the custom to use as a pest house, the house that had the first case. In 1777, this item appears:
The wife of Jeremiah Hunt being "obstrupolus" refuses to stay in the pest house. The Town Council orders that she be made to stay there and that Caleb Hill see that the order is carried out.
The Town Council is informed that one Catherine Tethering- ton and one Martha Campbell are two persons who will, if they can, be very instrumental in spreading the smallpox. It is ordered that they shall not be allowed on any ferry.
* *
It is interesting to note that at first all business and political affairs of King's County and the local community were conducted in the Smith Block House; then for more than a century, the Town Council met in private houses and taverns. In 1806, Daniel and James Updike gave a lot of land on the southerly side of Main Street toward the western end of the plat of the town for the purpose of building a Town House. The next year, this building was erected. At one time it was occupied by the G. A. R. but is now used by the American Legion.
THE "EYE" SPRING
SARA TILLINGHAST WARREN
THE Town of North Kingstown is a repository of many unique and
T interesting objects which have become subjects of tradition and folklore that go to make up a fascinating chapter in the narration of the unusual distinctions peculiar to the town.
Perhaps one of the lesser known of these is the spring which flows westerly into Pausacaco Pond, north of Gilbert Stuart's birthplace, the head water of the Pettaquamscutt River. This is a true spring which gushes forth at the roots of what was a stately tree before the hurricane of 1938. For generations it has been known as "Eye Spring". Tradition says that formerly people from near and far went there to bathe their eyes if their eyesight was impaired; the water was believed to have some curative property which they believed to be beneficial to their failing eyesight.
46
سدا ده د
חוה "מצפי בויצווה
الأسـ
00
THE WITCH SHEEP ANNA STANTON NUGENT
TN EARLY Narragansett history there were many large farms stocked with large flocks of sheep. One such farm, owned by Benny Nichols, extended from Pender Zeke's Corner to Narragansett Bay. At that time there were no sheds to house these large flocks and the poor animals often suffered during the winter from cold and snow; sometimes they were smothered when huddled under stone walls or alongside hay ricks and covered with snow drifts with an icy crust. Such storms caused great anxiety among the shepherds.
One such storm occurred in 1811, but, fortunately, Benny's flock was located soon after the storm had ceased. One sheep, however, had become separated from the rest and couldn't be found. Three weeks elapsed before this most-prized sheep of the creeper breed was discovered. When uncovered, she was a pitiful sight. Her long wool hand been eaten off as far as she could reach in her fight against starvation and she was weak and trembling from the cold. She was picked up tenderly and carried home where a week of care- ful nursing on the part of Debby Nichols restored her to normal strength.
The question then arose as to what to do with her. She had no wool so couldn't go out in the cold with the rest of the flock. Debby decided to make her a false fleece. She took an old blue coat, cutting off the sleeves to the right length to cover Nannie's fore legs. To this coat she attached two sleeves of a red flannel shirt to cover the hind legs. A gray jacket buttoned over the back bone with large brass buttons, completed the outfit.
When Bennie restored her to the rest of the flock, consternation and terror reigned. Poor Nanny couldn't approach them so wildly did they flee her presence, running from side to side and crowding one another against the sides of the enclosure. Bennie had to take her back to the kitchen. After dark he returned her to the flock again thinking they would become accustomed to her.
That evening two neighbors came to call and while they were telling tales of the great storm and enjoying some of Bennie's "flip", a loud wail was suddenly heard, the door flew open, and in stumbled Tuggy Bannock, an old negress who lived near Gilbert Stuart mill. She sank upon the table by the fire murmuring: "T'anks be to Praise! T'anks be to Praise."
Bennie brewed her a mug of beer, adding a little rum and sugar and soon Tuggie was quite restored. She related how she had been witch rid by ole Mum Amey. When asked how she looked and what did she do, she related the following: "Oh, she was mons'ous fearsome to see! Witches don't nebber go in their own form when dey goes to deir Sabbaths. She was long and low like a snake. She run along de ground' jess like a derminted yeller painter, aboundin' an leapin' and springing a chasin dem poor sheep- oh, how dey run! Wid her old red an' blue blanket tied tight aroun' her -- dat's how I knowed her. An she had big sparklin' gold dollars on her back-wages of de debbil I 'specks. Sometimes she jump in de air an' spread her wings an' fly awhile. Smoke and sparks came outen her mouf and nostrums! Big black horns stick outen her head! Lash her long black ·tail jus' like de debbil hisself!"
When told what she had seen, Tuggie was indignant and started for
47
-
.
3
٠
GILBERT STUART HOUSE
---
٣
٢٠٠
٠٪
٣٠١
٠٠٠
1-
100G
ب
the door, muttering "High time to stop such outrageous goin's on-dressing up sheeps like debbils-scaring an ole woman to death."
The flock soon tolerated Nanny's fleece and when sheep-shearing time came, she looked as well as the rest.
This story was widely circulated through the Narragansett country and passed on to succeeding generations. When Nanny raised her offspring and they in turn theirs, the creeper sheep were known as "witch sheep."
THE BIRTHPLACE OF GILBERT STUART ALICE H. DURFEE GREENE
TT WAS in the summer of 1930 that Mr. Herbert R. Cross, president of the South County Art Association suggested that the Association should try to save the birthplace of Gilbert Stuart which was rapidly falling into ruin. A committee was appointed and on the first of September, the required funds had been raised, which gave title to the house, the grist mill, water rights and about three acres of land.
Mr. Norman M. Isham, an authority on colonial architecture, immedi- ately took charge of the restoration of the house and his plans were ably carried out by Mr. Joseph H. Bullock and his son, William.
The house had been built in 1751 by Gilbert Stuart who came from Scotland with the intention of manufacturing snuff. Shortly after arriving in Rhode Island he married Elizabeth Anthony of Newport, and on De- cember 3, 1755, their son, Gilbert, was born. The next year on Palm Sunday he was baptized in the Old Narragansett Church by Doctor MacSparran.
The elder Stuart built and operated a snuff mill in the basement of the house. Only the foundation stones of the original mill and the hole in the wall where the shaft had passed through were left in 1930 to show where the mill had stood. A great water wheel was built, 16 feet in diameter and a snuff mill of the time of Stuart was sent over from England by a firm of snuff makers, and set up.
About 16 acres were later added to the property and the old shed was enlarged to make a dwelling place for a caretaker.
During the hurricane the grist mill was nearly demolished, but it has recently been repaired and the grind stones reset.
This grist mill had been built about 1687 and is said to be the oldest one of its kind in this country. For lack of funds the work has stopped, but Mr. Isham has plans drawn for leading in the water and a large water wheel to be housed at the west end of the building.
In the days when the mill was used by farmers for miles around, a bell hung from the eves and could be rung if the miller was not in sight. The bell is still in the possession of the Stuart Memorial and it is hoped that some day it may be rung again. Shepherd Tom says in the Johnnycake Papers the finest, sweetest meal was ground here.
Where the Mettatuxet River falls, in its meandering way from Pausa- coco to the Pettaquamscutt the old mill stands, and the child who was born there became the renowned painter of the Father of his Country whose portrait is reproduced on our currency and postage.
A caretaker lives at the Birthplace now all the year round and visitors are always welcome.
49
1
THE OLD MEN IN THE CORN
C. GRANT LAFARGE Saunderstown, R. I.
Unpublished. All Rights Reserved
'THE autumn day was near its ending. Since its frosty runrise we two, my good dog and I, had tramped the rough hillsides, finding quail in the old pastures, here and there a partridge along the edges of the wood- lands; and where the clumps of birches raised their silver stems above brown leafy carpets and tangled brush, we had heard the tinkling whistle of the woodcock's flight. Now. after a good day, as I pushed through the last of the woods at the foot of the hill, and came out upon the open fields that border this side of the long pond, I was tired, and so was the dog. There was time for one more woodcock covert before the light failed, and to reach it we must cross some fields; but even though it might cut that time rather short, the temptation of a pipe was not to be resisted, and I stopped on the top of the stone fence to start it, at least. . A large rock lay in the line of the wall, and this having been too formidable an obstacle to remove, it remained a part of it. It gave me the easiest way to climb, and a good seat.
What a day it had been-and what an evening to close such a day! Indian summer; distilled perfection of all the glory and all the tenderness of the suns that have risen and set; when the dying year is robed in its last splendor, but veiled in dreamy haze; when the frost of night but gives an added freshness to the morning; when the last fruit still hangs upon tree and vine, more precious for its rarity; when from the familiar scenes, what- ever of commonness the obvious days have cast upon them vanishes, and romance comes back to assert her dominion over all the old land, to tie its story of today with that of bygone yesterdays.
Along this shore of the pond stretched the nearly level fields, growing rougher to the north, where the woody hillside came to the water's edge; broadening to the southward into a long reach of salt marsh through which ran the winding outlet, to the dunes, far below. The fields were, for the most part, thin sparse pasture, patched with islands of bayberry and huckleberry; here and there long grass, a sort of broom-straw, showed an intense rose-color in the evening light. From my seat on the rock I faced some land that had been planted with corn, now harvested and its stocks tied into shocks. Shaped like wigwams, each with a crest of plumes, they stood in rows, and from them came a little rustling murmur as the soft breeze played with their dry leaves. Across the pond stood the long ridge, its base thickly clothed with woods and above them brushy fields. It was in shadow now, for the sun was nearly sunk below its crest, but all the land on this eastern shore was bathed in light -- that wonderful light of level rays. The corn-shocks were golden, the fields all shades of yellow, bronze and rose; the woods an exquisitely tender blaze of glow- ing color, accented and intensified by the strong notes of the evergreen spires. Over it all lay the soft violet haze. deepening into purple in the shadows, so that there was upon everything a bloom like untouched ripe fruit. I drank in the beauty and the perfect peace of it; it seemed to me
50
T
7
£
٠
1
-
that Nature was healing her wounds, resting from her weariness of the noisy summer with its screeching motor-cars, the dust, the tiresome people and all the loud vulgarity of the near-by watering-places and their swarm- ing hordes. They had gone away now, those restless invaders, and she could once more take thought of herself and her lovliness; share it with her lovers in gentle quietude; appear, at least, to mend the scars.
.
More and more intense grew the evening glow; the soft breeze died away and there fell primeval stillness; the water of the pond became a mirror for the autumn forest and the sunset sky. My dog lay fast asleep. From far away on the western ridge I heard the horn of a motor; there were less of them now; it would very likely be some sportsman like my- self, travelling the highway that ran along the summit of the ridge, the highway that today is a road built of stone was once the Pequot Trail. There was no other sound-the stillness became absolute. Then, as I looked in rapt delight upon the scene, so intimately known and so trans- figured, I thought I saw something was happening to it, something more than a mere fancied regeneration due to light and season. Surely the woods were denser and grew wider than I knew them-and what had become of the stone walls? They couldn't have gone, of course, but somehow I couldn't see them. I looked at the one on which I sat; there it surely was: Then I stood up on my rock to see about more clearly, and as I gazed away I heard a strange sort of a rattling sigh -- my wall had vanished, leaving only the rock. While I stood in wonder, I noticed that the corn was rustling, though there was not a breath of wind; but the rustling had not the sharp dry sound of the dead leaves; it was softer, like the rustling of feathers beaten together. Puzzled by this, I was looking at the shocks, when I became aware of something that was moving among them; it was three deer, a buck, doe and fawn. There was nothing very strange about their presence, for the deer, after long years of absence, had come back again into their former haunts and were a not infrequent sight; but these picked their way in utter unconcern of my, presence and passed close by me and my sleeping dog, as though we were not there. I watched their sleek bodies and gentle eyes, thinking how perfectly they fitted into the air of remoteness that had come over common things. Then through the silence fell a sound that never fails to stir the pulses of him who loves the lonely shores, the marshes and the dawn-the cry of wild geese. Honk, honk, a-honk; even the call of the great moose on far northern lakes is no wilder than this clear note that now came to me from the spaces of the sky. I saw them, a great V-shaped string, black against the sunset; up the long pond they flew, then wheeled and bore down upon me, sinking in their flight so that as they passed over me I heard the beating of their wings. These wary birds, always so fearful here of man, seemed to regard me no more than had I been a part of my rock. They sailed over the corn, and, at its farther edge, sank into a hollow where I knew there was a little pond. Strange that they should be so unmindful of my presence, but I supposed them tired; stranger still that I felt no desire to go after them and take what would have been an easy shot.
Again I looked around, and now there was no doubt of it; though the light was fading I could see clearly, and the woods had spread. Down over . the fields they had crept, and the crest of the ridge, a little while since an undulating clear-drawn line of open fields, broken by outcropping ledges
51
.
.
of rock and the tufted masses of low bushes that grew there in a dense tangle, was now a ragged profile of forest set against the crimson afterglow. I wondered, but somehow accepted it as part of this evening's sweet return to Nature's own. Then again there came to me the sound of birds, and now I marvelled indeed. Lying in wait among the tall grasses of fields among the pines, in a Southern land a thousand miles away, I had heard the wild turkeys calling-and this was their call that I now heard again. It could not be, and yet there was no mistaking it. And if my ears had deceived me, my eyes did not, for here they came. Among the cornshocks walked a pro- cession of the great birds, dark hens and splendid gobblers with their bronze plumage and brilliant heads. How did they come to be here? It is close upon two centuries since this country knew them-but there they were, beyond the shadow of a doubt. and like the geese, these shyest of birds were fearless as though they had been barnyard fowl. This was bewildering indeed, and it occurred to me to wake my dog, who so strangely slept through such occurences, when I was again attracted by the rustling of the corn. It was the shock nearest me that was stirirng so unaccountably in the breathless stillness and I look at it closely --- and behold! It was not a shock of corn at all, but an old, old man who sat upon the ground. About him, to his ears, was wrapped a blanket, or rather a robe, and it seemed to be of skin fringed at its edges. What I had taken to be the plumy tops of the crossed stalks were long feathers rising from his head. His skin was dark; in the fold of his arm a bow and a spear lay against his shoulder. His eyes, keen and clear in his ancient visage, were looking straight into mine. I left that fixed regard for just long enough to see that all about him were sitting rows of other such old men-but of them all I felt him to be the principal figure, and I knew that I looked upon an Indian Chief.
.
We stared at one another in silence; on my part, though quite conscious of the astonishment I should have felt, yet in its place was that same acqui- escence in this startling sight that had marked my former reception of the transformations brought by the dying autumn day. An Indian Chief-yes, he was surely that, and quite as surely he belonged here. Indian Chiefs- Indian corn. And how Indian it is, how of this dear country of ours and no other, how mixed with all our early story, from the days when the serried ranks of its tall stems toss their angular deep green leaves in the summer airs, to those when it stands dry in wigwam shapes, telling its rustling memories to the wintry winds, in lonely and deserted fields. So, then, it seemed to me that there the old Chief should sit, and that whatever half- conscious thoughts had sometimes stirred in me throughout the past, born of the autumn mystery and of ancestral memories, were here most natur- ally confirmed.
He, if I could read at all his immemorial impassive face, looked upon me without either concern, or enmity. And so it seemed, for presently he arose, without ever taking those keen eyes of his from mine. He drew him- self to his full height; old, very old, but a great tall man, quite erect, heavy of frame though spare and bony. Long snow-white hair fell on either side of his bronze countenance, out of which wrinkled and lined by the burden of many years, glowed those piercing eyes. It was in a presence that I stood -- such dignity as his belongs to kings. Where had I seen the like-what were these misty fragments of unseizable recollections that fitted through
52
.
·
my mind? Wyoming, Washakie, Shoshone -- were these names only; were they memories at all, or shadows cast before? Why did I have a vision of long miles of open country whose pale ground was set with pungent gray- green herbage, stretching far away to mighty peaks of lapis-lazuli, streaked with the white lines of eternal snow? I could not tell, though so it was.
His speech first broke the silence, with these words: "Hail, friends; I see you hunt-the game is plenty." Friend", he had called me; "Nidombe" was what he said. I once mastered a few simple phrases of his tongue-not enough for connected talk, and even these lost today. But as he spoke his language came to me instinctively and I replied to him without any slightest difficulty:
"Hail and good wishes to you, Chief. Yes, I have found some game, but not today nor on any day have I seen it as here this evening."
"No," he replied, "that is as it is now. But your people have come and are coming fast, and it will not stand before them. By the time that you are here, it will be gone, or nearly so."
"When I am here: where then am I? Am I not here?"
"Yes-and yet no. For you and I cannot be here at the same time-you must see that. And you that are here are still to come; look at the land about you if you doubt me."
. It was true, of course -- that was why the country had so changed. I seemed to understand, though it left me in a doubt about myself, and my own reality. But who was he; where did he come from?
"Chief," I said, "for that you are that I need no other proof than your bearing; I beg you tell me your name."
"My name is Canonicus. I am Chief Sachem of the Narragansetts."
I knew. No wonder he looked old.
"Old Father," said I, "are you-I mean, will you be-I don't quite know how to put it -- let me speak as I see it. Are you always in the corn? Where do you -- well, not exactly -- where is your abiding-place?"
He smiled a little as he answered; "Not always. You cannot always see the home in which we are forever. We abide in the blue haze. It is ever in the air, yet at most times withdrawn. But when the near coming of the winter's cold sets all the leaves aflame, then the blue haze draws near and joins the autumn company. You know it-you know it is not fog, not mist, not smoke. It is our home."
"Yes, Great Sachem," I said, "I see; what has been is ever here. The old story lives-not in books and musty records only, but in the land itself, the changing seasons. Time passes -- '
"Time," he interrupted me, "is not for those who have passed beyond the boundaries of time. For them, and so it would be for you could your eyes be opened to the truth, time is but an invention of men who are blind. Come with me, my son, and you shall see."
He turned and took a step toward the shore, but as I started to come down from my rock, he stopped and facing me again said:
"Leave your gun. It will be of no use where we are going."
I laid it down beside the sleeping dog. There was in me no doubt whatever that I should follow him and do in all ways as he said. One question, though, crossed my mind, and I asked him,
"How about these others? Do they stay here, or come with us?"
53
1
1
1
1
-
"Some of them," he answered, "you may see again, some may choose to rest in their quiet sleep. Now that the blue haze is here and that you have seen it and have known it, they may come and go for you as they will."
And then he set out to the water and I followed him --- through the shocks, for as I walked among them, that was what they were, though always the rustling continued in the still air. At the water's edge I saw a canoe, drawn up on the beach, and the old man pushed it into the water, telling me to get in, which I did. He took the paddle and pushed off, then paddled straight across the pond. His stroke, though slow, was firm, and I thought that none but such as he could keep so much of strength at that great age. It should now have been growing dark, but it did not. It still seemed to be the light of evening and yet, if anything, brighter, so that all the surface of the still water glowed with splendid color. And all over it, in every direction, were great flocks of waterfowl,among which we passed without alarming them. As we approached the western shore, where the trees hung their drooping branches over the water, the light grew even clearer, so that I saw plainly every detail of the brilliant forest. I realized now that it was a light that came from no one quarter-not of the setting nor the rising sun, not of evening nor morning nor the middle day; such a light as my eyes had never seen upon this strange, familiar land-and by some instinct born of the marvels by which I was surrounded and which I so simply accepted, I knew it for what it was-the light of other days.
Canonicus drove the canoe upon the shore; the bow slid up on a little sandy beach with its pleasant soft grating sound and we disembarked.
"Now," said the Sachem, "let us go up the hill. We shall see the people- pass, your people and mine, at their own times, upon their various ways and to their various and yet common ends. Come."
So saying he led the way among the trees and I followed. The woods were dense and heavier than I knew them; there was no path, so that we picked our way as the growth permitted. It was a fairly steep hill, as I knew well, but the old man stepped ahead with a sturdy gait which as we went on seemed to become more springy. Many a time had I been over all this: hillside, both on horseback and afoot, but now I could recognize nothing of what I saw, so changed was the character of all the growth. The open groves of spindling locust, the dense thickets of birch and cedar, with an occasional wilding apple and here and there a large oak or chestnut, the tangle of. cat-brier that laced so much of it together into nearly impenetrable jungle, had now gone and in their place were forest trees. The wild grape still. hung its purple clusters amid broad golden leaves, the deep green cedars stood among the gorgeous oaks and maples, and the undergrowth was dense; but it was unmistakable original forest. I had nothing to place myself by but the changing slopes of the ground; I knew when we crossed the level where the old sandy road along the base of the hill should be, but was not; on the steeper rise beyond it were no fields or neglected orchards, nor was there any trace of the pretty little terraces with their stone steps and rows of lilacs, charming and pathetic reminders of those who long ago lived. to tend their innocent garden and the souls of their widely scattered flock. For that we passed by the old glebe I felt sure-and everywhere was. the woodland.
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.