USA > Vermont > Orange County > Bradford > Stories of old Bradford > Part 2
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
"Mr. Johnson was startled. He knew that Indians believed in dreams and used them as guides to direct them what to do. He also knew that the Indians had had bad luck hunting and were hungry. However, he suspected that the Chief was playing a trick on him. He thought fast. He knew that if one wants to stay on the good side of an Indian one must humor him and let him have his way. How could he give these lazy Indians one of his prized oxen and still get even with them?
" 'You did dream that, Chief?' he asked.
" 'Yes,' said the Indian.
" 'Well, all right, here is your ox,' said Mr. Johnson, un- hitching one of his oxen.
" 'Chief, I had a dream last night,' he said.
" 'You did?' said the Indian. 'What did you dream, Mr. Johnson ?'
12
STORIES OF
" 'I dreamed you gave me all of this Oxbow meadow,' said Mr. Johnson.
"The Chief was quite taken aback. 'You did, Mr. Johnson ? You did dream that?'
" 'Yes,' said Mr. Johnson.
The Indian knew when he had been beaten.
" 'All right, Mr. Johnson. The land is yours,' he said."
The Hidden Babies
Long ago in the days when there were only a few scat- tered log cabins in Bradford instead of houses, there was a log cabin located probably about where the Peckett house stood. There is a story that one day the woman who lived in this cabin was warned that the Indians were coming. She took her two little children and hid them in a hollow log out near the bank behind the house. The fierce, painted, half-naked In- dians swooped down upon the town uttering hair-raising yells as they burned the cabins. But they did not find the little children hidden safely in the hollow log.
Escapes From The Indians
A long time ago a lonely little boy in New Hampshire wondered what was going to become of him. He did not know then that he would someday become a captain and live in Brad- ford, Vermont. He had recently come from Massachusetts with his parents. How excited Robert and his brothers and sisters had been about the long trip by oxcart to their new home in the New Hampshire woods! But now all the excite- ment and fun of the adventure was gone. The little boy stood alone in the silent, empty-feeling house and watched three younger children with their red, swollen eyes sitting listlessly about the woodsy yard. Only the youngest even pretended to play. Even the baby, whom a kind neighbor woman had taken to her own home several miles away, had sensed that some- thing was wrong.
A few days before, Robert had run miles through the woods to tell the nearest neighbor that his father had just died and his mother was very ill. The busy, kindly neighbor-woman
13
OLD BRADFORD
had gone home with the frightened little boy and nursed his mother, but she, too, had died. Neighbors had taken the par- ents away in big wooden boxes, and now the children were alone. Robert wondered how he could care for his younger brothers and sisters.
But this was decided for the boy. The children were scat- tered among other families who brought them up. Robert was sent to live with a Captain Hazen who needed a boy to help him with his farm work. Often the little boy was very home- sick and lonely and had to work hard, but he grew to like the man who had taken him in.
When Robert Hunkins was about sixteen, he went with Captain Hazen to fight with the English and Americans against the French. He was at Fort William Henry when that fort was captured by the French. Many of the English and Americans were captured by the French or Indians. Robert saw two savage Indians dragging away his friend Captain Hazen. The boy knew that usually death was better than be- ing captured and tortured by the cruel Indians. Disregarding his own safety, Robert rushed up behind the Indians and gave them such a violent push that their hold on Captain Hazen was loosened. Captain Hazen escaped, but Robert was captured and carried off to their camp.
He was a prisoner of the Indians for about half a year. They did not kill or torture the boy, but every night they took away most of his clothes, tied his hands behind his back, and made him lie down to sleep between two Indians. Probably they thought he was a brave boy for daring to rescue his friend and had decided to make an Indian of him.
But Robert had other plans. Every night while his captors slept, Robert worked and worked at the rope that bound his hands. At last one night he worked the rope loose. Softly, his heart in his mouth, he rose to his knees and crept away. Before he left camp, he freed another white boy who was also lying between two sleeping Indians.
It seemed a long way to the river where the Indians kept a canoe. Every time a twig snapped beneath their feet, the boys froze in their tracks and held their breaths. Every time
14
STORIES OF
an Indian moved or a dog whined in its sleep, the boys ex- pected to be caught. All the way to the river they expected to hear that bloodcurdling screech of alarm, and then to feel a murderous tomahawk tearing its fiery way through their scalps.
They reached the canoe. With their bodies prickling with fear, they paddled softly downstream. At last they dared go no farther. The Indians would soon discover their escape and be after them. They broke a hole in the bottom so that the canoe would sink and be hidden. The Indians would think they were still going downstream and that would give the boys a chance to escape in another direction through the woods.
But just as they had finished sinking the canoe, Robert heard a faint sound that made his blood freeze.
"Listen !" he said sharply to his companion. There was no mistaking that terrible "slap, slap" sound! The Indians were paddling after them! There was no time to run. What should they do? Robert thought he could almost feel the pain of the skin being ripped from his head. And Indians did far worse things than that to people when they were angry.
As the frightened boys rushed into the woods, they saw some hollow logs. In a second they had crawled into these logs. The next minute they were surrounded by the savages.
All that day the Indians came and went all about the logs where the boys lay hidden, but they did not happen to find them. Finally the Indians went on down the river. That night the youths escaped through the woods and after many weeks finally reached their home.
Later, after he was married, Robert Hunkins came to live in this section on the second farm below the Newbury Line. He also had land in Newbury and a house in each place, so he lived part of the time in one place and part of the time in the other.
The children near there needed a teacher. Mrs. Hunkins had been to school only one day in her life, but she decided to teach the school. She studied very hard and learned her read- ing, writing, and arithmetic with the children. She had no
15
OLD BRADFORD
mirror in the house, so each morning before going to school she went down to the river bank and looked at herself in the water to see that her face was clean and her hair combed properly. How surprised Mrs. Hunkins would be if she could see the pocket mirror and compact that every schoolgirl carries today !
The Indians who came through Newbury and Bradford were very friendly with Captain and Mrs. Hunkins. Often they entered the Hunkins' one-room house uninvited and slept all night on the floor of the only room !
During the Revolutionary War, in which we fought to become free from England, there were certain Americans who remained loyal to the King. They considered the other Ameri- cans outlaws and hoped that England, not America, would win. These people were called Tories. These Tories were scat- tered all over the country secretly trying to help the King. Cap- tain Hunkins was trying so hard to help the American cause that the British or English offered the Tories in this section a reward for his capture, dead or alive. For a time after this, Captain Hunkins did not dare to sleep in his own house for fear that the Tories would come and capture him while he slept. He slept in the woods or in a shed. Mrs. Hunkins often saw Tories peeking in at the windows to see if her husband were there.
One dark, foggy autumn day, Captain Hunkins heard a knock at the door of his Bradford house. He hid while Mrs. Hunkins opened the door a crack and peeked out.
"Is the Captain here?" asked a breathless messenger. "There's not a moment to waste! We've been sent to warn him. The Tories are coming tonight. They're going to burn your house."
What a great hurrying there was then ! Some of the neigh- bor men said they would stay and guard the house while Cap- tain Hunkins took the women and children to safety.
In the dense fog, they made they way down to the river. Here Captain Hunkins hurriedly made a rough raft. He herded part of the women and children onto the raft and went across
16
the river with them. Mrs. Hunkins and her baby remained on the Bradford shore until the second load was taken onto the raft. Half way across the river for the second time, the overweighted raft began to sink.
"Can you get the raft ashore alone?" Captain Hunkins asked the man who was helping him. The man thought he could.
Captain Hunkins turned to a young woman. He knew that this young woman could scarcely swim at all, even had she not been weighted down by her heavy winter clothing. "Then, Sister Eaton," said he, "you and I must take our chance in the river."
With that he plunged into the icy water. Miss Eaton bravely followed him. The water was so deep that they could not touch bottom. Weighted by her clothes, Miss Eaton could not tread water enough to keep her head out. Captain Hun- kins managed to keep his companion's head above water and swim to the New Hampshire shore.
Finally they all reached Haverhill safely, and their kind New Hampshire neighbors took the wet, shivering, frightened Bradford people into their homes.
There were only a few houses in Haverhill then and not beds enough to go around, so the Bradford people sat on piles of husks from corn that the Haverhill people had been husking that evening. Mrs. Hunkins told in later years how for a while that night she had sat on a huge pumpkin with her baby in her lap. Then one of her older children had started cry- ing, and she had gone to attend to it. When she returned, her pumpkin seat was gone. One of the sleeping people had ac- cidentally kicked the pumpkin into the huge fireplace.
Meanwhile the Tories and their Indian friends had heard that their intended victims had been warned of their plans and had escaped. So they decided to go elsewhere to kill and burn. That same night a place called Royalton was burned and almost all of the people were murdered or captured.
HOW WRIGHTS MOUNTAIN WAS NAMED
You all know that Wrights Mountain is a small mountain in the northwestern corner of Bradford, but do you know how it got its name?
Nearly two hundred years ago when the first white people began to settle in Bradford, there was among them a pe- culiar man named Benoni Wright. Benoni lived all alone, and as the years passed he grew more and more lonely and queer. Some people say that at one time he even lived in a cellar hole. You can still find the cellar hole in the Burgess pas- ture near the Norcross farm .*
He spent much of his time reading his Bible, especially the Old Testament. He liked best the stories about prophets, such as Jeremiah, Isaiah, and Amos. These wise men, Be- noni learned, were able to foresee important coming events and warn the people so that they would be prepared for them.
"How I wish that I had lived in the good old times of the Bible people," thought Benoni. "I believe that I would have been a wonderful prophet. I am different from other people. I have queer dreams when I sleep. Worse still, I have queer dreams when I am awake! I had a feeling that my nearest neighbor was going to die on a certain day, although he looked perfectly well, and he did die! Maybe I should have warned him, but if I go about warning people, they laugh at me or do not like it. Yet if. I don't warn them, I feel guilty. It is aw- ful to have such feelings !"
He walked up to the cracked glass that hung on the smoky kitchen wall of his little house at the foot of Wrights Mountain. The dim light from the sputtering candle that he held in his hand flickered upon the ghostly reflected face. The eyes were wild, staring, and very lonely. The hair above the white face was matted and disorderly.
"If I should stop shaving and let my beard grow long, I would even look like one of those Bible prophets. Perhaps -- perhaps that is what God meant me to be - a modern prophet !"
* Some say it was a little house over the cellar hole-not the cellar hole.
18
STORIES OF
That night he couldn't sleep. As he tossed and turned on his crumpled, untidy bed, he remembered that when a Hebrew man of the Bible stories was preparing to become a prophet he usually went out into the wilderness and went without food for a long time. A prophet probably did this so that he could be alone to think over and solve important prob- lems which were bothering his people. Today one of our world leaders might shut himself into his office and order no one to disturb him, so that he could arrive at some important answer to some of the many problems troubling our country and the world.
Benoni had no important problems to solve. People didn't know much about world affairs in those days, for without radio, telegraph, telephone, or even a train in this town, news travelled slowly. To solve our Bradford problems at that time what was needed most were strong, brave men to cut down trees, settle the land, build homes, and plant and harvest crops. But Benoni really believed by this time that God wanted him to be a prophet. He believed that if he went into the woods and fasted, or went without food, for forty days and forty nights he would foresee important events and become the inspired leader of the people of Bradford.
But where should he fast? Then he remembered that on the south side of the highest mountain in town there was a deep split gouged into the mountain. From this ravine the rock wall rose high, sheer, and steep, with perpendicular ledges. For hundreds-probably for thousands of years-great boulders and pieces of rock had from time to time crashed down the steep sides of the mountain and piled upon one an- other until caves had been formed. The largest of these caves, Benoni thought, would be just the place for him to hide.
This large cave is known as the Devil's Den. It is very difficult to find, for you can go right past it and all around it without ever seeing it. But if you know the way to it, you can still see it today. The entrance is low, just a small, round hole going down into the earth beneath a huge, overhang- ing rock. You must get down on your hands and knees and crawl in. Once in, you find yourself in a large, damp, almost square room about twenty feet high. Straight ahead of you
19
OLD BRADFORD
is another long, dark, narrow opening which leads up to a kind of outdoor balcony from which in years past you could enjoy a fine view. To the left of the large main room is another opening through which only a small person could crawl. This leads into a smaller room. This den in times past always had a great attraction for the young people of Bradford Academy. There is a story that in the 1920's a group of high school boys and girls hiked up there one Saturday. While exploring it, one of the smaller girls became stuck in the doorway of the inner room for a time.
Since he was to live in this cave without food for forty days and nights, Benoni made himself a special belt with a buckle and forty-two holes in it. Each day, as he lost weight from not eating, he fastened his belt one hole tighter.
It was very dark, damp, and chilly in the cave, and most terribly lonely ! Sometimes during the long cold nights when the wind went shrieking and moaning down the rock chimney to the "balcony", Benoni heard wolves howling in the dark woods and stealthy animal footsteps about his cave door. He prayed and dozed and dreamed. His hair grew shoulder length, his beard grew long and wild, his eyes became fierce and deep-sunken.
One day some boys decided that they would go up and see what Benoni Wright was doing and play a trick on him. They climbed the mountain, found the cave, and very stealthily climbed into a tree whose branches almost over-hung the cave door. When Benoni came out of the cave and knelt at the foot of the tree to say his prayers, the boys were well- hidden by the foliage.
Suddenly Benoni was startled to hear a voice that seemed to come from the sky say, "Benoni, shave thyself! Benoni, shave thyself !"
Benoni got up from his knees and looked all around, but there was not a human being in sight. He heard nothing but the lonely wail of the wind through the trees. Believing it to have been the voice of God, he went into the cave and cut off his hair and beard.
20
STORIES OF
For a time Benoni was most dreadfully hungry. Later he was no longer hungry, but he grew faint and weak. Cold chills raced up and down his spine. He became so weak that he could hardly walk.
"Why, I believe I am starving to death," thought Benoni in a panic. "If I stay here much longer, I will become so weak I will be unable to crawl home. I shall die here. Perhaps a hundred years from now someone will find my skeleton in this cave." He shivered. Just then an extra long, hungry wolf- ish howl pierced the night. The cold sweat stood out on Be- noni's brow.
Poor Benoni! He did not have the strength of character to keep the foolish promise he had made to God and man. Like a half-wild creature, he crawled out of his cave. Hoping that no one would see him in the dark and so find out that he had broken his promise, he crept to the nearest farm house which was some miles away. Unfortunately, he was caught in the act of trying to steal food for himself. When the farmer swung his lantern into the thief's face, he saw with surprise that it was the half-dead Benoni Wright! Thus ended Be- noni's fast in the wilderness.
Probably Benoni Wright would have been happier had he lived the rest of his life in the Devil's Den instead of returning to Bradford village. For his neighbors never stopped laughing and making fun of him. Wherever he went, he was greeted by both children and grown people with such cries as, "When are you going back to the Devil's Den to live, Benoni?" "There goes Benoni Wright, the prophet of God.""
But though Benoni never became the prophet of which he had dreamed, his name will never be entirely forgotten be- cause the mountain where he fasted has been called Wrights Mountain ever since.
There is another interesting story about the Devil's Den. It seems that in the early history of Bradford there was at one time a group of lawbreakers who were engaged in mak- ing counterfeit or unlawful money. You know that money to be good must be made and stamped at the United States mint. It must be made of a valuable kind of metal. Paper money
21
OLD BRADFORD
must have the Government's stamp to be of any value. A paper bill is not worth anything in itself. It is a certificate saying that there is that much gold or silver in the United States Treasury and that whoever possesses the certificate may exchange it at any time for this metal money if he wishes. Since everyone knows he can exchange it, most people just don't bother to do so. These counterfeiters thought that they could make imi- tation money. They could pass this to unsuspecting people and thus get rich. According to the legend, they made this money in the Devil's Den where no one would find them. Years later, after they had disappeared, it is said that the dies or metal plates with which they stamped this money were found in the cave. The chimney, which can still be seen in the larger room, is thought to have been built by them.
Years later a rough carriage road was made to the top of Wrights Mountain. The people of Bradford are said to have held two Fourth of July celebrations on top of the mountain. They thought that perhaps sometime the road and the view might attract people from out of town, but the road disap- peared, along with the people of the legends, so many years ago that no one living ever remembers to have seen such a road. Probably the last celebration on Wrights Mountain was a Sunday School picnic held about ninety years ago.
LEGENDS OF OLD BRADFORD
Escape From a Flood
Near the Bradford-South Newbury line just below Henry Martin's farm, were three old houses which once belonged to the Hunkins family. Two of them are still standing, and peo- ple live in them, but the oldest one was recently torn down. But even before this old house was built, the people who lived on this land were having exciting adventures.
Probably the first owner of this farm was Hugh Miller, whose wife was the sister of Major Robert Rogers who led the Rangers in their attack on St. Francis and on their march down through the Vermont woods to Fort No. Four. The Millers' house was down on the meadow nearer the river.
About 184 years ago the Connecticut River rose very high, and a great freshet or flood occurred. The roaring waters sur- rounded the farm house during her husband's absence, im- prisoning Mrs. Miller and their children. One of the men who came to Bradford to help rescue flooded families was a Mr. Wallace from Thetford.
When Mr. Wallace reached the Miller house with his canoe, the water in the house was so high that he rowed the canoe through the door and part way into the house. Mrs. Miller was standing in the water on the bed with her children around her.
"Thank God, help has come at last !" she said, as she saw the bow of the canoe.
One by one, with Mr. Wallace's help she lifted each frightened little child into the canoe and then climbed in her- self. Mr. Wallace rowed them to a neighbor's house where they could be safe.
Next morning Mrs. Miller saw her sheep standing on a small island which had been formed by the water. Mrs. Miller was a brave woman. She decided to rescue those sheep. A young man named George Binfield went with her to help.
23
OLD BRADFORD
They rowed out to the frightened bleating sheep, caught each one, tied its legs, and placed it gently in the rocking canoe. Then they started back. The raging, boiling flood wa- ters were too much for them. The tipsy, overloaded canoe was sucked into the strong current and carried downstream.
In vain Mrs. Miller and young George fought to steady the canoe. It capsized. Both people and animals were hurled into the stormy waters. The sheep were drowned. Mrs. Miller and young George managed to grasp and cling numbly to the stub of a small bush that stuck up out of the water. Finally an- other boat came to rescue them.
After that people began to build their homes up on the higher ground.
The Moving House
There is another very old house in Bradford which has always belonged to another interesting family. That is the Welton house which now belongs to Mr. and Mrs. Albert Bailey. Mrs. Bailey's mother was Carrie Welton. This old house has been moved several times. About one hundred years ago, it stood where the Benjamin Franklin Chamberlain house (where the Young's now live) is now. One hundred and twenty-five years ago it sat in front of Wright's Hilltop Dairy. Finally it was moved to its present site on North Main Street.
Peter Welton and his wife first came on horseback from Connecticut to Piermont. Here they buried their possessions in the ground and went into the stockade to get away from the Indians who were after them. At that time forts and some- times whole little villages were built inside a high board fence called a stockade to protect people from the Indians. The Indians continued to attack this stockade, so that the Wel- tons had to remain in it for six months before it was safe for them to journey on.
Then they crossed the river into Bradford and made a log cabin. This was said to be the fifth house to be built in Brad- ford. It was on the Killer road where the Dobbins family lived.
24
STORIES OF
The original cabin had a dirt floor and a fireplace at the back. Once a week when a new backlog was needed, Peter Welton drove through the door of the cabin with a yoke of oxen and turned around to leave the six foot long log.
Later on in the history of Bradford, Mrs. Albert Bailey's mother, Carrie Welton, who was then a tiny girl, sat for about four hours in the old Congregational Church and heard a sermon by the Reverend Silas McKeen. He was the man who wrote the first history of Bradford.
The Outlaws and Mrs. McDuffee
At the north end of the Upper Plain there are five old houses which once belonged to a very interesting family named McDuffee. There is a connection between the house nearest to the new cemetery and the Devil's Den.
According to this story the men who were making the counterfeit money were living at this time on what is now the West Newbury road in the original last house on the hill before you come to the Four Corners. The police had been told that the men were at this house and planned to surprise and arrest them. Mrs. McDuffee, who was a very good woman and always careful to do the right thing, saw the counterfeiters coming down across to the Upper Plain. She saw the officers chasing them. She suspected that the outlaws had seen the offi- cers coming and were trying to escape to the McDuffee ferry. There were no bridges in those days, and the ferry - a large, raft-like boat on pulleys - took people across the Connecti- cut river to the New Hampshire side.
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.