The History of Washington County in the Vermont historical gazetteer : including a county chapter and the local histories of the towns of Montpelier., Part 123

Author: Hemenway, Abby Maria, 1828-1890
Publication date: 1882
Publisher: Montpelier, Vt. : Vermont Watchman and State Journal Press
Number of Pages: 1064

USA > Vermont > Washington County > Montpelier > The History of Washington County in the Vermont historical gazetteer : including a county chapter and the local histories of the towns of Montpelier. > Part 123

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first he came here. Atour feet still murmurs that little mountain stream that sparkled in the autumn sunlight of 86 years ago, but how changed is the rest. Then it was an unbroken forest, with naught but wild beasts for inmates ; now it is teeming with the marks of improvement. The iron horse is going at lightning speed through our valley ; step to yonder telegraph office and in a moment's time a thought of yours may be flashed to the Golden Gates of the Pacific, or, sent beneath the ocean's bed, may be heard on another continent ; on our hillsides are evidences of great improve- ments, machinery supplants labor, and the products of other climes may be ours at prices almost nominal. Forth from these hillsides come a thousand sparkling streams with water pure and clear as our lives should be; across these hills the strong, invigorating air is ever waving, giving health and happiness, and here in our peaceful homes ought to be found hearts grateful to the Giver of all these blessings. But the tottering forms of these aged ones who have assembled here to-day, tell us plainly that it is but a brief happiness we have to enjoy here, and that with each re- turn of this golden harvest time, new mounds will have been made in our valleys and on our hillsides, marking the spot where some one is resting from his labors, and may God grant that when the last summons shall come, and the places we now occupy shall know us no more, that our lives shall have been such as to bear well the scrutiny of the Great Hereafter.

A CENTURY OLD STORY.

BY MRS. SARAH BRIGHAM MANSFIELD. ( Read at the Roxbury Centennial.)

Ah! what more inspiring theme For poet's pen or poet's dream Than to go back an hundred years- To dream of all the hopes and fears, The heart-throbs and the pain

· Of those who lived, and loved, and died- Who felled the forests, dark and wide- Who, with unswerving, constant toil, Cleared these broad acres, tilled the soil, Themselves a home to gain.

A hundred years, or less, ago Deep waters had their ebb and flow; The willow bowed its graceful head Above the water-lily's bed,

Where stands this village now. The bear and wolf roamed without fear, With now and then a moose or deer, And the primeval forests rang With shrieks of panther-the birds sang Their loftiest, sweetest strains, I trow.

The red man oft-times wandered through These dim old woods; ah! brave and true Were they who mid th' green hills of Vermont Sought and found homes ; my word upon't,

A nobler, truer race

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Than those old yeomen ne'er were seen; Though brown of cheek, nor graceful mlen Had they, thelr record shows

A list of deeds that brighter glows As years come on apace.

In a sweet glade, beside a wood, A century gone, a cabin stood ; A pnrling brook trilled joyously along. And bird-notes echoed back the song, While little children falr Jolned in the chorns at their play : What wonder that their hearts were gay- From the dread war papa had come, To spend his days in peace at home ; How light seemed every care!

'Twas springtime; adder-tongues were np; 'Neath the dry leaves the arbutus' cup; Rude troughis still caught the flowing sweet From the rock maple; tiny feet

Made falry footprints all around. One little lad, with crisp brown curls, And full white brow, fair as a girl's, With dusk-bright eyes, brim full of glee, Pet of that humble home was he- Humble, yet with love crowned.

"O, let me mind the fire," he cried, " to-day, And watch the sap, to see It boil away; You go to dinner, one and all-

I'lease let me stay ; I'm not so very small, I'll have you all to know ;

I'm a big boy, 'most eight years old, And not a bit afrald; now do not scold, For won't I make the kettle sing !- And don't forget my lunch to bring- I'm starved almost !- now go."

And so they left lilm, bright-eyed Ned; " He'll keep all right, we know," they said,

" And feel as prond as any king-

The little, pompous, silly thing, To think such work is play."

· And while they dined, the mother brought A dainty lunch of trout they'd caught, And good sweet bread, both brown and white:

"Now haste thee, husband, from my sight, Nor linger by the way ;

"My heart Is sad-ohl strangely sad- For fear of harm to the dear lad ;

I know he's brave-as brave as good-

But wild beasts lurk In the deep wood- Oh! haste thee to our child." "Fie! fie! upon thy woman's fears; The boy is safe-dry up thy tears; And when he comes with me to-night, Tirou'It smile upon this foolish fright- He loves the deep woods wild."

Yet, as hls hurried steps drew near, Why blanched his cheek with sudden fear? Ah! what was there his keen eye scanned ? Prints of moccasined feet on every hand,

With the bare ones of little Ned; An arrow and a wooden spoon- But where the boy they left at noon ? The frantic father called in vain; Sad echo answered back the strain- Forever lost! it said.

On through the forest, dark and wild, The frenzied father sought his child ; Through mountain gorge, o'er hill and dale, Till steps grew slow, cheeks wan and pale, He sought, but never found.

Spring, summer, waned, and antumn came, Rich with ripe fruits and golden graln ; But from that pleasant cablu home The light and joy for aye had flown- No little narrow mound,

Rose-strewn, where they could go and weep,

And know thelr darling was asleep Beneath the flowers; no such rellef Had those poor hearts ; In slient grief They passed each weary day. White grew the mother's raven hair, Deep care lines on the brow once falr, Watching and waiting all In valn ; The dear one came not back again- He was lost to them for aye.

-The stolen child was a grand-uncle of the writer.

OUR ROXBURY VISIT.

When in print so far as with Middlesex, we had no certain historian for Roxbury engaged, but learning by chance corres- pondence that Mrs. Sarah Brigham Mans- field was residing at Roxbury, made her a visit with much confidence, we had found the best person in the town to write out the historic record of Roxbury. While visiting Mrs. Mansfield, we also made a little trip into the Mad River Valley, that we had never dreamed of as so pretty ; heard Rev. P. B. Fisk in his address at the Fair at Waitsfield, and visited the birth- town of the Brigham family and Mrs. Laura Brigham Boyce. Mr. and Mrs. Mansfield pointed out many an old site named in our Fayston history, fresh from the press ; now Mr. M., the old home site of his father, which strangely the writer had somehow overlooked.

RILEY MANSFIELD, born in Winchen- don, Mass., came from there when 19 years old, with an ox-team, by marked trees, through the heart of the Vermont wilderness, and located in the valley of Fayston, clearing himself a farm and rolling up the logs for his first log-house. He lived in this town till his death, and raised a large family, and was one of the principal landholders of his day, as the Fayston records attest. His farms and mortgages on farms covered much of the territory of the town ; but he was no op- pressor. A neighbor under embarrass- ment came to him one day, and said, "I want you to buy that 50-acre lot of mine. If I can turn it into money, I can save my farm and myself from ruin." "I will take

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it," said Mr. M., and paid him his price for the land. The man afterwards said to him, " You saved me and my family from utter failure." A little later, hard times again came, and the neighbor was again in deep gloom. How he could meet his taxes he did not know. He had some fine sheep, but sheep were down in the market; no one wanted to buy for half their worth. The melancholy man came down one afternoon to see if Mr. M. would not buy his sheep. Mr. M. was absent. He told his story to Mrs. M., and said he knew of no one else who would give him the worth of his sheep, but he thought that Mr. M. might, and let him have the money. Mrs. M., sorry for the man, and knowing the neighborly spirit of her hus- band, told him that she thought Mr. M. might buy the sheep, and she would tell him when he came home, and she thought he would be up there that night. The man left a little encouraged. Mr. M. did not return till late. Mrs. M. told him, but it was 10 o'clock before he had his chores done, and he put off going up till the next morning. He went up then, but the man had hung himself in the night. His wife said to Mr. M., " Had you come up last night, it would have saved his life." Mr. M., although no ways obligated, always regretted that he had not gone up that night, late as it was.

He brought apple-seeds from New Hamp- shire, and planted orchards around his old homestead 63 years ago ; trees yet remain there that sprang from the seed he planted then. Mr. M. removed from where he first settled to a farm on Mill brook, where he made his home the last 25 years of his life. His first home was adjoining the old Brigham farm on Fayston hill. His house was within 20 rods of where George Boyce now lives. He sold to Mr. Brig- ham and Mr. Griggs a part of their farms (old Stephen R. Griggs was the one who committed suicide).

From Obituary .- " Riley Mansfield, of Fayston, died Jan. 14, -, aged nearly 77 years ; another of our oldest and most respected citizens is gone, almost the last . of the pioneer men who came to our town

in its early settlement, or before it had be- come largely settled or improved. He came 56 years ago, and helped by his life- long industry to make the wilderness to blossom as a garden. At 23, he was con- verted at a camp-meeting, and united with the Methodist church, of which he was a member at time of his death. In 1822 he married Betsey Chase, who died Mar. II, '73. Of a large family, but one son, Martin Mansfield, is now living. He was respect- ed for his sterling worth; there lives no man who will say, 'Uncle Riley,' as he was called by all his neighbors, ever know- ingly cheated him one cent. Of his sudden death he seemed to have a premonition. He began to feel unwell Wednesday after- noon, and died on Friday near midnight. About an hour before he died, he dressed himself and laid down again on his bed, apparently comfortable, and died as an in- fant hushed to sleep in its mother's arms."

After his death it was found he had written in his diary the Sabbath evening before, the following :

" JAN. 9, SABBATH EVENING.

Now we know not what is before us ; we frequently hear of people being found dead, and as you all, my dear children, are away from me, the thought came to me that I might never see any of you again. Oh, what a feeling came over me! I felt that I could not go to bed without writing a few words of entreaty that you would not let the busy scenes and cares of this life hinder you from preparing for the life to come. Oh, do think of the life that never, never ends! Think what folly it is to make overmuch provision for the flesh only to be enjoyed a few days! It is the height of folly for people to live as most do, and for professors of religion to live as all the world do, laying up treasures on earth. What I wrote on the other page (of this diary), was after I was ready to go to bed,. but after these thoughts came to me, I made another fire and sat down and wrote this, hoping you might find it, and hoping it might have some influence on your lives. It may be your loving father's last request."

It was his last request to his children, for he never beheld their faces again, his death on the next Friday night being so unexpected, they were not sent for until all was over.

Ca m sb ple she sub 18:

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ROXBURY.

BETSEY CHASE,

who lived on Waitsfield Mountain, mother of Mrs. Riley Mansfield, of Fayston (see previous, page -), used to tell many tales of almost incredible hardships and priva- tions. Her husband. Thomas Chase, served in the Revolutionary War, and she cared for her little family as best she could, as they were very poor, in the springtime subsisting upon milk and leeks (wild onions), and such small game as she could get, being an adept in the use of a rifle or shot-gun. At one time, when the army was in desperate need of recruits, and they were pressed into the service with but very little ceremony. When it was known offi- cers were in town for that purpose, many poor fellows, who much preferred to re- main by their own firesides to enduring the perils of war, would hide until the en- listing officers had left town. They, learn- ing this, devised a plan to catch them by letting loose their cattle in the night, and concealing themselves to watch for the men to come out and care for them. Sev- eral times one night Mrs. Chase heard the tinkling of her old cow-bell in her corn- field, and each time marched resolutely out and drove old "Crumpie" into the yard, making all fast, and returned to the house, to have the same repeated, until the re- cruiting officer and men with him wearied out (at last,) made themselves and their errand known, and when told her husband was already in the service, were somewhat chop-fallen, but declared she was a brave woman, fit to be a soldier's wife. She was a strong, robust woman, and never seemed to know the meaning of the word fear. She often said she would as soon meet the devil in the dark as a man. Whether this was a bit of sarcasm on the " sterner sex" she never explained. Some of her superstitious neighbors called her a "witch," for her prophecies often came true, and they feared nothing so much as her displeasure, "lest some evil should come upon them." This rather pleased her than otherwise, as in this way she kept some disorderly neighbors very submissive. She died in Waitsfield, April, 1852, aged over 90 years.

The account of Riley Mansfield and Thomas and Betsey Chase belong to the towns of Fayston and Waitsfield, but hav- ing been overlooked at home, we include them with this near neighboring town, and the more easily, as Mrs. Mansfield has most cordially and permanently connected herself here as the historian of the town, though the family have now all removed from Roxbury and reside at Fairhaven.

MR. BURNHAM'S REMINISCENCES.

Deer .- Mr. E. P. Burnham, merchant at the village, told us he can remember some 50 years ago, when the deer used to herd together in spruce thickets on these mountains in the winter, and when the snow melted in the March days, and froze at night, making a crust, the hunters would be out the next morning for the deer. He says he has been on these mountains many times when the deer were so thick you could not count their tracks- the tracks were like a thousand sheep in the snow. The hunters frequently shot and brought in several deer at a time. He distinctly remembers when they brought in five at one time.

He was graphic in his remembrances of Crandall, of whom Mrs. Mansfield has some anecdotes on the foregoing pages.

" Some 50 years ago," says Mr. B., " there lived in this town a man by the name of John B. Crandall, but who was named and called by all his townsmen Judge Crandall, a drinking, miserable being, but a man with natural talent. He would get into debt and get sued, and defend himself in the courts. He managed his own case and plead his own cause before the jury, and usually with success. Judge Weston brought a suit for debt against him one time, however, in Randolph, when Cran- dall thought he would have some help, and engaged one of Judge Weston's stu- dents to help defend him. When the cause came on, the student arose to argue Crandall's case, but, awed by the presence of his master, began to hesitate. Crandall stood it for a moment. He had an invet- erate habit of spitting when excited. For a moment he sat spitting, when, arising,

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drawing his ragged, slightly liquorfied form up to its full height, he spit once, twice, thrice. Said he, 'Sit down! sit down! You are afraid of the d-d cuss ; let me try him!' He did try him, and won his case out and out with the jury, to the great amusement of all who heard the defense. He had a family. His own boys took after him in drinking, but had none of his power of wit and argument. I think they were more like their mother, who was a famous talker, but not. well balanced. Some

neighbors in of an evening, the old lady would sit and tell over her wise things; the old man, under the influence of liquor, in his chair sit and doze, and when she had chatted away and told her long yarns till late, arouse himself up and say, 'A dumb fool always knows the most.'"

The poor old man, of marked ability, but a wreck from his bad habit, died at last, and his curious old wife and his un- educated sons following in his steps, that never were any benefit to the community ; but in the third generation, under the in- fluence of a better education, the ability of the grandfather again cropped markedly out. His grandsons have the strong nat- ural ability without the dissipation of their grandfather or fathers, and make fine men.

THE 90TH BIRTHDAY PARTY of Mrs. Betsey C. Spalding, of which Mrs. Mansfield has briefly spoken, was, indeed, a very unique and pleasant gather- ing, and as the oldest birthday party ever celebrated in Roxbury, should perhaps have a little more notice. Her five chil- dren, all living, were present : Erastus N., Billings, Mrs. Brackett, Mrs. P. Wiley, Mrs. A. N. Thompson, her daughter-in- law and her sons-in-law, and the grand- children in part: Mrs. L. P. Thompson, from Clarence, Ia. ; Mrs. Arthur Bradley, of Malden, Mass. ; William Wiley, of White River Junction ; Charles, of St. Albans ; Edwin and Delia Wiley, Clinton Brackett, George Tilden, with their husbands and wives and four great-grandchildren, “ un- cles, cousins and aunts." Over the front door was " Welcome!" in cedar ; within, the mammoth cake on the table, "a pyr-

amid of snowy whiteness, crowned with an exquisite white rose with silver leaves," a rose-pyramid rising beside, the gift of the great-grandchildren, of ninety rosebuds, rare specimens, just bursting into beauty, that filled the room with their delicious perfume ; over the wall above, " 1791 and 18g1 ;" another table-an elegant bouquet of hot-house flowers from St. Albans friends, a mound of asters, artistically ar- ranged, very handsome, from Mrs. E. P. Burnham, with letters of regret from friends who could not come, on the table. The photographer was there, and views taken of the family gathered about the aged mother in front of her house. Then there was the bountiful supper in the town-hall, five long tables, the central one laid with the mother's old-fashioned mulberry ware and silver of " ye olden" solidity and style ; and after, the birthday address by Rev. Eli Ballou, of Bethel, who referred to Mrs. Spalding's coming to Roxbury when the town was but a wilderness, being one of the first settlers. He spoke feelingly of the kind, loving mother she had been, how deserving of all their love and respect ; this occasion would remain a bright spot in their memories. Mrs. S. was born in Strafford, Ct., married John Spalding at 20, and came to Roxbury.

NORA, BLOSSOM OF THE MAY.

BY A. WEBSTER.

Where departed kindred sleep, And the living come and weep, Laid we, on a vernal day, Nora, blossom of the May. Seven summers' suns and flowers, Seven autumns' russet bowers, Eight sweet springtimes, fair and gay, Saw our blossom of the May.

Mild was she, and sweetly fair, Azure eyes and nut-brown hair; Voice that rivaled warblers' lay, Had our blossom of the May.

Earth is sad now she is gone, Heaven another charm has won; Where to weet, we hope and pray, Nora, blossom of the May.

Rest, sweet blossom, rest in peace, Where all pains and sorrows cease ; In our hearts shall ne'er decay, Nora, blossom of the May.

Nora, blossom of the May, Pride of her parental spray, Sweetly bloomed and passed away, Nora, blossom of the May.

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WAITSFIELD.

BY REV. P. B. FISK.

[NOTE .- The writer desires at the outset, to ac- knowledge gratefully the assistance he has received from several of his fellow-townsmen, and especially to give the credit due to the late Jennison Jones, Esq., for his MS., in which most of the facts and dates prior to 1850, were faithfully recorded.]

The township owes its name to Gen. Benjamin Wait-the first settler and lead- ing proprietor of the town. It is situated in the south-western part of Washington Co., bounded by Moretown, Northfield, Warren, and Fayston. Its post-office is 20 miles (more or less) from the capital of the State, and lies snugly embedded just in the "Fork of the Y" of the Green Mountain range. The valley of the Mad river, running from south-west to north- east intersects it, the serpentine course of the stream both beautifying the scenery, and enriching and devouring by turns the meadows through which it winds its way. At the bottom of the deeply cut channel of the river may be seen the trunks of old trees, partly washed out, projecting from the banks, which must have been a hun- dred years old before they were overthrown. They are buried at a depth of about 10 feet in pebbles, gravel, and surface soil. Moreover, 60 years ago there was a heavy growth of timber standing on this soil. Probably this original forest was over- thrown by the river, and the soil after- wards deposited, for the channel of the stream is by no means permanent. Since the remembrance of the writer it has worn to the east or west as many as 15 rods. The uplands are under cultivation as well as the interval land, and though broken are strong ; for the most part, they make ample returns to the dairyman and the shepherd. In spite of all these drawbacks the land is so productive that real estate brings a high price ; and it was well said by Mr. Jones in his sketch, that the town- ship was capable of supporting a much larger population than it has ever seen. No better crops are produced than by these farmers of Waitsfield, who take proper pains with their work. The forests which remain are a mixture of hard and soft wood, maple and spruce predominating.

The landscape is set off finely with a scal- loped border, by the line of green hills, which completely inclose it as far as the eye can see ; leaving, apparently, no outlet even for the river ; and a few points, like those of "Bald " mountains and " Old Scrag," on the east and south ; Lincoln, with its slides, and Camel's Hump on the west, and Mansfield far in the north.

On either side of this valley several fair sized brooks flow down from the hillsides, turning, or capable of turning, many busy wheels as they go. Of these the largest are Mill and Shepard's brooks on the west, and Pine brook on the east side of the river. White cottages are to be seen on either side the valley, and about there plenty of the evidences of thrift and com- fort-often of taste and refinement; and the roads at all seasons are remarkably good through this whole valley. The landscape is pronounced, even by strangers, to be picturesque and charming beyond many others in Vermont, none of which are wanting in rural attractions.

Mad river received its name doubtless from the fact that-the mountain slopes being so near and steep-the surplus water is almost immediately thrown off into the brooks, and by them poured out into the river, which of course rises like sudden anger overflowing its banks, and devouring them at will.

Waitsfield is almost precisely at the geographical center of the State of Ver- mont, and tradition has it that the commis- sioners to locate the State Capital " stuck their stake " almost precisely where the village now stands. But Gen. Wait de- clared " he wouldn't have his meadow cut up," and so he saved the town from that honor.

INCORPORATION.

The charter is dated Feb. 25, 1782, or 5 years after Vermont declared herself a free and independent State, signed by the ven- erable Thomas Chittenden, governor at the time. It was then a part of Chittenden County until 1811, when embraced in the new county called Jefferson, formed after- wards, called Washington. The township was supposed to include a tract of 23,030

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acres. In 1788, it was found to contain 13,850 acres, or plus 840 acres. The de- scription in the charter runs :

6 miles, 126 chains on the northerly side ; 5 miles, 27 chains on the easterly side ; 6 miles on the southerly side ; 6 miles, 67 chains on the westerly side.

PROPRIETORS AND THEIR DOINGS.

The grant of the township was made " to Benjamin Wait, Roger Enos, and their associates, to the number of seventy." It was designed to have been divided into 75 equal shares (five of which were to be set apart for public use), containing 318 acres each-two lots of 150 acres each in the Ist division, and one lot of 18 acres in the 2d division. The survey of the Ist division, viz. : of that part lying west of the mountain, was made in 1788, and this survey and plot was accepted by the pro- prietors. But as the lots began to be taken up and cleared, it was found the survey was very inaccurate. The 2d range of lots from the Moretown line are actually 180 rods wide ; the 5th range only about 120 rods wide; the 6th range 180 rods, again ; also measuring the other way, there is a discrepancy, so that, for example, lot No. 107, first occupied by Mr. Salma Rider, contains 200 acres; lot No. 127, first occupied by Mr. John Burdick, only II5 acres.

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The History of Washington County in the Vermont historical gazetteer : including a county chapter and the local histories of the towns of Montpelier., Part 123

Author: Hemenway, Abby Maria, 1828-1890 Publication date: 1882 Publisher: Montpelier, Vt. : Vermont Watchman and State Journal Press Number of Pages: 1064

Author: Hemenway, Abby Maria, 1828-1890
Publication date: 1882
Publisher: Montpelier, Vt. : Vermont Watchman and State Journal Press
Number of Pages: 1064