Bay State Monthly, Volume I, No. 2, February, 1884 by Various

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At this time the settlements of New Hampshire were near the coast
outside of a line from Dover to Dunstable, except the lately planted
colony of Scotch-Irish at Londonderry. Hinsdale, or Dummer's Fort, was
the outpost on the Connecticut. To the north extended a wild, unbroken
wilderness to the French frontier in Canada. Through this vast region,
now overflowing with happy homes, wandered small bands of Indians
intent on the chase, or the surprise of their rivals, the white trappers
and hunters.

A large section of this country, fifty miles in width, was opened for
peaceful settlement by the bravery of Captain John Lovewell and the
company under his command. In this view their acts become more important
than those of a mere scouting party, and demand, and have received, an
acknowledged place in New-England history.

The company, which was raised by voluntary enlistments, was placed under
the command of John Lovewell. This redoubtable captain came of fighting
stock--his immediate ancestor serving as an ensign in the army of Oliver
Cromwell. Bravery and executive ability are evidently transmissible
qualities; for in one line of his direct descendants it is known that
the family have served their country in four wars, as commissioned
officers; in three wars holding the rank of general.[2]

At this time Captain John Lovewell was in the prime of life, and burning
with zeal to perform some valiant exploit against the Indians.

The first raid of the company resulted in one scalp and one captive,
taken December 10, 1724, and carried to Boston.

The company started on their second expedition January 27, 1724-5,
crossing the Merrimack at Nashua, and pushing northward. They arrived
at the shores of Lake Winnipiseogee, Februrary 9, and scouted in that
neighborhood for a few days, when, from the scarcity of provisions, a
part of the force returned to their homes.

Traces of Indians were discovered in the neighborhood of Tamworth by the
remaining force, and the trail was followed until, February 20, they
discovered the smoke of an Indian encampment. A surprise was quickly
planned and successfully executed, leading to the capture of ten scalps,
valued by the provincial authorities at one thousand ounces of silver.

Captain Lovewell next conceived the bold design of attacking the village
of Pigwacket, near the head waters of the Saco, whose chief, Paugus, a
noted warrior, inspired terror along the whole northern frontier.

Commanding a company of forty-six trained men, Captain Lovewell started
from Dunstable on his arduous undertaking, April 16, 1725. Toby, an
Indian ally, soon gave out and returned to the lower settlements. Near
the island at the mouth of the Contoocook, which will forever perpetuate
the memory of Hannah Dustin, William Cummings, disabled by an old wound,
was discharged and was sent home under the escort of Josiah Cummings, a
kinsman. On the west shore of Lake Ossipee, Benjamin Kidder was sick and
unable to proceed; and the commander of the expedition decided to build
a fort and leave a garrison to guard the provisions and afford a shelter
in case of defeat or retreat. Sergeant Nathaniel Woods was left in
command. The garrison consisted of Dr. William Aver, John Goffe, John
Gilson, Isaac Whitney, Zachariah Whitney, Zebadiah Austin, Edward
Spoony, and Ebenezer Halburt. With his company reduced to thirty-three
effective men, Captain Lovewell pushed on toward the enemy. On Saturday
morning, May 8, in the neighborhood of Fryeburg, Maine, while the
rangers were at prayers, they were startled by the discharge of a gun,
and were soon attacked by a force of about eighty Indians. Their rear
was protected by the lake, by the side of which they fought. All through
the day the unequal contest continued. As night settled upon the scene
the savages withdrew, and the scouts commenced their painful retreat of
forty miles toward their fort. Left dead upon the field of battle were
Captain John Lovewell, Lieutenant Jonathan Robbins, John Harwood, Robert
Usher, Jacob Fullam, Jacob Farrar, Josiah Davis, Thomas Woods, Daniel
Woods, John Jefts, Ichabod Johnson, and Jonathan Kittredge. Lieutenant
Josiah Farwell, Chaplain Jonathan Frye, and Elias Barron, were mortally
wounded, and perished in the wilderness. Solomon Keyes, Sergeant Noah
Johnson, Corporal Timothy Richardson, John Chamberlain, Isaac Lakin,
Eleazer Davis, and Josiah Jones, were seriously wounded, but escaped to
the lower settlements in company with their uninjured comrades, Seth
Wyman, Edward Lingfield, Thomas Richardson, Daniel Melvin, Eleazer
Melvin, Ebenezer Ayer, Abial Austin, Joseph Farrar, Benjamin Hassell,
and Joseph Gilson,--names which should be held in honor for all time.

[Illustration: Township of Bow, NH, and vicinity.]

Both parties seemed willing to retreat from this disastrous battle, each
with the loss of its chief. Paugus and many of his braves fell before
the unerring fire of the frontiersmen, and the tribe of Pigwacket, which
had so long menaced the borders, withdrew to Canada.

The ambitious young men of the older settlements had seen with jealousy
a band of strangers, Scotch-Irish Presbyterians, granted a beautiful
and fruitful tract, which already blossomed under the industrious
work of the newcomers. They clamored for grants which they, too, could
cultivate. Every pretext was advanced to secure a claim. No petitioners
were better entitled to consideration than the representatives of those
who had rendered so large a section habitable.

Massachusetts Bay Colony had long claimed as a northern boundary a line
three miles north of the Merrimack and parallel thereto, from its mouth
to its source, thence westward to the bounds of New York. Under the
pressure brought to bear by interested parties, the General Court of
Massachusetts granted, January 17, 1725-6, the township of Penacook,
embracing the city of Concord, New Hampshire.

In May, 1727, a petition from the survivors of Lovewell's command was
favorably received by the General Court, and soon afterward Suncook, or
Lovewell's township, was granted. Only two of the company are known to
have settled in the town--Francis Doyen, who was with Lovewell on his
second expedition, and Noah Johnson. The latter was the last survivor of
the company. He was a deacon of the church in Suncook for many years,
received a pension from Massachusetts, and died in Plymouth, New
Hampshire, in 1798, in the one hundredth year of his age.

Captain John Lovewell was represented in the township of Suncook by his
daughter Hannah, who married Joseph Baker, settled on her father's
right, raised a large family, and died at a good old age. A great
multitude of her descendants are scattered throughout the United States.

The original grantees of the township, for the most part, assigned their
rights to persons who became actual settlers.

In the year 1740, the King in council decided the present line as the
boundary between New Hampshire and Massachusetts, thus leaving Suncook,
and many other of the townships granted by the latter Province, within
the former. For a score of years following, the settlers were harassed
by the proprietors of the soil under the Masonian Claim, until, in 1759,
a compromise was effected, and Pembroke was incorporated.

In 1774, a new township in the District of Maine, was granted, by the
General Court of Massachusetts, to the "proprietors of Suncook," to
recompense them for their losses. The township was called Sambrook, and
embraced the present towns of Lovell and New Sweden; it was located in
the neighborhood of the battle-field, where, a half century before, so
many brave lives had been sacrificed.

NOTE.--The townships of Rumford and Suncook, both granted by
Massachusetts authorities, made a common cause in the defence of their
rights against the claimants under New Hampshire, known as the Bow
proprietors. The latter, who were, in fact, the New Hampshire Provincial
authorities, and who not only prosecuted but adjudicated the cases,
brought suits for such small extent of territory in each case, that
there was no legal appeal to the higher courts in England. The two towns
therefore authorized the Reverend Timothy Walker, the first settled
minister of Rumford, to represent their cause before the King in
council. By the employment of able counsel and judicious management of
the case, he was eminently successful, and obtained a decision favorable
to the Massachusetts settlers. In the meanwhile, the proprietors of
Suncook had compromised with the Bow proprietors, surrendering half of
their rights--for them the decision came too late. The Rumford
proprietors, however, were benefited, and Concord, under which name
Rumford was incorporated by New Hampshire laws, maintained its old
boundaries as originally granted,--which remain practically the same to
this day.

[Footnote 2: General Timothy Bedel served during the Revolution; his
son, General Moody Bedel, served in the War of 1812; his son, General
John Bedel, was a lieutenant in the Mexican War, and brigadier-general
in the Rebellion.]

* * * * *

HISTORIC TREES.

By L.L. Dame.

THE WASHINGTON ELM.

At the north end of the Common in Old Cambridge stands the famous
Washington Elm, which has been oftener visited, measured, sketched, and
written up for the press, than any other tree in America. It is of
goodly proportions, but, as far as girth of trunk and spread of branches
constitute the claim upon our respect, there are many nobler specimens
of the American elm in historic Middlesex.

[Illustration: THE WASHINGTON ELM. [From D. Lothrop & Company's Young
Folks' Life of Washington.]]

Extravagant claims have been made with regard to its age, but it is
extremely improbable that any tree of this species has ever rounded out
its third century. Under favorable conditions, the growth of the elm is
very rapid, a single century sometimes sufficing to develop a tree
larger than the Washington Elm.

When Governor Winthrop and Lieutenant-Governor Dudley, in 1630, rode
along the banks of the Charles in quest of a suitable site for the
capital of their colony, it is barely possible the great elm was in
being. It would be a pleasant conceit to link the thrifty growth of
the young sapling with the steady advancement of the new settlement,
enshrining it as a sort of guardian genius of the place, the living
witness of progress in Cambridge from the first feeble beginnings.

The life of the tree, however, probably does not date farther back than
the last quarter of the seventeenth century. In its early history there
was nothing to distinguish it from its peers of the greenwood. When the
surrounding forest fell beneath the axe of the woodman, the trees
conspicuous for size and beauty escaped the general destruction; among
these was the Washington Elm; but there is no evidence that it surpassed
its companions.

Tradition states that another large elm once stood on the northwest
corner of the Common, under which the Reverend George Whitefield, the
Wesleyan evangelist, preached in 1745. Others claim that it was the
Washington Elm under which the sermon was delivered. The two trees stood
near each other, and the hearers were doubtless scattered under each.
But the great elm was destined to look down upon scenes that stirred the
blood even more than the vivid eloquence of a Whitefield. Troublous
times had come, and the mutterings of discontent were voicing themselves
in more and more articulate phrase. The old tree must have been privy
to a great deal of treasonable talk--at first, whispered with many
misgivings, under the cover of darkness; later, in broad daylight,
fearlessly spoken aloud. The smoke of bonfires, in which blazed the
futile proclamations of the King, was wafted through its branches.
It saw the hasty burial, by night, of the Cambridge men who were slain
upon the nineteenth of April, 1775; it saw the straggling arrival of
the beaten, but not disheartened, survivors of Bunker Hill; it saw the
Common--granted to the town as a training-field--suddenly transformed
to a camp, under General Artemas Ward, commander-in-chief of the
Massachusetts troops.

The crowning glory in the life of the great elm was at hand. On the
twenty-first of June, Washington, without allowing himself time to take
leave of his family, set out on horseback from Philadelphia, arriving at
Cambridge on the second of July. Sprightly Dorothy Dudley in her Journal
describes the exercises of the third, with the florid eloquence of
youth.

"To-day, he (Washington) formally took command, under _one of the
grand old elms_ on the Common. It was a magnificent sight. The
majestic figure of the General, mounted upon his horse beneath the
wide-spreading branches of the patriarch tree; the multitude thronging
the plain around, and the houses filled with interested spectators of
the scene, while the air rung with shouts of enthusiastic welcome, as he
drew his sword, and thus declared himself Commander-in-chief of the
Continental army."

Dorothy does not specify under which elm Washington stood. It is safely
inferable from her language that our tree was one of several noble elms
which at this time were standing upon the Common.

Although no contemporaneous pen seems to have pointed out the exact tree
beyond all question, happily the day is not so far distant from us that
oral testimony is inadmissible. Of this there is enough to satisfy the
most captious critic.

Where the stone church is now situated, there was formerly an old
gambrel-roofed house, in which the Moore family lived during the
Revolution. The situation was very favorable for observation, commanding
the highroad from Watertown to Cambridge Common, and directly opposite
the great elm. From the windows of this house the spectators saw the
ceremony to good advantage, and one of them, styled, in 1848, the
"venerable Mrs. Moore," lived to point out the tree, and describe the
glories of the occasion, seventy-five years afterward. Fathers, who were
eyewitnesses standing beneath this tree, have told the story to their
sons, and those sons have not yet passed away. There is no possibility
that we are paying our vows at a counterfeit shrine.

Great events which mark epochs in history, bestow an imperishable
dignity even upon the meanest objects with which they are associated.
When Washington drew his sword beneath the branches, the great elm, thus
distinguished above its fellows, passed at once into history,
henceforward to be known as the Washington Elm.

"Under the brave old tree
Our fathers gathered in arms, and swore
They would follow the sign their banners bore,
And fight till the land was free."--_Holmes_.

The elm was often honored by the presence of Washington, who, it is
said, had a platform built among the branches, where, we may suppose,
he used to ponder over the plans of the campaign. The Continental army,
born within the shade of the old tree, overflowing the Common, converted
Cambridge into a fortified camp. Here, too, the flag of thirteen stripes
for the first time swung to the breeze.

These were the palmy days of the elm. When the tide of war set away
from New England, the Washington Elm fell into unmerited neglect. The
struggling patriots had no time for sentiment; and when the war came to
an end they were too busy in shaping the conduct of the government, and
in repairing their shattered fortunes, to pay much attention to trees.
It was not until the great actors in those days were rapidly passing
away, that their descendants turned with an affectionate regard to the
enduring monuments inseparably associated with the fathers. Among these,
the Washington Elm deservedly holds a high rank.

On the third of July, 1875, the citizens of Cambridge celebrated the one
hundredth anniversary of Washington's assuming the command of the army.
The old tree was the central figure of the occasion. The American flag
floated above the topmost branches, and a profusion of smaller flags
waved amid the foliage. Never tree received a more enthusiastic ovation.

It is enclosed by a circular iron fence erected by the Reverend Daniel
Austin. Outside the fence, but under the branches, stands a granite
tablet erected by the city of Cambridge, upon which is cut an
inscription written by Longfellow:--

UNDER THIS TREE
WASHINGTON
FIRST TOOK COMMAND
OF THE
AMERICAN ARMY,
JULY 3D, 1775.

In 1850, it still retained its graceful proportions; its great limbs
were intact, and it showed few traces of age. Within the past
twenty-five years, it has been gradually breaking up.

In 1844, its girth, three feet from the ground, where its circumference
is least, was twelve feet two and a half inches. In 1884, at the same
point, it measures fourteen feet one inch; a gain so slight that the
rings of annual growth must be difficult to trace--an evidence of waning
vital force. The grand subdivisions of the trunk are all sadly crippled;
unsightly bandages of zinc mask the progress of decay; the symptoms of
approaching dissolution are painfully evident, especially in the winter
season. In summer, the remaining vitality expends itself in a host of
branchlets which feather the limbs, and give rise to a false impression
of vigor.

Never has tree been cherished with greater care, but its days are
numbered. A few years more or less, and, like Penn's Treaty Elm and the
famous Charter Oak, it will be numbered with the things that were.

THE ELIOT OAK

When John Eliot had become a power among the Indians, with far-reaching
sagacity he judged it best to separate his converts from the whites, and
accordingly, after much inquiry and toilsome search, gathered them into
a community at Natick--an old Indian name formerly interpreted as "a
place of hills," but now generally admitted to mean simply "my land."
Anticipating the policy which many believe must eventually be adopted
with regard to the entire Indian question, Eliot made his settlers
land-owners, conferred upon them the right to vote and hold office,
impressed upon them the duties and responsibilities of citizenship, and
taught them the rudiments of agriculture and the mechanic arts.

In the summer of 1651, the Indians built a framed edifice, which
answered, as is the case to-day in many small country towns, the double
purpose of a schoolroom on week-days, and a sanctuary on the Sabbath.
Professor C.E. Stowe once called that building the first known
theological seminary of New England, and said that for real usefulness
it was on a level with, if not above, any other in the known world.

It is assumed that two oaks, one of the red, and the other of the white,
species, of which the present Eliot Oak is the survivor, were standing
near this first Indian church. The early records of Eliot's labors make
no mention of these trees. Adams, in his Life of Eliot, says: "It would
be interesting if we could identify some of the favorite places of the
Indians in this vicinity," but fails to find sufficient data. Bigelow
(or Biglow, according to ancient spelling), in his History of Natick,
1830, states: "There are two oaks near the South Meeting-house, which
have undoubtedly stood there since the days of Eliot." It is greatly to
be regretted that the writer did not state the evidence upon which his
conclusion was based.

Bacon, in his History of Natick, 1856, remarks: "The oak standing a few
rods to the east of the South Meeting-house bears every evidence of an
age greater than that of the town, and was probably a witness of Eliot's
first visit to the 'place of hills.'" It would be quite possible to
subscribe to this conclusion, while dissenting entirely from the
premises. It will be noticed that Bacon relies upon the appearance of
the tree as a proof of its age. His own measurement, fourteen and a half
feet circumference at two feet from the ground, is not necessarily
indicative of more than a century's growth.

The writer upon Natick, in Drake's Historic Middlesex, avoids expressing
an opinion. "Tradition links these trees with the Indian Missionary."
For very long flights of time, tradition--as far as the age of trees is
concerned--cannot at all be relied upon; within the narrow limits
involved in the present case, it may be received with caution.

The Red Oak which stood nearly in front of the old Newell Tavern, was
the original Eliot Oak. Mr. Austin Bacon, who is familiar with the early
history and legends of Natick, states that "Mr. Samuel Perry, a man who
could look back to 1749, often said that Mr. Peabody, the successor to
Eliot, used to hitch his horse by that tree every Sabbath, because Eliot
used to hitch his there."

This oak was originally very tall; the top was probably broken off in
the tremendous September gale of 1815; as it was reported to be in a
mutilated condition in 1820. Time, however, partially concealed the
disaster by means of a vigorous growth of the remaining branches. In
1830, it measured seventeen feet in circumference two feet from the
ground. It had now become a tree of note, and would probably have
monopolized the honors to the exclusion of the present Eliot Oak, had it
not met with an untimely end. The keeper of the tavern in front of which
it stood had the tree cut down in May, 1842. This act occasioned great
indignation, and gave rise to a lawsuit at Framingham, "which was
settled by the offenders against public opinion paying the costs and
planting trees in the public green." A cartload of the wood was carried
to the trial, and much of it was taken home by the spectators to make
into canes and other relics,

"The King is dead, long live the King!"

Upon the demise of the old monarch, the title naturally passed to the
White Oak, its neighbor, another of the race of Titans, standing
conveniently near, of whose early history very little is positively
known beyond the fact that it is an old tree; and with the title passed
the traditions and reverence that gather about crowned heads.

Mrs. Stowe has given it a new claim to notice, for beneath it, according
to Drake's Historic Middlesex, "Sam Lawson, the good-natured, lazy
story-teller, in Oldtown Folks, put his blacksmith's shop. It was
removed when the church was built."

The present Eliot Oak stands east of the Unitarian meeting-house, which
church is on or near the spot where Eliot's first church stood. It
measured, January, 1884, seventeen feet in circumference at the ground;
fourteen feet two inches at four feet above. It is a fine old tree, and
it is not improbable--though it is unproven--that it dates back to the
first settlement of Natick.

"Thou ancient oak! whose myriad leaves are loud
With sounds of unintelligible speech,
Sounds as of surges on a shingly beach,
Or multitudinous murmurs of a crowd;
With some mysterious gift of tongues endowed
Thou speakest a different dialect to each.
To me a language that no man can teach,
Of a lost race long vanished like a cloud,
For underneath thy shade, in days remote,
Seated like Abraham at eventide,
Beneath the oak of Mamre, the unknown
Apostle of the Indian, Eliot, wrote
His Bible in a language that hath died.
And is forgotten save by thee alone."--_Longfellow_.

* * * * *

HIS GREATEST TRIUMPH.

By Henrietta E. Page.

Yet slept the wearied maestro, and all around was still,
Though the sunlight danced on tree-top, on valley, and on hill;
The distant city's busy hum, just faintly heard afar,
Served but to lull to deeper rest Euterpe's brilliant star.

Wilhelmj slept, for over-night his triumphs had been grand,
He had praised and feted been by the noblest in the land,
And rich and poor had vied alike to honor Music's king,
Making the lofty rafters with the wildest plaudits ring.

Now, brain and hand aweary, he had fled for peace and rest,
And he should be disturbed by none, not e'en a royal guest.
The porter nodded in his chair: I dare not say he slept:
But sprang upright, as through the door a fairy vision crept.

A tiny girl with shining eyes, and wavy golden hair,
Tip-toed along the corridor, and close up to his chair,
And a bird-like voice sweet questioned, "Wilhelmj, where is he?
I've brought a little tribute for the great maestro,--see!"

Her looped-up dress she opened, displaying to his view
A mass of brilliant woodland flowers, wet with morning dew;
Placing his finger on his lip, he pointed out the door;
She smiled her thanks, and softly went and strewed them on the floor.

Then like a vision of the morn, with eyes of heaven's own blue,
She slowly oped the outer door and gently glided through.
Hours after, when Wilhelmj woke he gazed in mute surprise
Upon those buds and blossoms fair, with softened, tender eyes.

They took him back long years agone, when, as a happy child,
He wandered, too, amid the woods, on summer mornings mild;
Aye, back to his home and mother; back to his old home nest,
To the blessed scenes of childhood; back into peace and rest.

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