MILLER�S BEND
Just inside the mouth of Bon Secour River there is a wide reach, large enough to serve as anchorage for a small fleet. To the south is the south fork of the river and Oyster Bay, and to the north is a somewhat crescent shaped shore known as Miller's Bend. Here was a pleasant settlement of some twelve or more homesteads complete with a church and a school. The houses were substantially built with high ceilings and wide hallways, which made them more comfortable in summer. Most homes had a wharf in front reaching to deep water and the family schooner anchored nearby.
It was a fine location for homes as it faced south and so received the healthful breezes of the Gulf, yet it had its back to the north, and behind it thick woods broke the force of the cold winds of winter. Each place was complete with flower gardens, vegetable gardens, fruit and nut trees, grape arbors, chicken yards and, well back, cow pastures and pig pens. Some had spreading fields of crops also. They should be called homesteads for at Miller's Bend a very comfortable form of subsistence farming was practiced. These were as truly saltwater farms as any in the state of Maine.
The settlement had received its name from the Miller family, which had come to Bon Secour in the mid-nineteenth century. In the year 1899 one of the most prominent citizens of Bon Secour was Captain John Henry Andrew Miller. Also at Miller's Bend were Charles Styron, Jacob Steiner, Conrad Billie, Herman Rickens, Lewis Rayfield, Peter Billie, Sam Wilson, J. H. A. Miller, Will Carver, Capt. Cash, St. Peter's School, St. Peter's Church, the Witt home, Krouters, Snellmans, Rohnwicks and Joe Brown.
Homes and settlements are maintained by people only so long as they are useful and this settlement was dependent upon the value of water transportation. It was admirably located for that purpose. When the automobile came into general use and the emphasis of life shifted to "being near the center of things", all moved and Miller's Bend withered and died. In Bon Secour's almost tropical climate, a young jungle has grown up there now, and it is difficult to make one's way in or to find the remains of most of these homes.
Most of the houses are gone. Some burned, some were barged upriver and are homes in use now near Swift's Landing. One or two blew down in storms. The beautiful seaside church of St. Peter's burned about 1930 and the school was moved upriver and made into a home. Yet, the place remains what it was long ago, the loveliest of locations for homes, facing the pleasant south and with its back protected from the chill winter winds.
On New Year's Eve night in 1899 a watch party gathered at the school house to see the old year out; this was no ordinary New Year's Eve party. They were there to welcome in the TWENTIETH CENTURY! On hand were fireworks awaiting the magic hour, for that is the southern way; fireworks are shot at Christmas and at New Year's rather than on the Fourth of July and most men had brought their guns or pistols. A grand fusillade was planned to greet the infant century�the beginning of the new millennium.
First, however, came fun. Millers were there and Plashes and Carvers and Steiners. Snellmans, Iveys, Browns and Rohnwicks, Nelsons, Allens, Yeends, Witts and Billies and many, many others. One could just about have called the roll of the old families of Bon Secour and someone would have answered.
Oh, but it was a happy group! This would be the start of a different kind of era. The Civil War was a generation behind them and the hard, bitter days of Reconstruction were past. "Yankee" was beginning to be used without its descriptive adjunction of "damn". All of the newspapers said that wars would never happen again, and that the United States and the whole world stood poised at the threshold of great advances in medicine and art and indeed in every department of living. That night at Miller's Bend, the talk was about the coming glories of the Twentieth Century.
The teacher had arranged a little program and several children recited their newest memory pieces. This was followed by a spelling match of boys against the girls of the seventh grade in which the boys were the jubilant winners. The pump organ had been borrowed from St. Peter's Church and there was soon a crowd around it singing the newest songs and then, later, some of the old songs.
They lived well at Miller's Bend. The parents of Miller's Bend and of Bon Secour supplied refreshments of cakes, cookies, candies, and hot chocolate topped with marshmallows for the children. There was even a huge sack of that rarest of delicacies, fresh oranges, which one schooner-captain-father had got by trade from a sailing ship from Florida. For the grown folks there were bottles of good wine with which to toast the New Year. So they passed the happy hours until midnight drew near.
Then all but the oldest put on their heavy wraps and went outside into the schoolyard and one of the fathers, probably Captain Miller, held his fine gold pocket watch in his hand in the light from one of the schoolhouse windows and watched the old year die. At the signal of the New Year all began to shoot their firecrackers and Roman candles. Some of the men and boys went down on the Witt's wharf and shot off their firearms. For a little while pandemonium reigned but when quiet was restored, someone raised the tune of "Auld Lang Syne" and men's hats came off and friend reached for the hand of friend. Thus the Twentieth Century in all its bright promise was welcomed in at the busy, prosperous settlement of Miller's Bend.
Now, sixty-five years later, Miller's Bend is largely an overgrown wilderness and the promise of the Twentieth Century is tarnished. Yet not all is lost. The good homes of Miller's Bend sent forth fine sons and daughters who have served their country well in war and peace and who honor the memory of fine parents; and in the Twentieth Century great achievements have taken place and the look is still future. Bon Secour has reason to remember Miller's Bend with pride. Good foundations were laid there.
